A look back at “laking the posts”

The chants began quietly during the fourth quarter — “Goalpost… Goalpost… Goalpost…” but grew in strength and volume as more joined in.

“We are the worst!” yelled the Dyche Stadium crowd of 24,104 people. “We are the worst!”

The Northwestern-Michigan State game on Nov. 7, 1981 ended the way most Northwestern fans thought it would: with a loss. Buttons passed out before the game with the words “Stop State at 28” had failed to manifest a victory. The Daily Northwestern even etched the streak into archives by replacing each folio line with the team name and score of each game that Northwestern had lost.

The Daily Northwestern

But this 47-point defeat was different, breaking the record for the longest losing streak in Division I-A history, an infamous run that continued for another five games.

However, the day lives in infamy not because of the score, but because of what happened afterward. That clear and sunny afternoon, a tradition was born. For the first time, pieces of Dyche Stadium’s goalpost were thrown into Lake Michigan.

Now, with Northwestern football set to play on a temporary lakefront field, a mere few yards away from Lake Michigan, it’s hard not to reminisce about the 1.2-mile journey the goalpost took over four decades ago.

It started right when the clock ran out — students rushed toward the south end of the field, avoiding security guards, and made their way toward the behemoth standing before them. But even as some of the smartest students in the country, these fans had no idea where to start.

Gary Lide, a 1982 Northwestern graduate, said he vividly remembers the confusion among the group of students about how to tear the goalpost down as they gathered around it, tugging and pulling with nothing happening.

“A guy climbed up on the crossbar, and it twisted suddenly downward, making everyone cheer,” Lide said. “At that point, we had a goalpost with a twisted crossbar, and still no idea how to remove the thing from the ground.”

When they finally pulled the goalpost upward and out of the ground the group cheered, Lide said, and set the goalpost on the turf. Then, another pause as yet again, the group had no idea what to do next.

Eventually, the goalpost started moving with the crowd up the east stands, and the students heaved the post over the side of the stadium where it dropped to the ground with a loud clang.

Gordon Kuljian

Gordon Kuljian, another senior at the game, said he was the one who averted disaster and potential injury in the transport process.

“After realizing what was about to happen, I ran to the top of the stadium and yelled below to have exiting fans clear out,” Kuljian said. “The goalposts were about to be tossed over.”

The goalpost survived the fall from the top of the stadium –– as had the fans outside. However, the journey for this goalpost had only just begun.

The suggestion was made to bring it to the home of President Robert Strotz, and so the march down Central Avenue began. When the students arrived, Strotz was already back at his home — almost as if he hadn’t attended the game.

“He’s wearing a purple sportscoat that’s the wrong shade of purple,” recalled Sara Burkoff Maritato, another student at the game. “He said, ‘We’re going to do better next time!’ But it seemed so inane, so we were like, ‘Let’s go put this in the lake.’”

They marched on, and 0.3 miles later they arrived at Lincoln Street Beach. Sue Lee, a senior at the time, said her friend was the one who carried the post into the lake.

“He thought he took [the goalpost] out so far that no one was going to find [it],” Lee said. “It was one of those wild and crazy things that people do.”

Burkoff Maritato said she remembers how irate the administration was when they couldn’t find the goalpost in the lake — even divers brought in by the university were unsuccessful.

“I have a strong memory of the aftermath,” Burkoff Maritato said. “The administration was really pissed. Strotz was complaining: ‘What have you done?’”

The Chicago community seemed to accept the Northwestern losing record as a punchline to a bad joke. Mijke Roggeveen, also present at the game, remembers graffiti she saw on Interstate 94 that read “I-94, Northwestern-0.”

“It might seem odd just how much fun we had being the worst,” Roggeveen said.

However, the players were hurt by that punchline. Steve Bogan, a Northwestern wide receiver during the losing streak, said his teammates weren’t complacent about the team’s reputation, and he believed administrators tried to turn losses into promotional opportunities.

“There is a hierarchy of people believing that a losing football team enhances the academic reputation of the school,” Bogan said. “Nobody knows the pain a Northwestern football player goes through, except those paying the price on the field each day… For some it was hell, but I never met a Northwestern football player who stayed for four years and regretted it.”

Willie Weinbaum, former WNUR Sports member and one of the play-by-play broadcasters for the infamous Michigan State game, said through all of the jokes about how bad the team was he took his responsibility seriously to find silver linings when he was reporting.

“When Northwestern would get its first first down of the game, sometimes well after trailing by a couple of touchdowns, the fans would chant ‘Rose Bowl,’” Weinbaum said. “But I always kept in mind that these are players trying their best and coaches trying their best and that even if the results didn’t match up to the effort, they deserved credit for the effort.”

Fortunately, the next time the posts were thrown into the lake was a time of victory. In 1982, Northwestern finally broke its losing streak of 34 consecutive losses and defeated Northern Illinois by a score of 31-6. This would bring coach Dennis Green his first win, and move his career record to 1-14. He only won nine more games in the rest of his tenure with the Wildcats, but the additional two in the 1982 season garnered him Big Ten Coach of the Year.

Dave Kasey, who began as a master’s student that year, was there for the victorious field storm, perched on the crossbar of the goalpost watching the action happen.

“I’m like a baby elephant on [the goalpost],” Kasey said. “I just sit on the bar, waving my cap like Slim Pickens, holding on for dear life.”

After jumping off the crossbar and tumbling to the ground, Kasey said he remembers someone suggesting to take the post to Strotz’s house in a similar fashion to the year prior. Less than two dozen people of the procession actually carried the posts down Central Avenue.

“[The goalpost] was like a trophy,” Kasey said. “Northwestern had finally won a football game. But I was wearing this big, heavy coat, and the goalpost was a hell of a lot heavier than I ever imagined.”

Kasey said those fans, including himself, might have been happier than the players when the goalpost landed in the lake with a kerplunk.

Despite the team finally notching a win, the spirit around Northwestern football still waned.

“A lot of the students didn’t wear anything Northwestern,” said Larry LaTourette, founder of the Northwestern sports blog Hail to Purple. “There was very little purple. In fact, you typically wore the college sweatshirt of your hometown or another big town school.”

LaTourette said tailgates were wet (had alcohol) at the time, and that going to tailgates was “the thing” rather than actually attending the games.

“We might pop in [Dyche Stadium] for a few minutes to see how badly we were losing,” LaTourette said.

In 1983, goalposts were yet again victims of a laking –– but this time, by Illinois fans. The final game of the regular season for the Wildcats and Fighting Illini ended in a loss for Northwestern — expected against a No. 4 ranked Illinois team. The win, though, sent the Fighting Illini to the Rose Bowl, and according to LaTourette the away fans took Dyche Stadium’s tradition and made it their own.

The Daily Northwestern

The infamous tradition reared its head several more times until 1991, when a goalpost ended up in the lake for one final time after the Wildcats defeated then-No. 17 Illinois by six points.

Jay Sharman, founder of the blog Lake the Posts, was a student at the final ceremonial laking. According to Sharman, the game took place on parents’ weekend during monsoon levels of rain.

“I’ll never forget it,” Sharman said. “Northwestern came out in these all-purple uniforms — they looked like grapes. [The field] was like cement, and they’re just slip-sliding around.”

“We upset Illinois, and I remember turning to my dad: ‘Dad, I’ll be right back.’ We ripped down the field goalpost, marched [it] down Central Street, and resurrected [it].”

Sharman then decided to name his Northwestern sports blog after the tradition because of what it represented to him: diehard Northwestern status.

“It’s kind of a wink to all of us who endured those crappy years — to never forget,” Sharman said.

The reason LaTourette loves the tradition is because of how uniquely Northwestern it truly is.

“The tradition of the posts in Lake Michigan, I mean, it was born out of futility,” said LaTourette. “But it became a unique and enduring historical symbol of the university.”

Gordon Kuljian

Finally, the goalposts were stabilized in cement, preventing future generations from repeating past antics. But similar to the Titanic, remnants of Northwestern football’s rocky history still linger at the bottom of Lake Michigan in the form of Dyche Stadium’s 1981 goalpost.

“They didn’t get too far into the lake...but days later it was gone,” said Helen Ahern, a student at the game. “The lake basically ate it.”

History did not record whether the lake belched in response.