MIAMI GARDENS, Fla. — Leave it to The U to find the perfect way to bury, once and for all, that silly old T-shirt and all it ever represented.
You remember the T-shirt, right? “Catholics vs. Convicts.” The brainchild of some Notre Dame undergrads back in the day, the fuel behind one of the great games in Notre Dame history, that 31-30 win in South Bend, Ind., 29 years ago.
Yeah. Well. Forget the T-shirt, which seems as quaint as a Model-T given what we all witnessed at Hard Rock Stadium on Saturday night. There are no more hard feelings over a T-shirt, not now, not with the Turnover Chain having laid waste to the T-shirt with every bit the amount of force that the Hurricanes pulverized the Fighting Irish on Saturday night.
Not after Miami 41, Notre Dame 8.
“I was very impressed with our team today,” Miami coach Mark Richt said.
The Miami fans certainly agreed, and they had a different kind of message for the Irish, a ceaseless second-half chant of “Overrated!” that was hard to shake and harder to dispute. That had come on the heels of some clever tailgate signage: “I’D RATHER LAUGH WITH THE SINNERS THAN CRY WITH THE SAINTS!”
And: “GOLD CHAINS > GOLD HELMETS”
Yep. You had better get used to the Turnover Chain, both the original — a thick rope of 10-karat gold, a Cuban link capped by a gaudy pile of orange and green sapphires to craft the Miami logo that gets passed around from one Miami defender to another after takeaways — and the makeshift ones that litter the stands and the parking lots now. Miami had four turnovers. Everyone wants a piece of the Chain.
These may not be your father’s Hurricanes. But, damn, they look just as good as those old Canes were. They sure were Saturday, pummeling the Irish, seizing a 27-0 halftime lead on the strength of three interceptions, including a 65-yard pick-six by Trajan Bandy 22 seconds before intermission that temporarily turned the stadium into the world’s largest and loudest outdoor fraternity party, 65,303 heavily-pro-Miami fans lifting their voices to the night sky in primal joy.
“We never got into a rhythm, never were really able to get out from behind the chains on offense, never got really going,” Notre Dame coach Bran Kelly said. “And there was something else: They’re really, really good.”
And to think: It was Miami that had spent the past few weeks needing to convince the public it was as good as its record, thanks to a string of lackluster wins in October, four of them by a total of 18 points against the uninspiring underbelly of the ACC.
It was Notre Dame that had emerged as second-chance darlings, rolling into South Florida with an 8-1 record, the only blemish a one-point loss to Georgia which, entering Saturday, had looked untouchable against just about everybody else.
Maybe it was an unwelcome harbinger for the Irish that, as they warmed up for this showdown, Georgia was being paraded up and down the field at Jordan-Hare Stadium, humbled and humiliated by Auburn, 40-17.
Maybe, if you believe in these kinds of things, there was an extra bit of karma involved because the man who assembled much of that Georgia team, Richt, was now on the Hard Rock field, encouraging the Hurricanes, the team he now coaches.
And maybe none of that matters.
Maybe Miami was simply ready to have this coming-out party because it really is every bit as good as its record, because the Hurricanes looked faster and quicker and stronger than the Irish at every position, in every matchup, both sides of the ball, up and down the roster.
And, of course, the best part was the vintage way this all went down. It feels longer than 13 years since Miami ruled the sport, if only because its absence seems to create such a massive void. At its colorful best, Hurricanes football has always been a fun — and polarizing — phenomenon, drawing equal parts haters and acolytes.
And they are there again. They are here again. They are a rip-roaring, rollicking show, hitting their stride at precisely the perfect time, blurs of orange on both sides of the ball. Now there is the Turnover Chain, the real one that even Mr. T might find gaudy, and all the fake ones, hanging from the necks of so many of the faithful at Hard Rock Stadium.
The T-shirt? The T-shirt is dead and buried, baby.
The U? The U is back, in all its (vain) glory. Be afraid. Be very afraid.