You always hear about the Notre Dame subway alumni, and they are everywhere, every state in the union. I’ve run into Fighting Irish fans in Italy, the Czech Republic, Belgium, England, Scotland and (of course) Ireland. It’s a unique phenomenon. Some people never step foot on a college campus, in South Bend or anywhere else, and fervently follow the Irish. It’s unlike any other sport-fan demographic.
But I’m here to tell you: St. John’s is close.
Maybe not in numbers. Not even close in numbers. But for decades, St. John’s was the entry point for generations of New York area kids who grew up with asphalt staining their Chuck Taylors, proud owners of line-drive jump shots to combat the low-hanging ceilings of parish gymnasiums.
A lot of us knew it was our destiny to go elsewhere if we were going to college, because for many of us, one of the great lures of college was getting away from home for the first time — to Syracuse or Philly or DC, Buffalo or Boston, maybe to one of the big football schools down South or in the Midwest.
