I like to sniff the cork from a Marshall win over Miami here. Such a fragrance. It makes me giddy.
Then, comes a taste. Just a sip, of course. Something to cleanse my palate from those Boone's Farmish wins over Akron and Kent State.
And, finally, a well-deserved glass. This time it was a Petit Roethlisberger, 2001.
It was a charming little win. Provocative ambience. Subtle bouquet. A full-bodied win, I would say.
It was ambrosia.
It was nectar.
It was ... soul food.
Nothing satisfies the hunger, the craving, the starving in my soul more than a win over Miami in Oxford.
You see, I was here in 1971. I watched as the hard-hearted, calloused Miami Redskins poured it on Marshall's out-manned "Young Herd" during an unforgivable, unconscionable, unmerciful 66-6 win. I lost my appetite watching that day. But I watched anyway. And I remembered.
I've had an unquenchable appetite for Marshall wins over Miami here in Oxford ever since. Thirty years later, I still haven't had my fill.
I am a glutton. I would gladly turn bulimic if it meant dining on one MU win over Miami after another.
That's why I savored every tantalizing morsel of Marshall's 27-21 victory over Miami Saturday. I chewed every bite 10 times. I cleaned my plate. And, finally, I unleashed a burp of satisfaction.
Right in Coach Terry Hoeppner's face. Sorry, Terry, but you were in the wrong place at the right time.
Does it sound like I have a hard spot in my esophagus for Miami? Good. I do. I found what the Redskins, RedHawks, Redwhatevers did to Marshall in 1971 very difficult to swallow. In fact, it has stuck in my craw for 30 years.
That's why I ate this up Saturday.
And I wasn't alone. There are others who would rather dine on a Marshall victory over Miami in Oxford than a seven-course meal at "Le Maisonette."
Right Terrance Tarpley?
"When we're out there," said the hard-hitting cornerback, "we're playing against them, the fans, the media ... that's just the way it is. But we like that. We use that as motivation. Especially coming here to Miami with the fans right behind our benches.
"We love that."
For one thing, it gave the Herd a chance to rearrange the letters on those red T-shirts so many Miami students were wearing. When Marshall got finished, the shirts read, "Muck Fiami."
I think Mark Twain once write a novel about his twin brother, Huck.
It also gave the Herd an opportunity to rub their snobbish, elitist noses in a geographical defeat. I've never understood why this Oxford always seems to confuse itself with the real Oxford.
Although I did hear that Rob Lowe is planning a sequel to his row, row, row your boat movie now that Miami is a mere shell of itself after the loss to Marshall's crew. It will be called "Oxford Blues, II."
I just hope Tarpley gets a speaking role. He deserves it for the answer he gave when I asked if there were anyplace he would rather win in the MAC.
"No," he said with a satisfied smile. "Right here. I love playing here. Always. Always. Always. I love playing here."
I love winning here.
What's for dessert?