All right, as this college football season winds to a close, since it appears that we are all going to have to live with awakened echoes and shaken thunder again, and since it appears that all the people who had kept the blue Sansabelt slacks emblazoned with the tiny green shamrocks in the back of the closet for nearly a decade will be hauling them back out, and since it appears that more phony Irish memorabilia once again will be peddled from the benighted hamlet of South Bend in Indiana than is peddled at the duty-free in Shannon Airport, we might as well get the whole movie thing out of the way right now.
The essential Notre Dame movie is Knute Rockne — All American, period. It is not, God help us, Rudy, which is a passel of unreconstructed mythopoeic bullpucky even by the standards of the university in question, which are considerable.
Make no mistake. We are going to have to deal with the lore again, God help us, because we are going to have to deal with this stubborn, tough football team.