Letters
I found it interesting in the article published about how USC shouldn't be worried about cults on campus, yet there are definitely cults on this campus ("Web site aims to warn others about cults," Oct. 4).
I am not talking about the traditional thinking of a "sacrifice your babies and vulcan mind-meld" type of cult, but definitely high pressure groups which can be categorized as cults for the abuse in which they make their members constantly endure.
As a former member of the International Churches of Christ, I found it laughable that you quoted their leadership, when perhaps they are the worst of all groups on the USC campus.
Do not mistake me for libeling a group, in reality I just prefer to give the other side of the story that most people don't know because people are too afraid to say anything.
It took me awhile to actually write this letter, because the emotions involved when even thinking about my membership there was overwhelming.
I really hope that the students of this campus really consider that cults do exist and be ever so cautious when choosing a church home.
Marisa Ligons
senior
religion, history
Game unforgettable
When work stops, life slows down every Saturday for college football. Whether you're 77, 7, 0-7 or 7-0, there are three sacred Saturday hours when your school takes the field.
Sometimes, a victory follows, other times not.
Yet, very few times do we find that there are no proper words to describe what we just witnessed. I certainly don't have such capabilities, but I can tell what I saw last Saturday in South Bend.
I saw two college football teams, one undefeated, the other only a year away. I saw a 4-year-old Irish fan taunt me every time his team moved the ball ten yards.
I sat next to a nice 85 year-old Notre Dame fan, who had been sitting in the same seat, every Saturday, for the past 66 years. I saw that same, mild-mannered 85 year-old man scream "kill Leinart" during every third down and I saw him pray before that crucial fourth and nine. I also saw his wife hug him when the game had been decided, knowing that tears were not far behind.
I was punched in the back of the head, told to shut up, to sit down. But the one thing I heard most often was "Welcome to Notre Dame" by the best college football fans I have ever shared a stadium with.
Eighty-three thousand of them, wearing green, believing, because well, that is what you do on Saturdays.
For the Irish, it wasn't their day, upended by an audible and No. 5. For the Trojans, Saturday marked another passed test during a season of never-ending exams.
For me, Saturday was about sharing an amazing experience with friends, about staying on this remarkable three-year ride that I never want to see end, about a gutsy QB sneak with virtually no time left nor timeouts remaining.
Last Saturday was about college football in the absolute middle of nowhere in the absolute center of the sport.
It was about three sacred Saturday hours and one game I'll never, ever forget.
Scott Blumenthal
Class of 2000
