In trying to rack my brain about a personal story I have about Hayden Fry, I come up blank. I certainly went to my fair share of Fry-coached Iowa games but I hardly remember any specific thing. The memories are much more broad. Perhaps the clearest one I have is sipping homemade hot chocolate in the end zone of the second of three straight losses against Northwestern in the mid-90s.
Snow was falling.
We left early.
I was born in 1990 so I’m not lucky enough to have been around during Fry’s heyday and had to live vicariously through my Dad’s telling of his Iowa memories.