Interestingly, as well, is that it appears that being an alum (alone) doesn't necessarily instill that fervor. There's almost always some other wrinkle; almost always some other Buckeye.
Here's the story of my first "Buckeye apostle"...
I'd just arrived in this country. I was a funny looking ten year-old. I spoke NOT a word of English, nor did have the first clue about anything American. We had settled down in Monroe, Michigan to stay with my uncle and his family until we got settled in. My mother decided that after three days of my brother and my watching cartoons all day, that we should start school - language capability or not.
So she took us to school and registered both of us in our respective grades. She didn't speak a word of English either, but somehow that's what she managed to do with the help of my aunt. She insisted that, regardless of the fact that I was not literate, since I'd already finished the fourth grade (back in the old country), that it stands to reason that I should be put into the 5th grade, and my brother be put in the 3rd grade.
So that's what they did... and but for sheer dumb luck, I wouldn't have made it through those first couple of days; stupid things like the fact that it just happened that our gym teacher's name was "Jim" and when we got sent out to go to "Jim" class, I lucked out because people just seemed to know where I was trying to tell I wanted to go.
Finally, after the first week or so, the school decided that what I needed to me with my adjustment was a buddy. So they took one of the more popular kids in the class and asked him to be my buddy. His name was Hans. In the course of the next few months I learned that he'd been born in another town called Columbus in another state named Ohio. And I also learned, from my new-found hero that his dream was to get a scholarship to go to a university there in Columbus called "Ohio State" and play football.
He even showed me their logo and their mascot. The colors were interesting enough and the block "O" couldn't be any easier for me to start scribbling on my notebooks.
I'd seen American football on TV, but from the way it looked to my kid-eyes at the time (I must have been 6 or 7) I had no idea what or who these creatures were. They looked like they had huge teeth and big shoulders. That's about all I could tell. And nobody else around me knew either, so I just left it at that. And that ball... my uncle had sent me one from America, but I'd be damned if I could get it to go straight when I tried to use it to play soccer!
But Hans explained everything to me. The facemasks, the shoulder pads, the special touch you need to throw a spiral, why Archie Griffin is the greatest athlete of all time, and, of course, about the evil that is the University of M*ch*g*n.
And he was the first Buckeye I ever met. I was ten years old, and I guess you could say that that's about all I needed to know. That this new friend of mine, who'd become my savior in this strange new place, wanted, more than anything, to become a Buckeye. So that's what I decided I wanted to be also, even though my my beloved uncles were die-hard Wolverines and Spartans. It was simply good enough that Hans was a Buckeye. It was rough watching those games with my uncles and taking their constant jabs and remarks to their nephew... but I didn't mind because Hans always said that's it's never easy being a Buckeye behind enemy lines.
I've met plenty of true Buckeyes since then. And a handful of them I'll never forget. But Hans was the first true Buckeye I knew, and all I knew at the time was that I wanted to be a Buckeye like Hans. And I've never looked back since...
