Hooo boy. My fingers and the (admittedly stiff) body connected to them are certainly counting their blessings tonight that they’re all healthy and able to be typing these words to you. And brother, there’s a LOT to type, so we’ll certainly put their gratitude to the test by the end. This is the story I’ll hopefully be telling my grandkids 50 years from now about what granddad did when he was a crazy youth. So let’s start from the very beginning (a very good place to start).

Anyone reading this blog will probably know I’d been training for last Monday’s 117th running of the Boston Marathon for months on end. Weekly long runs, trips to the gym for lifts, dieting, just overall healthiness in general had become integral parts of my everyday routine in preparation. After the excitement had been building all last week during classes and such, I drove into Boston last Friday with my dad Pat to the Prudential Center, where the first of the weekend’s many goosebumps came as a marathon volunteer handed me my official number bib. After years of watching my dad and his buddies run with theirs, I finally had my own personal registration – number 25168 (I was further on down the line from Jean Valjean in the prison for all you Les Mis people out there). $250 later, I was walking out of there with pretty much every piece of marathon apparel not bolted down to the floor, more excited for Monday than I’d ever been before.

The rest of the weekend went by in a rapid succession of relaxation, pasta and water, on repeat. I swear by Sunday night I was hearing sloshing noises whenever I moved, I drank so much. Come Monday morning wake-up though, the bags were packed for before, during and after the run, and after my dad had taken the obligatory album’s-worth of pictures, I was off for Hopkinton with Barry and Tommy Scanlon and Sean Kenny in the backseat of my neighbor’s car. We got dropped off at the start area, and before I knew it I was in the runners’ corral and we were off, goosebumps and adrenaline abounding.

The Warriors Three

Cap. and Iron Man. Excelsior!

It could not have been a more perfect day for ANY kind of run, but for a marathon, it was literally the ideal: gentle winds, temps in the mid 50s, with some steady sun occasionally hidden behind a nice cloud cover now and then. Maybe the only ones more appreciative of Mother Nature were the spectators, a crowd whose size easily numbered up into the millions without breaking a sweat. For 26.2 miles, on both sides of the road for as far as you could see, the sea of onlookers never let up; seriously, these guys were literally dozens deep from the street in some places. I really can’t put it into words, and that for me is a rare thing. Picture – that kind of reception on either side of you; in front of you and behind you, thousands upon thousands of brightly colored heads bobbing up and down, your fellow runners. For twenty. Six. Point two. Straight. Miles. Yeah. Me too.

Wearing a spandex Iron Man shirt for the first half of the run, I lost count of how many high-fives I gave out to the 15-under crowd who were yelling out “Iron Man!” as I ran past; just as good (if not better), I made a quick change at mile 14 into a generously supplied Holy Cross pinny, and there was MUCH love for ‘Sader Nation out there on the course. For twelve miles, wherever I ran past, there were shouts of, “Hey, Crusaders!” “SADERS!!!” Go Holy Cross!!” The stuff of dreams, I’m telling you.

High five!

The kisses at Wellesley were, not surprisingly, rather a good part of the day. *Cough*

Go 'Saders!

The Brothers Scanlon, a terrifying sight

I'M COMING FOR YOU

I really don't even have a caption for what I'm doing here

Various aches and pains started popping up right as I was making my way past Boston College, about five miles out from the finish; these turned into flat-out injuries as the miles ticked on, coming to a head as I felt the ligaments of my left knee pop as I crossed over the Mass. Pike at mile 25. Hobbling through Kenmore Sq., up Hereford St. and down Boylston St. towards the finish on a popped knee and an injured right foot (tendinitis, I later found out), the only thing keeping me going was my will to get to that finish line. Looking at some of the pics taken during that stretch, I barely even recognized (and certainly didn’t want to, when I did) the grimacing, scowling, sweaty mess of a runner pictured, spit flying from his mouth as he shambled along without stopping. My dad thankfully was able to drive down to the finish line and meet me 1/4 of a mile out, egging me on the whole last stretch while serving as my own personal paparazzi. As soon as I threw my hands up in the most elated sense of accomplishment I’ve ever known after crossing that finish line I collapsed onto his shoulder, literally unable to support myself on my own two feet. My body’s never known that amount of pain or stress before, and while I’m not looking to get back to it any time soon, it’s still pretty impressive knowing the human body can endure through that kind of trauma.

Thank God this wasn't taken from the front

There's quite a lot of pain happening during this picture

Then, it all went south.

I had been across the finish for about two-three minutes, and had only been able to stumble forward about 20-30yds down the chute towards the medals and those silver cape wraps, when a deafening BOOM shattered the atmosphere. In my altered state, I actually thought cannon blasts were being fired to commemorate my finish, and was about to say “Aww shucks dad, you shouldn’t have,” before I turned around just in time to catch the second blast further on down the street. The general reaction, and it’s the absolute truth, was: One’s an accident, two’s something bad. Completely and utterly exhausted as I was, I of course was registering the events occurring around me, but failed to fully comprehend them. The feeling I can remember now was something along the lines of, “K. That just happened. That seems like something bad. I should probably be moving out of this area. If my legs can do it…” My dad, thank God, still had his full bearings about him, and draping my arm around his shoulder, practically dragged his son down the chute.

My dad actually had the sense to snap a pic of the immediate aftermath. It's tough even looking at it.

From there, we escaped to the family car as fast as my numbed legs would carry me, and as soon as we had my mom and sister safely in hand we drove out of the city as quickly as we could. Sirens could be heard down all the streets headed towards the direction of the finish area, and we were actually only just able to make it out in time before the city was totally closed off to all traffic. When I had finally got home a few minutes later, and was sitting under the hot water in the shower, I finally began to recuperate and THAT’S when what had happened finally started to sink in. THAT was when the, “Wow…… That actually just happened,” moment took place. It’s a scary, scary feeling, let me tell you. The close-call stories started coming in then from friends and family around the finish, who, by nothing else than the will of God, had been lucky enough to escape all injury. There were some guardian angels working overtime that day, no question.

More importantly, there were angels on the ground as well. Mere seconds after the blast, as shown in the endless news reels that have been showing in the aftermath, marathon volunteers, Boston police, first responders and good Samaritan runners and spectators made a bee-line to the blast site, totally heedless of their own personal well-being, to give much-needed aid to the victims. A friend of mine, fellow E-Streeter and Lowell cop Nick Laganas, had actually just crossed the finish line, and after running the 26.2 mile distance, turned around and ran another 200yds in the opposite direction to help out the wounded. Nick, you’re a hero in every possible sense of the word my friend. Reports came in later of runners who ran right on through the finish area for another two miles straight to Mass. General to give blood to the victims; dozens of websites went up within hours made by Bostonians and residents of the surrounding suburbs offering up free housing, food and showers to all stranded runners. These are the kinds of stories that keep my faith in the human race, even after all the tragedies. The single act of one coward is what’s been making the headlines, but it’s the countless acts of an entire city that made the day.

Will I be doing Boston next year? Give my battered and bruised legs a few days to compose themselves before asking me that question. Will I be doing Boston again in the future? I’ve never been more sure of anything. It was one of the most incredible experiences of my life and I can-not-recommend-it-enough to anyone sitting on the fence. Each and every single person involved in the running of this will go down in the history books as a champion. Nick, Barry, Tommy, Joe Patuto – we were part of history guys. Regardless of how or when we finished, this is with us now for the rest of our lives, something we can keep our heads up and talk about for years to come. More importantly, we’ll all be out there again. The B.A.A. has already announced next year’s 118th running will take place, and record registrations have already been charted. The coward responsible for this heinous act underestimated the human spirit, but what’s worse for him/her, he/she underestimated the city of Boston and its people. We’re known to be tough for a reason, and Monday afternoon and the days following have only confirmed that reputation. We’ll be back to run it again, because we are not afraid. We run marathons – put our bodies through the exertion involved in running that distance – for leisure. We’re from Boston. Brother, you don’t stand a chance.

“Boston, you’re my home.”

Here we are… After a long time coming, the Boston Marathon is finally only a week away. For those of you starting to get worn down by the constant talk of it from us deranged people who find these kinds of things fun, just bear with us: it’s almost all over! Without a single iota of sarcasm or tongue-in-cheek here, I want to tell you that training these six months has been one of the highlights of my athletic life so far, with the jewel on the crown looking to come right about this time next week as one sweaty, aching, dehydrated, disorientated mess of a 19 year old crosses the finish line on Boylston Street. Bring your camera, I know. Now, I know it’s still very pre-mature to be making my Sally Field acceptance speeches here (“You really really like me!”), but finish or no, at the back of the pack or a with surprise upset of the Kenyans, I want to send out a huge thank you to quite a lot of people.

First, to my mom, sister and dog… You three have patiently watched and mercifully held back on telling me what a lunatic I’ve become as I descended into slow insanity over the past few months and actually started enjoying going the long distances. I know next Monday, you three will be the loudest, most fantastic spectators on the course out of a field of millions. I’ll be looking for you!

Secondly and hugely important: The E-Streeters. Not the ones you’re probably thinking of… Springsteen and his band were across seas touring for most of this training season. These guys are a little less known by all except perhaps the nearby state penitentiaries and police departments (kidding…), but regardless, there is no single other group I’d have rather trained with for this race. Somehow they were able to make waking up at UNGODLY hours every Saturday morning, driving to some remote starting point and running 2+ hours – often in the FREEZING %$#^ COLD and on hills that made Mt. Washington look like a slight incline in comparison – an absolute highlight of each and every week. The jokes never stopped coming, and through it all we were able to keep what little already remained of our self-esteem. Two especially – the brothers Scanlon, Barry and Tommy – I want to send a special shout-out to and wish especial luck next Monday.They’re the only two crazy enough to sign up with me to trek the whole 26.2, cracking jokes the entire way that belong in any comedy hall of fame. We joke about it a lot, but I can only hope to be as in-shape as you guys are when I get to that age. First one in buys dinner?

“And last… But certainly not least…Do I have to say his name? Do I have to say his name?? The King of the World! Emperor of the North Pole!” The Big Man himself, my dad Pat Cook. Even though he’s sitting out this year’s race (give the guy a break… he’s already done seven), he showed up for the long runs every Saturday morning with a totally new course for us all to run on. Through his catrographer skills, the E-Streeters made their way through an astounding THIRTY-SIX towns and cities in MA and NH over the winter. That’s a whole lot of town line races! He’s been my most tireless supporter and coach through all of this, and I can only say I am where I am today because of him – and that’s not exclusive to running, either. I’ve said it in other places but just to re-iterate, this one’s totally for you dad. See you out there at the Wellesley College girls. Please, take your time getting there though…

As they say, the hay’s in the barn, the die’s been cast, ladies and gentlemen it’s all over now but for the crying!! I’ll be checking in again next week to tell you how we all ended up, then the blog’ll get back to its usual HC-related material. Wish me luck!!!!!

Top o’ the [insert current time of day] to ye! Halfway through the unbelievably short school month that is March and we find ourselves at yet another St. Patrick’s day on Holy Hill. The holiday and traditions are HUGE around here and have always been especially so with me, coming from a bleeding-green Irish family as I do; it’s almost funny to me keeping in mind that most other places around the country aren’t such enthusiastic shillelagh-carriers as us Greater Bostonians. As one girl from California put it to me in Kimball the other day, “We usually just wear like a green t-shirt or something…”

Having only just recently lived through it a second time here at Holy Cross, though, there’s no other way for me to describe it to outsiders as anything less than the single best weekend of the year on campus – even to those in denial of having a single drop of Irish blood in their body! A bunch of friends and I got together this weekend for the Irish Olympics, and it-was-a-BLAST.

Don't we inspire fear?

Prof. Parrott's Latin class team, ready to run!

Public-Safety and other higher administration officials did another fantastic job of making sure no-one was having too much fun… Enormous thanks and appreciation to them all, yet again! And Kimball made sure that not one green-garbed belly went without the customary St. Patrick’s day fare of corned beef and cabbage, serving it up with all due proper tradition Sunday night to a hungry campus. I lost count at plate number seven.

And, with only ONE MONTH to go until the big dance, the Boston Marathon itself, I couldn’t let the weekend go by without pounding the pavement. If you’re up for the distances and know your way around, there are some STUNNING running loops around the Greater Worcester area. Today’s took me past the Holden Reservoir and up into the tiny town of Paxton, my second home where I’ve been visiting my grandparents since birth. And at journey’s end: more corned beef! These Irish eyes were certainly smiling… because this Irish mouth was way too busy eating!!!

Scenery fit for the Emerald Isle itself

Hello to all and congratulations: if you’re reading this, you’ve successfully made it through the Blizzard of ’13! Things were a bit tundra-esque here at Holy Cross Friday night into Saturday morning, and the green campus we’d all been accustomed to was buried deep beneath drifts of the powdery white stuff when all was said and done. We New Englanders (and many of you honorary ones) are hardy folk, though, and it’ll take more than a snowstorm named after a plucky Pixar character to do us in. On a side note – since when have snow storms had names? Certainly not in my lifetime, I can tell you that much. I hear the next one coming is named Wall-E…

Between the essay on imitation in Plato’s Republic and the second half of Pride and Prejudice both due for Tuesday, I’m sorry to say this blog will be on the shorter side. I really just want to take this opportunity, firstly, to post up some of the pics taken in the storm’s aftermath. The already stately grounds look even more impressive under snow and there are calendar-worthy shots basically any which way you point a camera. Second and more importantly, I want to send out a deep and heartfelt thanks to the entire Holy Cross staff who braved the conditions for the sake of the campus and everyone on it – a feeling I know to be shared by many. Public Safety and ResLife going above and beyond to ensure everyone remained safe while the storm raged outside; the OUTSTANDING Kimball Dining staff who were able to feed the entire campus Friday night when all other dining options had closed up shop before actually spending the night in Lower Kimball to make sure we had food waiting for us come Saturday morning; the incredible Grounds Crew, who spent all of Saturday and Sunday shoveling the campus out from beneath drifts of snow that were yards-deep in places (an effort I assisted in all Saturday afternoon, giving me the grounds to truly appreciate just how heinous it can be shoveling a campus with more staircases than some smaller third-world countries); you’re all known to be bar-setting at any given time, and over the past weekend you simply shattered it. My tremendous thanks again!

Yes. The snow was literally coming in the doors.

That's a LOT of steps to shovel. Take my word for it.

P.S. All this snow helped me check off a bucket list item I’ve  had literally since sending in the application letter to come here: KIMBALL TRAY SLEDDING! Those suckers get AIR going down Freshman Field at 60mph, turns out. An absolute blast, and a must to any one who still hasn’t tried it.

Happy 2013 everyone! It’s the last week of the Christmas break here, and since I’ve caught up on all the TV shows and pleasure reading I’d fallen behind on, I’m all out of excuses not to update the blog. While the excess amounts of sleeping, eating and just lazing around I’ve been doing in general are blog-worthy material if ever there was any, to be sure, I want to keep up the appearance that I’ve actually done something with my life during the vacation here. So, ladies and gentlemen, read on and prepare to enjoy the best exercise blog you’ll ever read. Today. On this website. By this author.

Those of you looking for the kinds of workouts responsible for churning out the gladiators featured on the Starz Channel’s Spartacus (to be kept away from children at ALL costs, by Jupiter) will be sadly disappointed here. MY kind of Classical Greco-Roman athlete is the Athenian soldier who ran the 26.2 miles from the Plains of Marathon into the Athens city-center to deliver his message of victory, a feat I hope to accomplish this coming April in Boston; my attempt will hopefully not culminate with Pheidippides’ fatal heart attack (fingers crossed), and I personally prefer running in Saucony shoes instead of his trademark “NIKE!!!!!” but I digress.

For those of you with more humble aspirations, here are some of the best reasons I’ve encountered over the years to keep you motivated towards pounding the pavement (or treadmill, if you must):

1) Runners get the best shoes! Footstrike and stride are two huge factors and obviously change from person to person, but a dedicated runner usually racks up a new pair of shoes ever six months or so, just as the old pair is wearing down. There are some pretty funky colors out there, and showing off your swag (an area I know soooo much about) during a run is always fun.

Case in point. Fingers crossed, these suckers will be the ones to carry me across the Boston finish line!

2) The most obvious of any reason I can give, running EXPONENTIALLY improves your health. Back in elementary and middle school, I came down with some kind of serious cold basically with every new moon cycle. Since I started running freshman year of high school, I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve been that sick. Of more practicality to me at the moment: as anyone who’s ever visited Holy Cross can tell you, the hills are monstrous, and you take any help you can get in climbing up them. Solid leg muscles created through running are as good a help as anything I can think of, and if it lets me get from Kimball to Lehy just a little more easily, I count that as a resounding success. 

3) A runner’s fridge is always well-stocked. After some-odd miles of hard exertion, nothing spells relief to a runner like G-A-T-O-R-A-D-E. Or Powerade… or Vitamin Water. Whichever one wants to offer this humble blog an endorsement – to the winner goes the spoils!!

As you can see, I have a drinking problem

 4) To me, this one’s the kicker. Say, for example, two of your hobbit friends are kidnapped and you need to quickly travel across the New Zealand landscape for the entire opening of a movie to rescue them. Or, as my friend The Doctor here will show you, say you’re being chased down by a group of Cybermen… What are you gonna do??? Well, friends, if you can call yourself a runner, the problem’s already solved.

 I’ve run out of TV/movie references to throw in at this point, and if I’ve done my job right you’re lacing up your shoes as you read this. If not, what are you doing??? The Cybermen are coming!! Get outa here!!

Need I say more?

As any of you who’ve ever met me know all too well, I’m a little obsessed with all things J.R.R. Tolkien. I grew up reverently watching Peter Jackson’s Lord of the Rings movies, and it’s no understatement to say I’ve been anticipating the upcoming Hobbit film literally since  the announcement trailer dropped LAST December. I certainly think there’s a hobbit-y streak in all of us, myself especially. I’m very relaxed, enjoy a nice quiet lifestyle, and the grocery stores and restaurants of the Greater Lowell Area all rejoice when their greatest patron returns come home for breaks.

Many of you more sane folks are undoubtedly rolling your eyes right now at the latest in my long line of Middle Earth rants. There’s a point to this one, though, I swear, else I wouldn’t let all of you in on how truly strange I actually am. As any of you heading off to this movie will soon find out, the eponymous hobbit, Bilbo Baggins, is pretty ironclad in his routines and habits when first we meet him. Rule #1 with him is comfort; nothing strange, intimidating, frightening, new. Adventures of any sort are, “nasty, disturbing things. Make one late for dinner!”

While I’ve already established what a willing and able citizen of the Shire I’d become, contracting this mindset was my greatest fear entering sophomore year here at HC. Falling into the dreaded, “sophomore slump,” and becoming the latest victim of its fatal tendencies was a danger I was constantly wary of at summer’s end. I can honestly and happily say I’ve entirely avoided it – if maybe not in the way I would’ve expected to.

As spectacular as last year was for me, I made conscious efforts in avoiding a repeat performance of it. It’s actually kinda funny to me now looking at my biography page and seeing how much of it has changed in just such a short time. Just off the cuff:

• I’m no longer running as a Crusader, but I’m training pretty rigorously on my own to run 2013’s Boston Marathon. The training so far has been phenomenal, and I actually managed to notch my first half marathon in my belt a few weeks ago with my dad and all his “E-Streeter” running buds.
• I’m involved in the Admissions Outreach program now, where I greet families here on campus who’ve come for tours or interviews. It’s a fantastic department and a great way to pass on some Purple Pride to hopeful future Crusaders.
• I started working shifts at Kimball Dining Hall. Feeling I’d mooched enough without giving anything back, I signed onto Kimball’s payroll, and I’ve had an incredible time working behind the scenes in the kitchens alongside some phenomeal people whom I’m privileged to have worked with. The shift captain, actually, is one of the biggest Springsteen nuts I’ve ever met besides myself, and he managed to catch the Boss on tour this year in Barcelona – Barcelona!!
• I’m just a straight English major now. It was a long, soul-searching, meandering way to get there, but for my entire life multiple sources near and dear to my heart have always told me to find what I’m good at and then run with it. Some solid advice, no?

So that’s about it! Adjusting to a lot of these new changes, along with just working through that everyday thing called life, the blog here has been a little neglected, and I apologize for that to my faithful readers (the millions of you out there). Since I have a lull in studying for finals this week though (or maybe to distract me from it) I just figured I’d throw this one together and clue you all in. And worry not: if it seems like everything’s gone wayward out into left field, the important things are all the same. Campus remains one of the most scenic locations I’ve ever been to, even after an entire year and a half of living here – ESPECIALLY at Christmas time. O’Kane, Kimball and the rest leave no flabber un-gasted in showing their holiday spirit with an enthusiasm that makes finals season almost bearable!

I still hold onto my bucket list dream of sliding down Freshman Field hill by the time I graduate, an opportunity I plan to seize at the first possible chance. If only we had some old-style New England snow!!!
And most importantly, I still have the most unbelievable friend group I could have imagined here in the dorms. If anything, it’s grown and expanded, due largely to my involvement in different groups and new workplaces. I can only wish everyone entering into their college years the same luck.

So hopefully I’ve been able to pass on a few pearls of wisdom to you through my own experiences here this semester. Life’s too short to be boring or complacent! With New Years’ resolutions and such soon approaching, get yourself out of any rutts you find yourself in. If, say, thirteen dwarves and a wizard coming knocking on your door… get out there with them!! You’ll forever regret it if you don’t!!

Hello there everyone!
Been a busy couple of weeks here but – for the second year in a row – there’s a hurricane in these parts!!! Turns out all it takes for Holy Cross to cancel classes is a Category I storm like Sandy here, which means I finally have the time to sit down and crank one of these out and update you all on my goings-on. These past couple of days were parent’s weekend here on the Hill, and if that’s not blog worthy material I don’t know what is.

To kick things off, the Boss was in town last Thursday night… Or fine, not EXACTLY in town, but close enough that we’d still gladly make the journey to see him. My dad and his E-Streeter buddies came down and picked me up right at the door of the campus center and we all continued on our way down to Hartford CT, where Angelino’s Italian restaurant and the hard-rockin’, pants-droppin’, earth-quakin’, booty-shakin’, history makin’, LEGENDARY E-Street band awaited. I’ve gone in tow to over a dozen Springsteen shows at this point and I’ve been listening to him since literally birth, and the man still does not disappoint. He was moving around that stage at 63 with an energy I’m not sure I have at 19, and it made for yet another truly incredible show that supplied the 17,000-strong audience with bone-deep cuts into Springsteen’s ever-expanding catalogue of 40+ years of material and no shortage of goosebumps. My RA was actually in the crowd too, and we were able to bump into each other after the show. Both Springsteen vets, all we had to do was look at each other and smile; it’s an experience I can’t recommend highly enough to anyone still unawares, especially those in my own generation.

The obligatory Father-Son pic. Fantastic memories all around. Bruce even posed for us in the background!

Then, a few days later, the rest of the family packed up the car with tailgate food and made their way down to Freshman Field for our second annual family weekend football tailgate! My roommate Martin and I trekked down the absurdly steep slopes of Mt. St. James to meet up with them and our longtime family friends, the Cassidys. I think we should pause for a moment of silence here to commemorate all those who lost their footing on the slippery inclines of the Hill that day, my roommate included. The many wet pant seats that day served as testament to their sacrifice.

The gentlemen of Lehy 127 with the HC Green Monster behind them.

Decent people that we are, we of course spent the rest of the day in eager anticipation of unfortunate tailgaters to come roll-roll-rolling down the slopes.

From there, we moved into Fitton Field to watch the Crusaders take on the Fordham Rams before a packed house, with my main group of friends and their respective families all present and showing their ‘Sader spirit. All of us met in Wheeler last year and most of us live in Lehy this year, so we’ve all gotten to know each other like family and hang out constantly. And of course, the Crusader himself was there to make sure that everyone was at their most enthusiastic!

Sadly, the ‘Saders lost (again) in the last few seconds of play, but it was a fun day nevertheless. Afterwards, in one of the most surreal experiences I’ve had yet at HC, I took my mom, dad and sister up to Kimball for dinner. HC Dining proved itself yet again, and all three went home with full stomachs and the the knowledge that I’m never in danger of going hungry here – even with a meal schedule that Pippin Took himself would be proud of. Elevensies anyone?

I’ll leave you with a so long for now, and more importantly, stay safe everyone! Sandy may be one of Springsteen’s more gentle love ballads, but she’s not one to be caught out in unprepared!

And a P.S. : Even though the Crusaders were unable to walk away with a win, the day was far from complete loss. In fact, the future has never looked brighter for the football team, as a star quarterback has been unveiled!! She has a LOT of work to do before she makes it to the big-times, but I think she’s definitely worth a second glance by any scouts. Eat your heart out Tom Brady.

Hello everyone! Halfway through my fourth week of sophomore year now and everything is still going fantastically well: classes, professors, the dorm room, Kimball, everything, it couldn’t be better. Rather than being selfish and elaborating on any of these things, however, I figured I wouldn’t bore you and instead I’d give my own personal perspective on a piece of bona fide Holy Cross history that happened last week.

This last Friday, I was truly honored to be a part of the inauguration of Rev. Philip L. Boroughs as the 32nd president of Holy Cross, however small it was. In the days preceding it, there was that tangible sense of preparation on campus that comes when you know something big is about to happen. Busloads of Jesuits and other high-ranking academics from across the country – and even, in some cases, from places outside of it – began arriving on campus; the grounds, which are immaculate in normal circumstances anyways, looked like something out of a lawn and garden magazine; circular tabes lined the walls of Kimball, waiting for the normal long tables to be removed for the Presidential banquet the following day.

You could tell something was REALLY happening when professors across campus began cancelling Friday afternoon classes, leaving everyone free to watch the ceremonies. And man, Holy Cross did not disappoint. Attendance at this wasn’t mandatory, but hundreds (if not more!) of students came from every year to show their support. T-shirts were generously distributed to anyone who decided to show up, and so the sidewalk from the door of the Hogan Center all the way up the hill to the Hart Center was one continous line of red – ON BOTH SIDES.

The academic dignitaries who had arrived over the prior few days and Holy Cross trustees and faculty marched through the crimson corridor decked out in their professorial caps and gowns; it really was pretty impressive. With this entourage, and the accompaniment of the Holy Cross marching band as they played the victory theme from Star Wars, Father Boroughs walked proudly up the hill to overwhelming applause all the way. As a nice touch, previous president Father McFarland walked mere steps away from his successor, beaming all the way and drawing some of  the biggest applause of the day from students.

Once inside the Hart Center, on a stage built specifically for the occasion and with an enormous Holy Cross seal as the backdrop, digitaries from local and state government, fellow Worcester Consortium presidents, Jesuit leaders from across the country and current students all lent their voice in welcoming Fr. Boroughs. John DeGioia, President of Georgetown University, delivered the inauguration address before handing the podium over to Fr. Boroughs himself. With the Holy Cross choir and ceremonial orchestra on hand for the afternoon’s music, it truly was a flawless occasion from start to finish.

Here’s wishing the best of luck to Fr. Boroughs as he starts his tenure, Holy Cross is an amazing place and we’re backing you all the way!!

Hey there everyone!
Posts over the summer were scattered at best, and there’ve been a few blogs now that have gone away from Holy Cross in their subject matter – and not for lack of trying on the college’s part, I promise you. It’s a perfect time to jump straight back into things now though, in more ways than one. So without further ado, welcome to sophmore year everyone!

With the end of summer completely free from work and other committments, I had more than enough time to charge up and prepare for move-in, a luxury I didn’t have last year. With big things like these, it really does make all the difference in the world working everything out and buying supplies with time to spare (perishable goods aside, please). While last year was a blast, the whirlwind of new people, new places and just new life in general made it a little hard to appreciate the experience at the time, especially with some other outside circumstances piled on top. This year, I know every single person in my hall as a close friend, let alone my roommate, and the amazing Holy Cross housing selection process had allowed us to go in and pick the specific ROOM we wanted at selection time, not just the dorm . Talk about a turnaround.

All through a really fantastic summer, then, I’d been looking forward to moving back up. Now seasoned pros, my family and I packed everything into the back of my car and headed down to Worcester, with none of the anxiety that had accompanied us (and every first-time family) into freshman year. Move-in itself was a breeze, and we had the cars unloaded and the room completely set up within the space of an hour. A quick walk around campus to remind the parents of all the hill climbs they’d be missing out on and then it was back up the Hogan lot for some goodbyes – much easier on Mom this year I think. After all, I’d survived through the first one, how hard can the second one be?

Let’s find out!

So it’s August 2nd, which means it’s less than four weeks now until move-in at Lehy Dorm…. What??? Where did the summer go??

Since it’s flying by so fast, I can only say I’m glad I’ve been making the most of it so far. To this end (well actually, it was last year’s Christmas present, but technicalities…) my girlfriend Mary and I went to Coldplay this last weekend!! I’m a generation behind in a lot of my music tastes, but Coldplay is the one band my generation and I agree readily upon. On College Hill, Chris Martin’s soaring falsetto voice is a common sound pouring out of many different dorm rooms, my own included. I’ve had many dinner conversations at Kimball with my neighbor and track buddy from across the hall at Wheeler (who went to the show the night after my own) doing a track-by-track dissection of their newest album, the cryptically-named Mylo Xyloto.

Before showtime, Mary and I spent the day in Boston and ate dinner in the city’s amazing North End section. Of course, no trip to the North End would count without a stop at Mike’s Pastries. During the course of the school year my friends and I from Holy Cross made many trips to this historic bakery, and I guarantee you there will be MANY more in the coming months.

On to the show! I’ve been to more than my fair share of concerts and I’ve seen acts ranging from Springsteen to U2 to the Dropkick Murphys. As outstanding as each of these were in their own way – especially Springsteen, who I’m seeing again in two weeks at Fenway Park and Gillette Stadium (blog to follow) – they all basically amounted to the band doing their respective gigs on a pretty bare flatbed stage.
Coldplay, on the other hand, draws the line just short of lighting off live indoor fireworks. Lasers that require permission from air traffic control when the band plays outside, a balloon avalanche, glow-in-the-dark confetti blizzards, inflatable props scattered throughout the arena, a host of glowing projection screens – all of these things and more are present in plenty when Chris Martin et al come to town.

Speaking of Coldplay’s much-adored frontman, his performance last Sunday night can best be described as a lovechild of Bono and Richard Simmons. Delivering his trademark anthemic choruses to an accompaniment of Boston Garden’s 20,000, Chris Martin jumped, bounced, slid, danced, dove, strutted, spun and sprinted around every possible square inch of his stage; not a person in the audience would have been surprised if Martin broke into spontaneous jumping-jacks or pushups during a verse of “Viva la Vida.”

There were plenty of laughs as Martin mistakenly botched the words to the piano ballad “Warning Sign” before stopping the song altogether. “I was thinking about the Olympics,” Martin sheepishly apologized, drawing enormous cheers from the crowd. What came next drew even more – and is now raising some eyebrows – as Martin proclaimed, “F*** the Olympics, we’re having a f***ing great time in Boston tonight!!” And indeed we were.

The special highlight of the evening came from the audience, however – specifically, on the multi-colored, glowing “Xylobands” clamped around everyone’s wrists. Controlled by a Coldplay technician to sync in time with the music played on stage, the Xylobands transformed the Garden into a neon-colored nighttime sky spread across the arena. Watching 20,00o bands of light jump in unison to the chorus of “Charlie Brown” will remain with me for quite a while.

Instead of detracting from or obscuring the foursome themselves, these kinds of special effects enhanced Coldplay’s already significant charm and made for one of the most truly unforgettable concert experiences I’ve ever had. They’ve only been around for a decade or so, but (in my mind anyways) Coldplay has already cemented itself as one of the all-time biggest stadium bands in the industry. With their perfectly tailored sing-a-long choruses, new-generation U2 soundscapes and a seemingly endless bag of incredible crowd-pleasing tricks, I’m eagerly awaiting Coldplay’s next stop in the area. Well done boys. 

P.S. A special recognition to the Holy Cross Oxfam group who were able to meet the band backstage after the concert (Oxfam is Coldplay’s most active charitable project). I’m incredibly jealous of all of you!