This was the Olympics, and the goofy-looking guy with "USA" on his back (and a baseball cap on his head -- even during the national anthem, which later required a public apology) was wearing a gold medal. His name was Dave Wottle, and thanks to my dad's words, this track star became my very first athletic hero. After all, he was from MY hometown.

Okay, not technically. I couldn't tell you where Dave Wottle was born if my life depended on it -- but to my 6-year-old logic, since he was a BG student, he was a BG native, and I was damn proud. Thus began what has become a lifelong love affair (some would argue obsession) with Falcon athletics.

The names are embedded in my memories as firmly as my sister's birthday or my mother's maiden name -- Phil Villiapiano and Jeff Groth, Mike Liut and Dave Ellet, Joe Faine and Marcus Newbern ... all part of Falcon athletic lore, and for one recent graduate of that very same Bowling Green State University, all part of growing up.

What follows, then, is a kind of mental scrapbook, a mish-mash of memories -- you won't find many numbers in this essay, for while statistics are an integral part of athletics, they can no more tell the story of a person's memories than can a work of art be judged by telephone. The people of Bowling Green athletics are what remain with me, from the heroes of my youth to the classmates of more recent times -- and everything possible in between.

Where to start? The same place all athletic contests begin: with the face-off, with the tip-off, on the pitcher's mound, with the coin flip at the 50-yard line. In short ... in the middle.

When I was a junior in high school, I spent much of my free time at school defending my politics and my sports loyalties; St. John's High School in south Toledo is about 99.6 percent Republican and even more fervently supportive of the University of Toledo Rockets.

Thus, while the majority of my classmates were spending 1982 glorying in a Reagan presidency and screaming for Rocket quarterback Jim Kelso to take UT back to the California Bowl, I was fervently trying to scrape well-intentioned, yet ill-fated "Anderson for President" stickers off of my locker and praying that (and this is my favorite BG football name of all time) the Dayne Palsgrove-led Falcons could rebound from a disappointing 5-5-1 campaign in 1981.

When not commuting up to school, I was working part-time at -- appropriately, I suppose -- "The Falcon House" athletic supply outlet. One Saturday afternoon as I was stamping price tags on boxes of running shoes, my boss switched on the radio to listen to the BG football opener against Ohio University. I was appreciative of that, especially since I was kind of depressed that I wouldn't actually be at the game, as an old schoolmate, Art McCormick, was the Bobcats' regular punter.

Art got plenty of work that day.

Bowling Green stormed to a 40-0 victory in such a dominating fashion that starting QB Palsgrove played only the first half before giving way to a green freshman for second half mop-up duty. I've often wondered if Dayne ever regretted letting coach Denny Stolz sit him down that Saturday, in much the same manner that old-time New York Yankee first baseman Wally Pipp must have regretted letting a kid named Lou Gehrig take his place one afternoon in the Bronx. By the end of the second half, the kid quarterback had shown Ohio University, the fans and, most importantly, Coach Stolz that he might want to reconsider who his starting signal-caller would be the next week against Western Michigan.

By the end of the year, Palsgrove had willingly moved to wide receiver (there was no other way he was going to get any playing time), and the kid had taken Bowling Green to that California Bowl II the Toledoans were so counting on. The kid's name, in case you haven't figured it out yet, was Brian McClure; and 10,000-plus passing yards, 34 wins, and a Buffalo Bills jersey later, he would be recognized around the nation as the greatest player ever to take a snap in a Mid-American Conference football game. And when it all started, I was selling shoes.

Toledo. I've already mentioned the personal rivalry I had to deal with all through high school (and again now that I've moved to T-town on a more permanent basis), but only a native Bowling Greener (Greenite? Greenian? What the hell is it, anyway?) can truly appreciate the intensity of feeling toward that other school up north that a student can only get a taste of in four or five years at BGSU.

The nuns always taught me that "hate" was a mortal sin, so I will eschew using that word in describing my feelings for the University of Toledo. Instead, perhaps this: intensely personal loathing, wrapped in mutual dislike bounded by general distaste and scorn.

You think I'm kidding? When I was a sophomore in high school, I cried for an hour when John Weinert's hoop squad couldn't hit the last shot in a heart-breaking loss to the evil men in blue and gold -- and I was only watching the game on TV! I tried to explain to mom why I couldn't go to school the next day (for some odd reason, Toledo fans seem to feel the same way about BG people as we do about them), but she made me go face the gauntlet anyway.

The next time I was a sophomore (at BGSU, that is), for the first time in my life I witnessed goalposts being torn down (hell, I HELPED tear down goalposts) after a wonderful 20-0 victory over -- who else? -- Toledo. It was an MAC title-clinching victory in the midst of what would later be dubbed the "perfect" 1985 season (I put "perfect" in quotes because though we finished 11-0, apparently there was some game played in California at the end of the season that no true Falcon fan can remember the score of) and while our cheerleaders were chanting "ten and oh! ten and oh!" we exuberant orange-and-brown backers seated behind the UT bench were shouting in unison "three and seven! three and seven!" in honor of the 1985 Rocket effort.

But who could blame us? A shutout win, clinching the league title, at home, over our hated (sorry, Sisters!) arch-rival? It had to have been the highlight of the season.

Well, not quite. Earlier in the year, there was this little matter of what one overstating sophomore BG News columnist called "The Greatest Football Game Ever Played," and it had come against that other hated arch-rival, the Miami Redskins. The swing of emotions that happened then seems almost surreal now.

Falcons lead 7-3, late second quarter ... McClure will throw, incomplete ... wait, he's hurt! Brian is down! He's not moving ... They're carrying him off the field ... Goodbye, California Bowl! ... Now at quarterback for the Falcons, #12, Rick Neiman ... Who's that? Oh jeez, he's only thrown two passes in his whole life! ... "And with just two minutes remaining in the game, the score now Miami 24, Bowling Green 14."

Time to pack it up and go home, dreams of an undefeated season dashed in the year's third game, and first at home ... "Neiman just threw a touchdown pass" ... "That's nice, the score will look better on the news tonight ... where's my coat?" ... "We got it! WE GOT IT!"

I had never seen an onside kick work before. But the elated screams of my pal Woody seated next to me (especially as he lifted me from my seat by the neck) convinced me and 20,000 some other fans that maybe this Falcon squad had a little magic left over from the previous week's stunning win over Kentucky.

They did. Neiman trotted confidently onto the field, and suddenly in the course of some 90 seconds, the 24-14 deficit had metamorphised into a 28-24 lead. When a last-second desperation Miami pass into the end zone was knocked away, what has since been dubbed "The Miami Miracle" was reality, and we fans were hugging complete strangers, screaming ourselves hoarse, yelling inane things like "Bring on Miami of FLORIDA!"

It's one of those funny things about athletics -- the crowd psychology can really bring a diverse group of people together, if only for an afternoon. And for that one Saturday in October 1985, though not one of us fans played a single down of that game, we all spent the rest of the day feeling pretty good about ourselves.

Hey, Rick Neiman, wherever you are ... thanks for the memories.

And the football names and memories continue: Mike Wright and Mark Miller ... Gehad Youssef and "Fuzzy" Zeller ... "Dirty" Johnson and "Cowboy" Jones ... Dave Preston and Bernard White ... Martin Bayless and Gerry Bayless ... Chip Otten and Mike Otten ...

Maybe this idea of "crowd psychology" shouldn't surprise me. Any self-respecting shrink could write a book about "The Abnormal Crowd" after just a weekend or two of Bowling Green hockey, especially should he opt to sit in the infamous Section A.

I'll never forget my first Bowling Green hockey game -- I was just 12 years old, and my dear old dad decided to brave the elements and the students to take me to the 1977-78 NCAA quarterfinal game at The Ice Arena with No Name to see the Falcon icers take on Colorado College.

Mike Hartman. Mark Wells. John Markell. These were the rough-and-tumble icers playing for then-BG coach Ron Mason (yes, that Ron Mason), and my sixth-grade mind was overwhelmed at the overflow crowd that spilled into the aisles and onto the floor. Thank God we had reserved seats! It would be another seven years before I was ready to throw body blocks in order to get seats "on the glass."

I don't think I entirely understood hockey at the time, but there were some things I did grasp -- like the odd people to our right (that would be Section A) who called themselves "The Bleacher Creatures" and the rhythmic chant that began midway through the victorious third period: "Providence! PROVI- DENCE!" No, it wasn't a prayer of thanks, but instead an acknowledgement of BG's destination -- Providence, R.I., to face Boston College in the NCAA semi-finals. A tough loss ensued, crushing any national championship hopes, leaving Falcon fans to settle for third in the nation. But the best was yet to come.

Mason left, lured away by that green and white school in Michigan, and Jerry York came on to lead the Falcons through some tough years. But the new coach brought in some pretty good young players, with names like Duncan and Galley, Wansbrough and Cavallini (and a cocky goalie named Kruzich) -- and then, it was 1984.

My senior year in high school, and it all came together for the Falcon icers. I still get chills every time I picture the moment and hear the call ... "Just over seven minutes gone in the fourth overtime, this is the longest game EVER played in NCAA hockey history ... Duluth with the puck in the BG zone, Danny Kane takes it away, he's on a two on one to his left for Gino ... Cavallini SCORES!!! Bowling Green State University is the NATIONAL CHAMPION!" I went to school the next Monday with a smile broader than I ever thought possible -- when was the last time Toledo had ever won any kind of national title?

The hockey memories are perhaps the most powerful of all simply because of the incredible emotion that can be felt inside that Ice Arena. Maybe it's that crowd mentality again, but there's nothing quite like it: "Who's he? Nobody!" ... "That's debatable!" ... "Hey Kruizer, when's the baby due?" ... "Go green, go white, go suck an egg!" It's all part of Section A.

But perhaps the most memorable of all chants came on Feb. 27, 1987, in the first round of the CCHA playoffs against Ferris State.

Ferris was outmatched that Friday night, right down to their freshman goalie, young Mike Williams. Williams actually played a pretty good game, but as it is the nature of the Section A animal to pick on the opposing goalie, every time there was a score we would yell "sieve!" or some similar such cleverness. Then Williams surrendered two quick goals, and we sitting in the front row of section A were suddenly inspired.

Together, Mark, Woody, Donny, John and I (and numerous others) started the rhythmic chant "Mi-key! Mi-key! Soon all 3,000 fans had joined in; it sounded a little like a massive "Life" cereal commercial! A friend later told me that while listening to the game on the car radio, she had been unable to hear the play-by-play because our chanting was so loud. And as the game clock wound down, John sitting next to me took advantage of a moment of silence to yell at the Ferris goalie, "Yo, Mikey! Just think -- you only have three more years of this!"

Such is life as a Bowling Green hockey fan.

The hockey names and memories go on: Wally Charko ("Hey Wally! Pay attention!") and Brian Stankiewicz ... fellow Bowling Greeners (Greenians? ... whatever!) Tom Shirkey and Steve Dickinson and Eddie Powers ... George "Hobey Baker" McPhee and Brian "Shoulda Been" Hills ... Olympians Kenny Morrow and Mark Wells ... Paul (Will you please decide how we should pronounce your last name?) Ysebaert and Paul Titanic ... George Roll and Mike Pikul (If we only had a guy named "Hamburger") ... Andy "Shorthanded" Gribble and Tom "Funny Guy" Pratt ...

Despite the sometimes mystical aura surrounding Bowling Green's hockey program, I have always been of the vocal minority that, when there is a hockey game at the same time as a basketball game, will unhesitatingly opt for a trip to Anderson Arena. Basketball has always been my passion, and growing up I wanted nothing more than to some day follow in the footsteps of Rosie Barnes and David Greer and play point guard for the Falcons.

As one of the last cuts from the St. John's freshman squad in 1980 that dream died quickly, but the loyalty is still there. As a faithful participant in the BGSU basketball camps, I learned to shoot a jump shot from Bill Faine, who scored 1,055 points in his Falcon career, and was thrown out of a camp intersquad game by a referee named John Weinert, who is the third-winningest coach in BG hoops history. Saturday morning pickup games at Anderson Arena (until we were chased away by a maintenance-type person) were the closest I ever came to playing for BG.

One memorable pickup game came after a BG victory that saw Marcus Newbern score his 1,000th career point. As the crowd was leaving, we played five-on-five half court, when suddenly Newbern, dressed to kill and wearing shoes with two-inch heels, emerged from the locker room. "Hey, nice game, Marcus," we all yelled, and in response, one of the most colorful players in BG history took our ball, streetclothes and all, and performed a slam dunk for us. Pretty heady stuff for a thirteen-year-old to see!

It was more than a little frustrating that while I was in high school, Bowling Green basketball teams compiled a four-year record of 72-42, while my four collegiate years saw the Falcon squads stumble to a 46-65 mark; however, the support never varied. At one point in that eight-year span, I attended 75 home games in a row, viewing games that ranged from a 121-point performance against Lake Superior to a stunning loss to somebody called Findlay College.

Perhaps the most interesting development to watch during that time span was not the shift in coaching philosophy from Weinert to Larranaga nor the pursuit of various players toward 1,000 career points but the remarkable progress of the women's team. In 1980-81, the Kathy Bole-coached Falcon ladies were 12-16 and played to home crowds of about 100, mostly family and friends; by 1987-88, the Fran Voll-coached Falcons, led by Jackie Motycka, were consistantly putting together 20-win seasons, and many fans were leaving Anderson after the women's game was over! The dominance prompted one opposing coach to remark, "The second-best team in the Mid-American Conference every year is Bowling Green's bench."

But while the women are fun to watch (everybody likes a winner), I've always been a diehard men's basketball fan, and the names and faces I watched from the first row in the student section are as fresh as ever:

Anthony Robinson and David Jenkins ... Duane Grey and Colin Irish ... Keith "Gun " Taylor and Jooooeee Faaainne!!! ... Mike "Pirahna Man" Miday and Joe "Jam" Moore ... Steve "1,000 even" Martenet and Brian Miller...

Ah, Brian Miller. Not one of the first 30 or 40 names likely to come up in a discussion of BG basketball history -- but for this one fan, undoubtedly the first. Why? I mean, Miller wasn't even the most famous "Brian M" on campus during his BG years (there's that McClure kid again), didn?t make it in the pros, didn't score 1,000 points in his career, and was a starter only during perhaps the worst stretch in BG hoop history. So why the personal fascination with the one-time Falcon point guard turned shooting guard?

See, Brian was, like me, a one-time St. John's Titan. I doubt if he even remembers me, though I did cover a little basketball for the old high school newspaper, but just as I was thrilled to see a Bowling Green "native" like Dave Wottle run in the Olympics, it was even more satisfying to see a St. John's "native" at Bowling Green.

Though he spent his sophomore year as the BG point guard (and I believe he led the MAC in assists), by the time I got to BG his junior year, Miller was purely a scorer. Fun to watch -- 29 points against Toledo once while being guarded by his former SJHS backcourt partner Bobby Borcherdt, and some of the most acrobatic driving layups in Bowling Green since the days of Butch Komives. It was fun for me to watch -- hell, my girlfriend at the time, who accompanied me to all those basketball games, had a huge crush on Miller, and I didn't even mind!

Of course, this isn't about Brian Miller at all; it's about being able to live vicariously those athletic dreams that never came true. Miller on the hardwood, Neal Mahoney on the gridiron, former "Johnnies" ... guys I knew in high school were more fun to watch because somehow, in some unexplainable way, it made it seem more like I was on the court or field myself. Just as the entire Bowling Green community took that victory lap with Wottle in '72 and skated with Scott Hamilton to Olympic gold in '84, I was taking every jump shot with Miller, throwing every block with Mahoney.

A quick aside -- after all, this is a "mental scrapbook," so who says things have to be in order? -- that year of 1984 gave Bowling Green one of the rarest ice triple crowns ever. As Hamilton, who learned to skate in the Ice Arena, was wrapping up the men?s Olympic gold, Cavallini was securing the NCAA hockey title and the Bowling Green High School Bobcat icers were winning the state crown. Talk about the glory for the home folks! For one year then, BG was undeniably the Ice Capital of the United States.

Vicarious feelings aside, I knew from the very beginning that there was only one way that this frustrated athlete would ever get to really participate in Falcon athletics -- as "Freddie Falcon." The big feathered mascot had scared me as a munchkin, amused me as a child, and annoyed me as a teenager. But now as a college student, I saw no better way to pledge my undying support to Falcon athletics than to spend a year suffering in several thousand pounds of mascot suit.

As most even casual BG fans know, there are two Freddies selected every year, but they may not realize that this happens in a competition that begins with a written essay, an in-suit tryout in front of the gathered former Freddies and Freidas, and finally, for the lucky three finalists, a half an hour at the Annual Greek Life "Beta 500" performing for several hundred students in an extremely boisterous mood.

Twice, I was one of those lucky three ... and twice, I finished third in the competition. It was worse than getting cut from the SJ basketball team, a tougher, closer loss than the 29-28 deal against Fresno State in Cal Bowl II; yet, looking back, those two half-hour shots at being Freddie are way up there with the absolute highlights of my collegiate experience.

I mean, for such a professed BG sports nuts, what more exciting, fulfilling experience is there than actually personifying Falcon athletics? The anonymity was wonderful (two Chi Omegas who really disliked me my freshman year kissed my beak and had their picture taken with me -- the irony was delicious), and to hear hundreds of people chanting "Freddie, Freddie!" is a real head rush. So it's arguable that my most memorable moments in BG athletics came at the 1985 and 1987 Beta 500's -- and I wasn't even Greek!

But perhaps it's as my old friend and former Resident Adviser Mark said to me after the second phone call telling me "You're great, but you were third" ... "Damn, it's a good thing you weren't Freddie. Not only would everybody have known it was you once you stopped showing up at every single sports event on campus, but you never could have handled it yourself. Imagine being at a basketball game and seeing a ref make a horrible call against us. You would've ripped the Falcon head off and run onto the court screaming. Don't you think that would have tarnished the Freddie mystique just a little bit?"

Freddie Falcon failures behind me, the long loyalty I've held for Bowling Green athletics will, I'm sure, remain strong for the rest of my life. I've even already informed my significant other that should we ever buy a house, there will be one room designated as "The Bowling Green Room," painted orange, the whole nine yards (had to use a sports metaphor there; it seemed a propos). Lucky for me she's a Section A regular, and I've even dragged her to a couple of football games. Maybe by the time she's ready to graduate, she'll have built a cache of memories about BG sports for herself.

Wait, wait, this story can't be over yet ... I haven't even written about BG baseball ... Kip Young and Larry Owen and John Knox ... Orel HERSHISER for Chrissakes, how can I not write about him?... and volleyball and gymnastics and soccer... what about trips to Joe Louis Arena for CCHA playoff games and trips to the Glass Bowl in Toledo for football and Frank Booker and Stephanie Coe and Brian MacLellan and Rich Dackin and Roger McDowell and ...