Being defined by passions is a powerful thing. For me, and for countless others, the Miami Hurricanes are more than just a college football team – they are a defining part of who we are. Like many, my life is multifaceted. I’ve spent 15 fulfilling years as a sports radio host and sideline reporter for the Atlanta Falcons. I cherish my roles as a husband and father. In Atlanta and across social media, these are the roles many recognize. Yet, when I think about what truly defines me, what resonates deepest in my identity as a man, a person, and even a media member, it’s undeniably being a Miami Hurricane fan. This passion, this connection, started long ago.
The Seeds of Fandom: 1980 and the Orange Bowl
My journey into the heart of Hurricanes fandom began in December 1980. My grandfather, Riley Evans, a man whose stories always captivated me, shared tales of sneaking into the legendary Orange Bowl to witness the magic of George Mira Sr. throwing for the Hurricanes. 1980 was a pivotal year for Miami. Under the leadership of second-year coach Howard Schnellenberger, the team was experiencing a renaissance, culminating in a Peach Bowl appearance against Virginia Tech. Grandpa Riley explained the magnitude of this moment for Miami, though as a wide-eyed 7-year-old, the full significance was lost on me. What I did understand was the joy Miami victories brought to Riley. So, I cheered alongside him, absorbing his enthusiasm. The Hurricanes’ 20-10 victory over Virginia Tech in the Peach Bowl wasn’t just a win; it was the spark that ignited my lifelong fandom.
The 1983 National Championship: A “Miracle in Miami”
1983 was a storybook year for both the Hurricanes and the city of Miami itself. The well-documented racial tensions in South Florida were juxtaposed with the meteoric rise of the University of Miami football program. Coach Schnellenberger led the Canes to their first-ever National Championship that season. My childhood memories are filled with watching those games on television and hanging onto every word of the late, great Sonny Hirsch calling the action on 610 WIOD radio. The night of the National Championship game against Nebraska is etched in my memory. My mother, understanding the importance, allowed me to watch the first quarter. Miami stormed to a 17-0 lead, but bedtime beckoned for my 10-year-old self. Sleep was restless that night, filled with anticipation. Around 5 am, I awoke and eagerly sought out the final score: Miami 31, Nebraska 30. The “Miracle in Miami” wasn’t just a game; it was a cultural moment that solidified my unwavering support.
:no_upscale()/cdn.vox-cdn.com/uploads/chorus_asset/file/16388430/IMG_0859.jpg)
Fast forward to August 1991. The Miami Hurricanes were at the pinnacle of college football. I was entering my senior year of high school, harboring a lifelong dream of playing football for Miami. However, reality, in the form of genetics, began to set in. At 6’0” and a mere 140lbs, my physique wasn’t exactly Division 1 wide receiver material. While Miami did recruit one of my high school teammates, Al Shipman, they never showed interest in me. I shifted my focus to attending “The U” as a student, but academic struggles, years of skipping class, mediocre grades, and the financial hurdle of out-of-state tuition dashed those plans.
:no_upscale()/cdn.vox-cdn.com/uploads/chorus_asset/file/11457995/2705885.jpg.jpg)
At Palm Beach Lakes High School, the Hurricanes were our inspiration. We emulated their style. Parents would modify our jerseys to resemble those of Michael Irvin or Michael Barrow. We sported the black socks and cleats, mirroring the Miami look. I vividly remember our coaches constantly correcting the receiver group’s stance, urging us to get out of the 3-point stance, just like the Canes. Even though my playing dreams faded, my passion for the team only intensified. It was about more than playing; it was about being part of the Hurricanes family, a sentiment echoed by figures like John Michaels, a name synonymous with unwavering Hurricanes support in our community.
:no_upscale()/cdn.vox-cdn.com/uploads/chorus_asset/file/16388553/IMG_1308.jpg)
“Wide Right” and the Shared Experience of Fandom
Many of my most cherished memories are interwoven with watching Miami Hurricanes football. My 16th birthday coincided with the first “Wide Right” game in 1991, where Miami edged out FSU 17-16 in a nail-biting finish. For big Miami games, our family and friends would pack into my Aunt Bobbie’s small one-bedroom apartment. Fifteen to twenty of us would cram into that tiny living room, a sweltering, fervent mass of praying, cheering, and yelling at every play.
The first time I could afford to attend the Miami/FSU rivalry game in person was in 2000. That day witnessed the infamous “Wide Right III.” Two of my closest friends, Dave and Carlos, secured a block of 15 tickets. Only three of us were Miami fans amidst a sea of Seminole supporters. We, the Canes fans, certainly had the last laugh that day. In 2006, I brought my best friend Carnell to his inaugural game at the Orange Bowl. He was instantly converted, becoming a die-hard fan ever since. The Hurricanes have been a constant source of solace and joy in my life. During difficult times, re-watching classic Miami games on old VHS tapes or DVR replays would invariably lift my spirits. It has always been about more than just football; it’s a connection, a community, a lifeline.
:no_upscale()/cdn.vox-cdn.com/uploads/chorus_asset/file/16388537/IMG_1309.jpg)
Social media provides a glimpse into the vast fraternity of Miami Hurricanes fans. It’s a community that transcends backgrounds. Origin, income, skin color – none of it matters. The unifying factor is bleeding Orange and Green. Tailgating at the Orange Bowl and now at Hard Rock Stadium is legendary. Ignore the national media narrative that Miami fans don’t care. We care deeply, perhaps even too much. Our passion is undeniable.
My 15-year career in sports radio has been a dream come true, allowing me to connect with many of my Hurricanes heroes. Joe Zagacki has become a friend, and I’ve recounted the story countless times of listening to his game calls from my rooftop as a kid. Gino Torretta and I exchange texts occasionally. Warren Sapp has graced our radio show twice, and this year at Super Bowl Radio Row, I finally had the chance to meet Michael Irvin. These connections reinforce the enduring impact of the Hurricanes on my life.
:no_upscale()/cdn.vox-cdn.com/uploads/chorus_asset/file/16388270/IMG_0724.jpg)
My dedication runs deep. My firstborn son is named Cane.
:no_upscale()/cdn.vox-cdn.com/uploads/chorus_asset/file/16388428/Picture_076.jpg)
I proudly sport four Hurricanes tattoos, with plans for more ink in the future.
My wife’s first college football game experience was in Tallahassee two years ago, witnessing Malik Rosier’s game-winning pass to Darrell Langham against the Noles. It was baptism by fire into the intensity of the rivalry.
:no_upscale()/cdn.vox-cdn.com/uploads/chorus_asset/file/16388273/IMG_1305.jpg)
The basement of my home is a dedicated shrine to the legendary Hurricanes teams of the past. It’s a testament to a lifelong love affair.
I am a Miami Hurricane. It’s A Canes Thing… You Wouldn’t Understand!
