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It’s his first first day of fall practice at Florida State. But his college career has not gone according to plan. His; those of the recruiting prognosticators who lavished him with four and five stars; any of the sport’s talking heads who foretold his ascendance. So it’s also his last first day of fall practice at Florida State. He’s the new kid. He’s the grizzled veteran. And he’s here, in Tallahassee — his third and final stop on a five-year, nationwide campus tour — for just a short spell.

He’s been in town seven months now, long enough to know Ms. Carol, though. Everyone knows Ms. Carol; Ms. Carol knows everyone. She’s been a fixture on the football team since 1985, save for a short, recent stint in academics, and she holds her post every day outside the iron gates that guard the practice complex. She’s part bouncer, part matriarch — monitoring who gains entry to practice and offering home-cooked greetings to the players and coaches she calls “honey” as they filter in for the day.

Uiagalelei: “Hi, Ms. Carol.”

Defensive lineman KJ Sampson: “How are you, Ms. Carol?”

Punter Alex Mastromanno: “Ms. Carol!”

Mike Norvell: “GOOOOOOD MORNING, MS. CAROL!”

Florida State’s head coach sprints by, and he’s swift and boisterous enough that his greeting reaches full Doppler effect. That’s what Uiagalelei first really loved about Norvell when he signed on as a Seminole in January. This energy that spills over into mania.

“How intense he is,” Uiagalelei says. “Screaming all around the facility, yelling ‘good morning,’ 24/7. It’ll be 8 o’clock at night and he’s yelling ‘good morning.'”

Ms. Carol also appreciates Norvell’s exuberance — she returns his well-wishes with just as many “o’s” in her ‘good morning’ as Norvell managed to belt out — and she appreciates Uiagalelei too.

She nods in the quarterback’s direction. “I’d really thought I’d seen it and heard it all,” she says. “You know, 25 years with Coach Bowden. Eight years with Jimbo. He is something different. It’s wonderful.”

Uiagalelei has caught on fast in Tallahassee.

His new coaches and teammates will tell you he’s something different too. So will his old teammates and coaches. Even as the noise around him these past few years swelled from adulation to aspersion to apathy, what was different about DJ Uiagalelei — the absurd things he could make a football do — was “jaw-dropping,” “nuts,” borderline Bunyanesque.

He can throw a football more than three-quarters of the way downfield with a flick of his wrist, or so says Colby Bowman, his former high school receiver: “He could do a three-step drop and then launch that thing 80, 85 yards.”

Back in his high school days at St. John Bosco in Bellflower, California, his former quarterback coach Steven Lo was catching for Uiagalelei during warmup, and Uiagalelei literally broke his hand. “The ball blew my bone apart. It felt like someone shot my hand,” Lo says. “I don’t even know if his throw was fully gassed up, but it had that much velocity. A normal human being like myself should not be catching footballs from him. You need talented receivers with real hands to catch that kind of heat.”

Florida State’s fifth-year senior, Ja’Khi Douglas, a talented receiver trained to catch said heat, corroborates: “Every pair of gloves: rip, rip, rip. Like, dang. I gotta get a new pair of gloves after every practice, because DJ rips them.”

Uiagalelei has long been tantalizing. But for the bulk of his collegiate career, the temptation of what he could be bumped up against the ceiling of what he became. For two years as a starter at Clemson: embattled, felled by a rocky fit between scheme and player for one of the preeminent programs in college football. In one season at Oregon State: rejuvenated, buoyed by a better fit and improved play, but blunted by a modest platform in Corvallis. What he hopes he finds in Tallahassee — what he and those around him think he has found here — is a blissful marriage of the best parts of what came before. The right fit on the right stage.

“I think he can go and be as good as there is,” Norvell says.

In other words, now on the stage he was once called to command, he can — maybe, finally — be as good as he once billed to be.


The story of Uiagalelei’s tenure as college quarterback has gone from mythical to cautionary to a nebulous in-between. Depending on your vantage point, he’s either in limbo or on a precipice.

“I didn’t think I would be here, at Florida State,” he says, nestled in the team’s quarterbacks’ room — as much as a man who is 6-foot-4 and weighs about 250 pounds can nestle. Over his shoulder, images of former Seminole luminaries stand guard. “I didn’t think I’d transfer twice or be at three different schools in my college career or be in college for five years. I thought it was gonna be three-and-out, straight outta Clemson, to the league.”

In the heady days of 2020, Uiagalelei walked onto Clemson’s campus as one of the top quarterback recruits in the country. He made a pair of starts for Trevor Lawrence when Lawrence was sidelined by COVID-19, then he casually engineered the largest comeback in Death Valley history against Boston College and threw for the most yards by an opponent at Notre Dame Stadium.

Mostly, he spent the first few months of his fledgling college career looking like a lock to be Lawrence’s heir apparent. As the star quarterback at Clemson. As the face of college football in the national discourse too.

Then suddenly — and irretrievably — he flatlined. There was the stalled development: 10 interceptions to nine touchdown passes in 2021; an auspicious start in 2022 derailed by eight turnovers in his last six games. The sputtering offenses he spearheaded: Clemson ranked No. 93 in the FBS in pass completions of 20 yards or more in the two years Uiagalelei started. The inglorious benching(s) for Cade Klubnik, another five-star recruit waiting in the wings: First, against Syracuse in 2022; again briefly at Notre Dame; once more, and for the final time, in the ACC championship against North Carolina. That he needed a reset at all came as a shock to his system. Like something foreign had entered his body and he needed to expel it.

He explains: “High school’s great, top player in the country, five-star everything. There was no adversity until my sophomore year came around. That was the first time I actually experienced some type of adversity in anything.”

Uiagalelei is, according to everyone around him, a humble man. Someone happy to cede the spotlight and its attendant applause. Heading into his senior year at St. John Bosco, he bowed out of the Elite 11 — where high school quarterback royalty flocks to see and be seen — when his team was putting in a lackluster training camp. He wanted to stay local to help right the ship instead.

But he’s honest too. It wasn’t that football, or sports, or excelling in them, was easy. But he had always been able to make it look that way.

Back when Uiagalelei was in grade school, he played baseball too. He was about 10 years old and dominating in Little League ball when his mother, Tausha, recalls him stalking off the field, fed up with a game he didn’t think his team should’ve lost. “I’m not here to have fun anymore,” he declared. “I want to win. Put me in travel ball.” Tausha remembers thinking to herself, Oh, this guy’s different.

His private coach in those days was Dave Coggin, a former Clemson quarterback commitment and onetime MLB pitcher. Coggin would host college coaches looking to scout the Southern California baseball talent from time to time, and as a favor to Uiagalelei’s father, he let DJ, then just a middle schooler, join 40 or 50 high schoolers showing off their stuff. UCLA was in the house. Vanderbilt. Clemson. Dozens of others.

“He was up there throwing at 85, 86. It was wild,” Coggin says. “I tell ya, I had more questions from all the colleges about, ‘Who’s this kid?’ than all those other juniors and seniors.”

This, in the sport Uiagalelei ultimately decided he didn’t want to pursue. Though Coggin points out that the Dodgers took a flyer on Uiagalelei, who hasn’t played baseball since high school, in the 20th round of the 2023 MLB draft. “And I don’t think that’s the last that he’s gonna hear from a Major League team, to be honest.” Point being: Up until the moment he was not, Uiagalelei had only really known life as a sensation. As a pitcher, sure. As a quarterback, most definitely.

With this kernel of self-affirmation as his soundtrack — he could do this; he knew how to be the best player in any room, on any field — Uiagalelei entered the transfer portal and knocked on new doors.

At Oregon State, a fresh playbook felt like relief, and the vote of confidence from head coach Jonathan Smith, felt like redemption. “It’s all you want as a player,” explains Uiagalelei, who has said in the past that was something he didn’t feel he had by the end of his stint in Clemson. “Especially as a quarterback. You want the coaching staff to believe in you, trust you to be able to go out there and perform.” (Dabo Swinney, for his part, has said he considers Uiagalelei’s time at Clemson a success, and foresees yet more success for the quarterback: “I love DJ. … I’m pulling for him to do great things,” he said in 2023. “I’ll be very surprised if he doesn’t.”)

Then, on the heels of a heartening one-year showing in Corvallis — he finished No. 12 in QBR, after checking in at 97 and 52 in his two at Clemson — with the Pac-12 in a death spiral, Smith departed for Michigan State. And Uiagalelei chose to start over again too. He entered the transfer portal, and within the hour, Norvell rang Uiagalelei’s phone. Some 24 hours after that, Tony Tokarz, Florida State’s quarterbacks coach, touched down in Oregon to meet with Uiagalelei. The clamor for Uiagalelei’s services was more subdued than it was five years ago. Back then, he carpooled to high school every day with one of his football coaches, and there would be days where the two wouldn’t speak for the entirety of the hour-long commute. There was no time, in between the flurry of calls Uiagalelei fielded from college coaches intent on wooing him to their campus and, one time, serenading him for his birthday.

But then, he didn’t need to be won over. He needed a win. He was looking for a second second chance.

Uiagalelei liked the idea of joining ranks with Norvell, who has fashioned himself into something of a transfer portal savant. This April, eight of Norvell’s portal acquisitions were drafted; three were selected in the first 40 picks. He liked the way his deep balls could match with the speed at receiver that eventually joined him in Tallahassee (Alabama transfer Malik Benson; LSU transfer Jalen Brown). He liked that, when Tokarz joined him in Corvallis and they pored over five of his Oregon State game tapes, Tokarz pointed out what he liked about Uiagalelei’s game, and what he thought he could make better. He liked, he liked, he liked.

Now, the early returns seem rosy. Either by dint of personal experience in the art of starting over, or by sheer force of goodwill, Uiagalelei has, by all accounts, managed to convert this Florida State team into Uiagalelei acolytes.

For the other quarterbacks in the room, hibachi dinners in town and rounds of golf helped. So did the deep ball he launched 70, 72 yards in the air one day this spring. “That’s when I thought, ‘Yeah, he’s gonna do just fine here,'” says Luke Kromenhoek, Florida State’s freshman passer.

For his new group of receivers, a four-day trip back to Uiagalelei’s hometown in California did the trick. As did the back-foot toss he threw to Douglas this fall camp that was this much out of bounds, right where only Douglas, and not the defender draped over him, could catch it. “Man, that dude is special,” Douglas says.

For his quarterback coach, it was spying Uiagalelei in the meeting room with the film projector on, no meetings on the docket or teammates in sight. Tokarz had been on the road recruiting for days and thought the solo study session was a one-off. Then the next day, he spotted Uiagalelei again. The day after that one too. There was also the ball he threw to Kentron Poitier in spring ball that Tokarz says had all the makings of a “Sunday-type throw.” “All the coaches are kinda looking at each other through the side of their eye, saying, ‘Did you just see that?'”

In other words, Uiagalelei has flashed enough in his time with the Seminoles to allow them to dream about what might be possible. Him too.

“A lotta guys probably would’ve quit or tried to find something else to do in life,” says Beaux Collins, who played with Uiagalelei in his Clemson days and stood on the sideline with him as crowds chanted for the backup. “But he’s still chasing that dream that he has.”


The joke among St. John Bosco coaches was that Uiagalelei, all of 16 years old at the time, looked like a parent who just dropped his kid off at the middle school next door. He had a goatee and he made defensive lineman look dainty (the first time Paul Diaz, Bosco’s defensive line coach, saw Uiagalelei in person, he assumed he was a lineman).

As he wends his way toward practice, past Ms. Carol, through the iron gate, surrounded by a gaggle of younger quarterbacks who, once again, look like they could be his kids, Uiagalelei still has the Mature Adult thing going for him.

He lives in a house 20 minutes outside of campus with his fiancée, Ava Pritchard. His college exploits, to date, have mostly consisted of befriending his neighbor, Mark, “an older gentleman.” (“Like a dad,” Uiagalelei clarifies. “He’s not old. Just older than me.”) When he and Pritchard settled on Tallahassee as their next stop, this house and this neighborhood appealed to them precisely because it was removed from school, from football, from commotion.

“I’m an older guy,” Uiagalelei shrugs. “I didn’t want to live near a bunch of college kids.”

He could point you to some landmarks on campus. He’s even given drive-by tours to visiting family but confesses he has yet to walk around Florida State like a true student. This place is, in the best of scenarios, the launching pad to somewhere new, something bigger. And still, this place is also where he’s looked and felt most like the DJ Uiagalelei he used to be.

“They let him go be DJ,” Tausha says. “He’s like high school DJ,” she goes on. When football was shiny and exciting and unsullied. “There he is. That’s DJ. There he is. We knew he was in there.”

Pritchard confirms as much. Uiagalelei met his future fiancée two university stops ago, on a campus bus at Clemson. He’d only been in South Carolina for a week or so and he was lost. He spotted Pritchard, complimented her shoes (black Yeezys, she recalls), then asked her how to get to class. They went on a date a few days later, and they’ve been together since, from one coast to another.

“You can just tell in his voice,” she says. “It’s just different here.”

Uiagalelei thinks it’s different here. Everyone around him does too. They figure it has to be, for what Uiagalelei has in mind. “This is NFL or bust,” says Terry Bullock, who coached him at Bosco and knew him long before that.

And if it is different here — if Florida State makes him different; if this really is the right partner with the right platform — that work starts in earnest now. For him, and for his 10th-ranked Seminoles, Georgia Tech and the 2024 season are one day away.

Back on the field, as practice gets in full swing, Uiagalelei takes a snap, launches. Norvell likes what he sees, and he (surprise!) positively bellows his approval.

“That’s the angle we need! GOOOOOOD THROW!”

Perhaps Norvell will like what he’ll see next week too, and the weeks and months after that. Maybe Uiagalelei will too.

He takes another snap. The speakers blare a Logic song overhead, and it’s a fitting soundtrack for this chapter in Tallahassee, Uiagalelei’s coda.

I got a lot on my mind.

Got a lot of work ahead of me.

There is not much time left, but there is much left for Uiagalelei to do. He is not here to have fun anymore. His season, and his second second chance, awaits.

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Rays to play 2025 season at Yankees’ spring field

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Rays to play 2025 season at Yankees' spring field

ST. PETERSBURG, Fla. — The Tampa Bay Rays will play their 2025 home games at the New York Yankees‘ nearby spring training ballpark amid uncertainty about the future of hurricane-damaged Tropicana Field, Rays executives told The Associated Press.

Stuart Sternberg, the Rays’ principal owner, said in an interview that Steinbrenner Field in Tampa is the best fit for the team and its fanbase. At about 11,000 seats, it’s also the largest spring training site in Florida.

“It is singularly the best opportunity for our fans to experience 81 games of major league Rays baseball,” Sternberg said. “As difficult as it is to get any of these stadiums up to major league standards, it was the least difficult. You’re going to see Major League Baseball in a small environment.”

Baseball commissioner Rob Manfred said the Rays-Yankees deal is good for the sport and the Tampa Bay region.

“This outcome meets Major League Baseball’s goals that Rays fans will see their team play next season in their home market and that their players can remain home without disruption to their families,” Manfred said in a news release.

The Rays’ home since 1998, the domed Tropicana Field in St. Petersburg, was hit hard by Hurricane Milton on Oct. 9, with most of its fabric roof shredded and water damage inside. The city of St. Petersburg, which owns the Trop, released an assessment of the damage and repair needs that estimated the cost at $55.7 million if it is to be ready for the start of the 2026 season.

The work would have to be approved by the city council, which earlier this year voted for a new $1.3 billion, 30,000-seat stadium to replace Tropicana Field beginning in 2028. The new stadium is part of a much larger urban revitalization project known as the Historic Gas Plant District — named for the Black community that once occupied the 86 acres that includes retail, hotels, office space, a Black history museum, restaurants and bars.

Amid the uncertainty, the Rays know one thing: they will play 2025 in a smallish, outdoor ballpark operated by one of their main American League East rivals. A ballpark with a facade mimicking that of Yankee Stadium in New York and festooned with plaques of Yankees players whose numbers have been retired.

Brian Auld, the Rays co-president, said in an interview that Tampa Bay has to be ready for a regular-season MLB game March 27 against the Colorado Rockies, just three days after the Yankees break training camp.

“There will be a ton of work toward putting in our brand,” Auld said. “The term we like to use for that is “Rayful’ into Steinbrenner Field.”

It will also come with weather challenges in the hot, rainy Florida summer climate the Rays didn’t worry about in their domed ballpark. The Rays averaged about 16,500 fans per game during the 2024 season.

The Yankees will receive about $15 million in revenue for hosting the Rays, a person familiar with the arrangement told The Associated Press, speaking on condition of anonymity because that detail was not announced. The money won’t come from Tampa Bay but from other sources, such as insurance.

Once known as Legends Field, Steinbrenner Field opened in 1996 on Tampa’s north side. It is named for longtime Yankees owner George Steinbrenner, who ran a shipbuilding company in Tampa and died at his home there in 2010. One of his sons, Yankees executive Hal Steinbrenner, was instrumental in getting the deal done with the Rays, Sternberg said.

“This is a heavy lift for the Yankees. This is a huge ask by us and baseball of the Yankees,” Sternberg said. “[Hal Steinbrenner] did not waver for one second. I couldn’t have been more grateful.”

Hal Steinbrenner said in a news release that the Yankees are “happy to extend our hand to the Rays” and noted that the team and his family have “deep roots” in the Tampa Bay area.

“In times like these, rivalry and competition take a back seat to doing what’s right for our community, which is continuing to help families and businesses rebound from the devastation caused by Hurricanes Helene and Milton,” he said.

The Tampa Tarpons, one of the Yankees’ minor league teams, play their home games at Steinbrenner Field during the summer. They will use baseball diamonds elsewhere in the training complex this season.

It’s not the first time a big league team will host regular-season games in a spring training stadium. The Toronto Blue Jays played part of the 2021 season at their facility in Dunedin because of Canadian government restrictions during the COVID-19 pandemic.

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4-star QB 6th to decommit from FSU’s 2025 class

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4-star QB 6th to decommit from FSU's 2025 class

Four-star Florida State quarterback pledge Tramell Jones pulled his commitment from the Seminoles Thursday morning, marking the sixth departure from Mike Norvell’s 2025 class across the program’s 1-9 start to the regular season this fall.

Jones, a 6-foot, 190-pound passer from Jacksonville, Florida, is ESPN’s ninth-ranked dual-threat quarterback prospect in the 2025 cycle. The longest-tenured member of Florida State’s 2025 class, Jones’ decommitment arrives five days after Norvell fired three members of his coaching staff on Sunday following the program’s 52-3 defeat at Notre Dame, headlined by the exit of offensive coordinator and offensive line coach Alex Atkins.

Jones’ move represents the latest blow to a Seminoles’ class that’s taken a series of hits this fall as Florida State has followed its 13-1 in 2023 with a disastrous 2024 campaign. A previous lynchpin in the program’s 2025 class, Jones follows ESPN 300 prospects Myron Charles, Javion Hilson, Malik Clark, Daylan McCutcheon and CJ Wiley among the top recruits who have left Norvell’s incoming class since the Seminoles’ Aug. 24 season opener. Jones’ exit leaves Florida State with 12 prospects left committed in 2025, including five ESPN 300 pledges led by five-star offensive tackle Solomon Thomas, ESPN’s No. 13 overall prospect in the 2025 cycle.

Florida State sat at No. 37 in ESPN’s class rankings in 2025 prior to Jones’ decommitment Thursday with further movement expected out of the Seminoles’ class in the coming weeks.

With his recruitment reopened, Jones stands as one of the top uncommitted quarterbacks in the final weeks of the 2025 cycle. A four-year starter at Florida’s Mandarin High School, Florida has remained in contact with Jones this fall, and sources within the Gators’ program are optimistic that Florida will ultimately land Jones in the final weeks of the cycle following the school’s decision to keep Billy Napier as head coach beyond 2024.

Florida is set to host a series of high-profile recruits when the Gators host LSU at 3:30 p.m. on ABC Saturday afternoon. Florida State is off in Week 12 before a Nov. 23 visit from Charleston Southern.

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Even in death, college football fans want to be at their favorite stadiums

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Even in death, college football fans want to be at their favorite stadiums

BARBARA WEITZ SAT at a Nebraska Board of Regents meeting over the summer, when thinking about ways to generate revenue to help mitigate recent university budget cuts, she blurted out an idea.

Without much thought or research, Weitz wondered aloud whether passionate Nebraska fans would pay money to have cremated remains stored in a columbarium, a standalone structure with cubbies that house said remains. Even better, with a grass field set to be installed at Memorial Stadium in 2026, what if that columbarium was built underneath the football field as part of the renovations?

“Then grandma or grandpa or sister or brother could be a Husker supporter forever,” Weitz said.

Her fellow regents laughed her out of the room. Nobody liked the thought of games being played above a de facto burial ground. The idea was impractical, anyway. If the columbarium was built under the field, they would also have to construct an underground entrance for people to be able to visit, and how exactly would that work?

Feeling discouraged, Weitz went about her other work. But the meeting was public, and soon a newspaper article published her idea. Before long, the emails started coming in. One came from a casket company in Kansas interested in helping make the hypothetical columbarium. Another came from a company in Ireland claiming to have done a similar thing already, for a rugby and soccer club in the United Kingdom. She also learned someone was trying to build a columbarium in South Carolina, near Williams-Brice Stadium, but plans had stalled.

The idea gained enough traction that at a recent football game, someone stopped Weitz and said that if the columbarium became a reality, she would pay to have her husband’s ashes housed there. Weitz got plenty of emails from Cornhusker fans to the same effect.

When she blurted out her idea, Weitz did not know just how often fans spread the cremated remains of their friends and loved ones at college football venues across the country, mostly without permission. Choice Mutual, a company that offers insurance policies to cover end-of-life expenses, conducted a survey that asked Americans where they would want their ashes spread if they choose to be cremated.

The survey, published in July, listed the top choice in all 50 states. Sports venues topped the list in 11, including college football stadiums in Arkansas, Idaho, Michigan, North Carolina, Oklahoma and Wisconsin. Anthony Martin, owner and CEO of Choice Mutual, said in an email, “We were definitely surprised by the prevalence of sporting venues as the target. We assumed some sporting venues would show up, but not this many.”

“Let’s face it. Fan is short for fanatic,” said Chris Gerbasi, who helped spread the remains of his good friend, John Burr, at Michigan Stadium in 2005. “He was a diehard, no pun intended. It made perfect sense for him to want his ashes to be on the field. He would have laughed his ass off at us being able to achieve that.”


MOST SCHOOLS HAVE strict rules prohibiting the spreading of ashes onto playing surfaces, both to preserve the grass and also simply to limit trespassing. But when you are determined to complete a final wish, you simply find a way.

Like Gerbasi did. He and three others set out for Michigan Stadium in July 2005 to honor Burr, who died following complications from an accident at age 41. Gerbasi and Burr attended Michigan together in the 1980s and went to the 1998 Rose Bowl that clinched a national championship season for the Wolverines.

When Gerbasi was a student, Michigan Stadium was easy to enter. But when he and his companions arrived that summer night, they encountered one locked gate after another. They walked around the stadium, until, Gerbasi says, “It was almost like seeing the light.”

A bright light was coming from the east side of the stadium, where renovations were underway. They saw a way in, down the ramp where players walk from the locker room to the field, and made their way to the 50-yard line.

“I don’t get excited about too many things, but it was awe-inspiring for the four of us to be standing on the 50-yard line in an empty Michigan Stadium,” Gerbasi said.

Burr’s brother handed Gerbasi a bag with the ashes.

“There just happened to be a little gust of wind, and I kind of twirled the bag in the air a little bit, and all the ashes flew out, and the wind caught ’em, and they flew down the field,” Gerbasi said. “Looking back on it now, it was cool as hell. It was like somebody opened up this door for us.”

Parker Hollowell had a similar idea for his dad, Dean Hollowell, who died in 2015 following a car accident at age 72. Dean was a lifelong Ole Miss fan and took Parker to games his entire life. When his stepmom said his father was going to be cremated, Parker knew what he needed to do.

He waited until dusk one night in August that year and drove to Vaught-Hemingway Stadium, the place where he and his dad shared so many memories. A new field was being put in, and though workers were still around, nobody said a word to Hollowell and a friend as they made their way to the 50-yard line.

Hollowell said a few words to his dad as he spread the ashes, while his friend took a video.

“I thought it was a tribute to my dad,” Hollowell said. “That was our life, that’s what we’ve done as a family. Period. Now my dad’s got a 50-yard line seat. He’s right there with me when I go to games. I don’t see anything wrong with it.”

Having done it for his dad, Hollowell now has his final resting spot picked out.

“I am going to ask my son to put me in the end zone. Where Tre Harris scored on LSU [last year],” Hollowell said.

Ann and her husband, Johnny, had a similar conversation at their dinner table in North Carolina years ago. Ann, who asked that her last name not be used, cannot remember how they got on the topic, but they started discussing where they wanted to be buried.

Johnny asked to be cremated and have his ashes scattered in three spots. First, the beach. Easy enough.

Second, Carter-Finley Stadium, home to his beloved NC State Wolfpack. Slightly more challenging, but OK.

And, if possible, Kenan Stadium, home to North Carolina, as friend Theo Manos recalled, “so he could haunt those MFers.”

“I thought he was kidding,” Ann said. “But then I realized he was serious.”

Ann figured she would have time to plan it all out. But Johnny died unexpectedly at age 52 in 2007. A “total shock,” Ann said.

She decided she would sprinkle his ashes in their longtime tailgating spot outside Carter-Finley, a picturesque area filled with trees. They had a tight-knit tailgating group — some had been friends with Johnny since kindergarten. On the day they spread his ashes, they formed a circle, said a few prayers and then Ann placed his remains near a spruce tree.

The spot has become a resting place for several others, including their son, Allen, who died in 2017. “I thought that was a good sentimental thing to do,” Ann said. Johnny’s sister, Nancy, also has some of her remains there, as well as another tailgater in their group.

She noted the spruce tree “shot up out of nowhere” after placing Johnny there. But last year, NC State cut down many trees in their tailgating area — including that beloved spruce. Ann still brings flowers to every home game and places them on the spot where she sprinkled the remains of her husband and son. The group pours a drink on the ashes and says, “Here’s to you, Johnny.”

As for Kenan Stadium, let’s just say Johnny did make his way onto the field. How and when, well, Ann says that must remain a mystery. But it should be noted NC State is 6-2 in Chapel Hill since Johnny died.


WHEN JASON FAIRES was in his first year as Oklahoma director of athletic fields and grounds in 2019, he spotted a man in the south end zone holding a paper grocery bag, without gloves on, taking handfuls of something unidentifiable and dropping it on the ground.

“I start to lose it, and ‘I’m like, ‘What the hell are you doing?'” said Faires, now golf course superintendent at Dornick Hills Country Club in Ardmore, Oklahoma. “He goes, ‘This is my dad. Just spreading his ashes out here, like he wanted me to.’ I’m like, ‘Did you get permission to do this?’ He didn’t think he needed permission, and he’s just dropping clumps. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen ashes. It’s not just ashes, it’s frickin’ bone and everything.

“So out of respect for him, I said, ‘OK.’ As soon as he left, I had to go out there and kick him around, spread him out. I felt weird doing that. I started telling that story at a meeting, and they’re like, ‘Oh yeah, that happens a lot.'”

Plenty of field managers across conferences have stories about encountering fans evading gates, waiting out security personnel or downright trespassing in their quest to make it onto the field to spread ashes. While it is not technically illegal to scatter ashes, most states require permission be granted if remains will be spread on private property — like football stadiums — or on public property or national parks. Some states require a permit to spread ashes in public areas.

“When I worked at LSU in 2007, it was about 2:30 in the morning after the Virginia Tech game and we saw someone leaning up against the goal post,” said Brandon Hardin, now the superintendent of sports turf at Mississippi State. “We were like, ‘Hey, what’s this guy doing?’ He had a book in his hand, and he opened it and dumped ashes out on the ground and had his moment. Then he turned around and walked off. Never saw him again.”

At Texas A&M, too, where Nick McKenna serves as assistant athletics director of sports fields. He recalled the time the Yell Leaders at Texas A&M had a former leader’s ashes spread at Kyle Field without permission, upsetting their longtime facility manager.

“So he had the head field manager go out, vacuum them up, put them in a jar, and he took them to the Yell Leader and said, “Y’all left someone out there on the field the other day. Just wanted to return him to you,” McKenna said.

Another time, someone had spread ashes in the outfield before a baseball game.

“I remember having to talk with our center fielder because there was this cloud ring of remains,” McKenna said. “He was like, what in the heck? I was like, ‘You’re out there basically playing in a ring of death.'”

As all three turf managers explained, fans are unaware of how much goes into caring for the fields across all their athletics venues. That includes resodding the fields after a set amount of time. Oklahoma, for example, resodded the field last summer. Texas A&M does it every 12 to 15 years.

“So the majority of these relatives who have been spread on that field are down on the left side of the driving range at the OU golf course because that’s where all the material goes when we redo the field,” Faires said. “You don’t say that or anything, but you kind of feel bad for them.”

When grounds crews see ashes that have been left on a field, they quickly work to limit the damage. The ashes are either vacuumed up or blown around with a backpack blower. Some will run water through them to flush them through. What grounds crews want to avoid is their sophisticated and expensive lawn mowers picking up bone fragments, which could damage the equipment.

Hardin says he has gained a newfound perspective on spreading ashes to fulfill a loved ones’ request, after he did it for his dad last November in the Arkansas mountains.

“It’s very special to the person that does it, so we try to be very understanding,” Hardin said. “We tell people no, and then they still find a way to do it, because it was somebody’s last wish. People need that closure.

“It’s not going to hurt the grass, but if you ask certain people within organizations or schools, it gives you the heebie-jeebies knowing that it’s there and visible.”

That makes the columbarium idea all the more appealing to Weitz. She has tried to brainstorm other ideas than having it under the field — could it be outside the stadium? In the tunnel leading to the field?

“These responses I got after the meeting said to me this is creative and there are ways to do these things,” Weitz said. “So it really encouraged me in a lot of ways, but I haven’t come up with any new ideas.”

Putting a columbarium under the field might not be practical, but burial grounds for mascots do exist both inside and outside stadiums. In fact, Mex, a brindle bulldog who was Oklahoma’s mascot in the 1920s, is buried in a casket under the football stadium. Bully I, Mississippi State’s first mascot, is buried on stadium grounds. Other Bully mascots have had their ashes spread on the football field.

Texas A&M has a burial ground for its Reveille mascots on the north end of Kyle Field. A statue of the SMU mascot, Peruna, is on the burial site of Peruna I outside Ford Stadium. Sanford Stadium has a mausoleum dedicated to its UGA mascots.

McKenna remembers reading about Weitz and her columbarium idea over the summer.

“I don’t know where you would put it logistically, but as somebody who’s encountered people spreading ashes and understands how often it happens and the nuances, it’s not the worst idea in the world,” he said.

Weitz will keep thinking about it. Others will keep finding ways to honor their loved ones and their passion for college football. Loved ones such as Fred “The Head” Miller, who once asked former Florida State alumni association president Jim Melton if his head could be buried underneath the Seminole logo at midfield.

“True story,” Melton says.

Miller played fullback at Florida State from 1973-76 and then became the ultimate super fan — painting the Seminoles logo on his bald head for every home game, beginning in 1981. Hence his nickname.

He died in 1992 at age 38 of a heart attack and was cremated. Miller asked his family to scatter his ashes at Doak Campbell Stadium.

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