Spotlight reporter Jenny Jacoby is a die-hard Miami football fan. She was thrilled when the Hurricanes landed a playoff spot, and then crushed when the team tasted defeat in the biggest game of the year. But, she’s not giving up.
The University of Miami was lined up on Indiana’s 47-yard line with 51 seconds left to score a touchdown and pull off the most improbable playoff run. One final drive. A chance to win it all. A sixth national championship title on the line.
The sea of waving orange rally towels went limp and “Let’s Go ‘Canes” chants came to a hush. Quarterback Carson Beck ripped one deep to the left side of the endzone, the ball heading for wide receiver Keelan Marion.
A lifetime of expectation – and disappointment – washed over me. Would this time be different?
My family has been loyal to the ‘Canes for as long as I can remember, mostly as a result of my mom living in Miami in the early ‘90s.
But Miami hadn’t given me much to root for while I was growing up.
That was until 2017. With the team’s initial 10-0 run and with the 10-karat gold turnover chain bringing back Miami “swagger,” that season offered a glimmer of hope. But it too ended in heartbreak, with a loss to the University of Pittsburgh (5-7) of all teams.
Flash forward to 2021, when I started my freshman year at UM. My faith was reignited and I went to just about every game I could as a student. More heartbreak.
I was there when Andres Borregales doinked the final field goal attempt against the University of Virginia to lose the game. And again, when Mario Cristobal famously declined to take a knee in the Oct. 7 Georgia Tech game, resulting in disaster.
For some reason, I kept going back.
And then there was this year, my first year as a UM alum, and the first year my parents shelled out for season tickets.
It was a Miami season like any other, tempting fans with hope after a week one Notre Dame win, then dragging us down with two incredibly painful losses that looked like they would quash our playoff dreams once again.
Or maybe not.
I was walking through the Boston Common with my college roommate when the miracle struck. Tuned into the College Football Playoff selection show on my phone – mostly out of curiosity, not actual hope – I screamed when I saw a big, glorious U flash onto the screen (and got a few looks from Bostonians oblivious to the concept of the NCAAF).
My mom, so invested in the team, decided the next day to put us in the lottery for Fiesta Bowl (semi-finals) and national championship tickets, a perk of being a season ticket holder.
I’ll admit, I thought she was insane. My exact text back to that announcement was “???”
A few weeks later, the Canes had beaten Texas A&M, Ohio State, and Ole Miss. Suddenly, 2026 was looking like the best year of my life.
Nearly 23 years of extreme football loyalty and it was finally, finally happening. UM would be playing for the national title… in Miami.
Of course, I would be tasked that week with writing a story about the opposing team’s quarterback, Fernando Mendoza, and his time at St. Stephen’s Episcopal Day School in Coconut Grove. Despite writing about the “enemy”, the assignment only got me more amped up for game day.
National Championship Day
On Monday, the most important game the ‘Canes had played in 23 years began for me and my family (and our two equally ‘Cane crazy friends) as all Florida tailgates must: in a Publix parking lot nine hours before kickoff.
Gathered between our two open car trunks, we strategized how we were going to fit two and half shopping carts full of groceries into our already packed cars and argued over what beer deserved priority in a cooler.
You could feel Miami pride in the air. From the other end of the parking lot, customers in orange and green threw up U’s, the checkout ladies wished us luck, and one woman even showed us her merchandise from the 1987 championship.
Once assembled, we hit the road to the stadium parking lots that had been at the center of many headlines that week.
It couldn’t have been a more classic Miami tailgate.
Reggaeton, Pitbull, and Trick Daddy blared from DJ setups. Dominos tables lined the walkways alongside every type of ‘Canes decoration imaginable: inflatable Sebastians (the Ibis), Category Five hurricane flags, and Hurricane-themed Connect Four.
There were no hotdogs and burgers on Miami’s grills; it was all pork, stone crab, and rib-eyes.
Slushie machines pumped out frozen margaritas. A Super Mario Cristobal roamed the section stopping for selfies. I handed out about 60 orange and green Jell-o shots I made the night before to strangers, swapping our fan backstories.
The ‘Canes fans were united and they were excited. We were going to win this on home turf; we were going to win the Miami way.
A few games of family parking lot football, two meals, and an unknown amount of Jell-o shots later, it was gametime.
As we walked up to Hard Rock, it felt like I was going home. My brother led the traditional “We got some ‘Canes over here,” chant under the pedestrian tunnel for all the Indiana fans to hear. And whoever controlled the stadium soundtrack made sure the Hoosiers knew they weren’t in Bloomington anymore.
It didn’t take long to realize that Miami fans were outnumbered in the crowd, but we sure didn’t act like it. Since when has Miami had a reputation for subtlety?
Most of the next few hours were a blur of nerves and offensive disappointment.
Then Mark Fletcher Jr. rushed for a 57-yard touchdown on Miami’s second play of the second half. Total madness.
Fans (me) were standing on their seats, waving rally towels, and screaming like their lives depended on it. If my voice wasn’t gone already, it certainly was then.
I can’t confirm, but I think I heard the cheers all the way from Fuller Street.
The ‘Canes were awake, we had a game.
Four drives, four touchdowns in a row, two to either team. Indiana was up 6 when Miami got the ball back with 1:42 left in the game. It was do or die.
Unless you’ve isolated yourself on a sailboat 40 miles off shore devoid of phone service, you know exactly what happened next. This diehard fan can’t bear to write it.
The red and white confetti fell, my head in my hands in total disbelief. No one spoke a word.
So damn close.
I’ve never hated an ABBA song until I heard “Fernando” blast through the stadium that had just been playing Bad Bunny.
There was no trash talk (much to my brother’s disappointment). IU fans shook our hands. Neither team was expected to be here two seasons ago. It was a game well fought that could’ve just as easily gone the other way. This time it didn’t.
Still, there’s something particularly heartbreaking about walking out of your home stadium to the roaring cheers of another team celebrating winning it all. Having to accept there would be no parade this weekend, no celebratory bar crawl to keep me up all night, just a sad drive back home.
And while the win would have been sweet, I’ve done some reflecting.
First off, the U is back. We don’t need a ring to make that claim. The power duo Malachi Toney and Fletcher are returning, a promising Duke-transfer quarterback is on the way (pending legal hurdles), and Cristobal looks hungry.
Two, never doubt your mom and her fortune teller foresight.
Finally (and dare I say it), winning is not what being a football fan is about.
It’s about bartering beer for lobster tail at a tailgate, running play action drives in the parking lot 2v2 with your siblings, and high-fiving the most unlikely of people after a big play.
If anything, losing is what makes you a fan. There’s camaraderie in commiserating. There’s pride in getting to say you’ve literally waited your entire life for a game like this.
Being a fan is showing up each season hopeful this time will be different, going to the games you know you’re probably going to lose, and sticking it out until the last whistle blows.
And if we have to lose, this ‘Canes fan will gladly take a 6-point loss to a 16-0 team in the national championship over a 45-3 loss to Florida State University any day.
This proud loser will be back next fall – after 200 plus days have numbed the pain of Monday night – blindingly optimistic that “this is the year!”
