So, Why Notre Dame?

A local Cincinnati kid grapples with a family legacy

Tim Daniel is one of the hosts of The Riverfront podcast network. His show, Late Night Reds, airs every Sunday at 9 PM est.

So, Why Notre Dame?

Why do you root for Notre Dame? It’s a question I’ve been asked my whole life—often in a demeaning tone. I can’t blame people for asking it that way, though.

Why root for a team that’s been merely okay for most of my life? A team that, when given opportunities to take the next step, has been embarrassed on a national stage? Why root for a team that schedules Army and Navy every year instead of powerhouse programs? Why root for a program that’s nothing more than a “nostalgia act”? All fair points. But as the Fighting Irish have made their run to the 2025 College Football Playoff National Championship, the question has shifted from people questioning my intelligence to genuine curiosity: How does a kid from the suburbs of Cincinnati, Ohio, end up rooting for a team in South Bend, Indiana?

Well, more or less, it’s a family thing.

I’ve already shared the story of my dad and how he influenced me to root for our hometown Cincinnati teams, but this one’s different. It’s not just that Notre Dame was my dad’s favorite team; it’s the only team he ever mentioned that my grandfather truly loved as well.

I’m not saying my grandpa didn’t love the Reds or the Bengals—he very well may have. But he passed away when I was so young that I never heard stories about him rooting for our hometown teams. Notre Dame, however, is a different story entirely.

I’m sure you can guess how it goes. My grandpa was born in 1932 and served during the Korean War era. Not to stereotype, but a devout Midwestern Catholic in that era practically had only one football team: Notre Dame.

In the movie Rudy, there’s a deleted scene in which Daniel Ruettiger (played by the legendary Ned Beatty) explains why immigrants felt such a strong connection to this school in Indiana. That’s exactly how my grandpa felt about the Fighting Irish.

This scene captures what Notre Dame football meant to that generation, and how the love for it was passed down from parent to child. Eventually, it got passed down to me.

My dad showed me Rudy when I was a kid. It’s the underdog story of a walk-on at Notre Dame who battled dyslexia and, in real life, ended up facing some serious legal issues and accusations of bad behavior. But that’s not how the movie goes—it’s Sean Astin making Rudy out to be the ultimate scrappy hero who had to earn everything in life. For what it’s worth, I’ve met both Sean Astin and the real Rudy. Sean Astin is way cooler, and his version of the story is better anyway.

Before I knew the real Rudy’s reputation, it was my favorite movie. My dad probably regretted ever showing it to me. If you read my last article about how he took me to see Kiss, you know I can be a bit obsessive.

My dad used to tell me the classic stories of Catholic kids in his day: waking up on Sunday mornings to watch a replay of Notre Dame’s Saturday game before heading off to Mass. It was a simpler time. As my dad and his brothers grew up in the shadow of Riverfront Stadium, where the Big Red Machine dominated baseball, they also had that Catholic school in Indiana that was beating the brakes off every challenger on the football field. He had it pretty good as a kid, sportswise. If only I’d been so lucky.

Once I joined the bandwagon, I was glued to my couch every Saturday or checking my phone at my retail job in high school for game updates. I was hooked. I’d always spend the next day on the phone with my dad, talking Notre Dame football before the 1 p.m. Bengals kickoff. I’ll never forget the 2005 win versus Stanford, which clinched a trip to the Fiesta Bowl against Ohio State. My dad and I were so excited that the Irish finally looked competitive again.

The next year brought another promising season and yet another crushing loss (this time to LSU in the Sugar Bowl). We started to wonder if Notre Dame would ever clear that final hurdle.

In 2009, I finally went to my first Notre Dame football game. Armed with my flip phone, I snapped a picture of the field with the iconic “Touchdown Jesus” in the background and texted my dad, “Wish you were here.” Even though he wasn’t there physically, it felt like we were still watching the game together.

Shortly after that, I began podcasting about Notre Dame for a publication called “The New ND Nation.” Their goal was to bring some positivity back to the fanbase, and I was honored to host their first show. My dad tuned in to hear me interview ND legends like Brady Quinn, Tim Brown, and Lou Holtz. He offered plenty of feedback—both good and bad—like I was his starting quarterback. Eventually, the group got credentialed to cover the Irish, and I was able to work the 2015 USC game. I couldn’t wait to send my dad a photo of my press pass. (For the record, young journalists, never do that. I didn’t know better at the time.)

After a few forgettable seasons, Brian Kelly abruptly left the University of Cincinnati to take the Notre Dame job. We were sure he’d lead the Irish back to the promised land. Maybe he sort of did, but then came the 2012 BCS National Championship against Alabama, which we all know didn’t go well. And that’s not even mentioning the fake dead girlfriend story that captivated the nation.

Sure, there were highlights after that—two trips to the College Football Playoff, though both ended in pretty bad losses. But hey, at least they made it, right?

Now, Notre Dame finally feels like it’s on the verge of returning to that elite status. While my dad and grandpa aren’t around to see the Irish (hopefully) win their first national title of my lifetime, I’ll be carrying them with me every step of the way. I root for those Midwestern Catholics who never felt like they had a choice, for the kids who watched Joe Montana win National Championships only to see him later beat the Bengals in the Super Bowl, and for me—the kid hoping that, although my dad never got to hand me a Notre Dame championship hat and shirt, maybe I can give that moment to his granddaughter.

Go Irish.