My friend Hugh is a big Notre Dame fan (don't ask me why--maybe he was dropped on his head as a child). When he saw that the Irish were going to play at Stanford, he said we should make the two-hour trip for the game. So on Saturday, 11/28/05, five of us (Hugh, me, our friend Matt, Matt's co-worker Gerry and his son Greg) drove from Sacramento to Palo Alto. After a little pre-game lubrication at a Notre Dame bar called The Old Pro we walked to venerable Stanford Stadium. As it turned out, this was to be the last game at the stadium before it's torn down to build a new, state-of-the-art, more intimate venue. We found our seats (not bad, down low in a corner of the end zone) and watched the first half. Good game, Stanford was giving Notre Dame a battle instead of rolling over as expected. With about five minutes to go in the half an announcement came over the loudspeakers for all former Stanford athletes to proceed down to the field for the halftime "farewell to the old stadium" celebration. I said to the guys, "I've got to at least try!" and headed over to gate ZZ as directed. Of course I never played for the Cardinal, but decided I would pretend to be a former golfer (figuring nobody has a clue who the golfers were). I got to the gate as the same time as another guy, and the security guard asked if we had our passes. The guy said he never received one, and naturally I said the same. The guard called someone else over and explained that we didn't have passes. The other guard shrugged his shoulders and said, "Just let them in." Holy crap, that was easy! On the field we were told to group up behind the sign corresponding to the decade in which we played. As I wandered along the sideline, I noticed that everyone (except the oldsters from the '20s and '30s) was 6'6" and 250 lbs. Just then the announcement was made again, and I realized that this celebration wasn't for ALL former Stanford athletes, it was for all former FOOTBALL PLAYERS. Yeah, I really look like a linebacker. I decided I would claim to have been a trainer or kicker. I got to the '80s section and kind of meandered around, trying to wander between that group and the one from the '90s (hoping that each group would think I belonged to the other). The former players were all greeting each other, shaking hands and asking what they'd been up to. Occasionally someone would look at me, furrow their brown, then immediately look away as if embarrassed that they didn't remember me. I called Hugh and told him I made it onto the field, and directed him where to look (I was pretty far from them at that point). Then I settled down and enjoyed being on the sidelines while waiting for the half to end. Finally the gun sounded and the teams headed to their locker rooms. An announcer introduced the former players and each group walked out to the middle of the field where small stages had been moved. The two to four most notable players and coaches from each decade were brought up onto each stage, with the other players gathered around below. When our decade was called, I hurried toward the stage, waving so Hugh and the other guys could see me. I also wanted to have a good position toward the front of the stage to make myself as visible as possible. I felt like everyone in the stands must be thinking "who the hell is that skinny guy??" but at that point I wanted to make sure I had a witness. As I stood next to the stage, the announcer introduced three former players from our decade. I didn't recognize two of them, but the third was none other than JOHN ELWAY. We all applauded as he ascended the stage, waving at the crowd. Then the next decade was introduced (including former coach Bill Walsh), and the ceremony drew to a close. We were directed to leave the field, but I waited by the stage hoping to time it right so that I'd be next to Elway when he walked down the stairs. Sure enough, as he descended I was right next to him. As luck would have it, another player said to him, "How ya doing, John?" and shook his hand. Then Elway looked at me, and I quickly stuck out my hand and said, "Nice job, John!" He looked puzzled, but shook my hand and said, "Hey, how are you?" before turning away (probably hoping I didn't talk to him anymore). We were all ushered off the field, and as I walked along the sideline I searched for Hugh and the other guys. Then I heard, "Hey, Schiller!" and saw them waving at me. I gave them a triumphant smile, then exited the field and re-joined them, accepting their congratulatory high-fives. As if that wasn't enough, later while returning from the men's room I saw that the security guard in charge of the door to the press box was doing a pretty lackadaisicle job. He would turn one way for a few moments, then turn the other, not really paying much attention to the door. I waited for him to turn his back to it, then just walked past him. I went up the stairs into the luxury box area, where there was complimentary food and beverages (no booze, unfortunately). I had a coffee and hotdog while watching the game, then decided to explore a little more. I went up another flight of stairs and found myself on the TV production floor with a bunch of small closed rooms, then climbed up to the very top of the pressbox where several camera crews were shooting the game. I was pretty conspicuous, so I quickly headed back downstairs. As I passed a door a concession girl opened it and I followed her inside, discovering that I was now in the actual press area. Reporters sat in long rows and typed on laptops or scribbled notes while watching the game and chit-chatting with one another. I hung out there quite a while, before grabbing a free game program and a couple of ice cream bars for Hugh and Matt. I watched the last of the game from the stands, as the friggin' Irish came back to beat Stanford 38-31. John Elway (taken with camera phone) Stanford sideline Back!