Our first game back was against Yale and it was scheduled for a Saturday afternoon. Our team wanted to wear a symbol of George to keep him close, so we decided to wear patches of the hard hat, complete with the number 21, on our jerseys. When our guys walked into the locker room and for the first time saw the game jerseys hanging in their lockers with the patches sewn on, it certainly stirred a lot of emotions.

As we began our pregame preparations, fog started to roll in and made it very difficult to see from one end of the field to the other. To this day, I have never seen anything like it. The cloud sat on the field and made it unplayable, so we moved the game to the following day. Many of the guys said it was a sign from George.

We played Yale on Sunday, which turned out to be a beautiful sunny Ithaca day. I will never forget the feeling coming out of the locker room. We placed a large picture of George in a Cornell Red uniform on a table to remind the team why we had chosen to be together on the field again. Each player walked past the framed photo of George with great emotion and took the field. It was a very somber experience, unlike your typical pregame feelings or rah-rah speech. Playing the game was like therapy for many of the players, giving them a chance to get back to something they loved, and doing it for a greater cause. We won the game 10–6.

Next, we traveled to Philadelphia and lost a close game to the University of Pennsylvania 10–8. They were a very good team that year and deserved credit for the win, but we played without much passion. The high from the Yale game had worn off and, as coaches, we could feel the emotional weight the kids were carrying. Looking back, I believe the lines regarding why we chose to play the season got blurry from time to time. Our emotions were difficult to manage and they started to wear our players down mentally. We were a fragile group, and you could see the tension between playing for George and winning for George increasing the pressure and making us lose clarity.

Prior to our next game, against Harvard, we had an impromptu meeting in the hotel after dinner to talk through a number of emotions. Through these conversations we were able to regain perspective as to why we were playing. The following day we came back from being several goals down to beat Harvard 10–9 in overtime, a result that provided the glimmer of hope we needed. The perspective gained from that pregame discussion carried us through an important stretch of the season that included both wins and losses.

After our exciting, improbable comeback against Harvard, we lost a tough game to Syracuse at home in the rain before playing Dartmouth and scoring with three seconds left to win 12–11. At that point, we had won almost every game against our Ivy League opponents in dramatic fashion, and now we were set to face our biggest rival, Princeton, on their home field.

It was the greatest game I have ever been a part of, given that George chose to come to Cornell instead of Princeton, whom we hadn't beaten in 10 years. Before the game, we sat in the locker room in a big circle, held hands, and talked about what George meant to each one of us. Each player spoke about the true meaning of being George's teammate and what this game would have meant to him. We had an amazing spirit, and that game changed the way we went through our pregame ritual forever.

It was a very competitive game and we went to overtime tied 11-11. JD Nelson, our face-off man, won the draw and we immediately called timeout. When we got back on the field, Justin Redd, one of our attackmen, was matched up with a short-stick defender, so he dodged from behind the goal, curled around past the goal line, immediately shot, and scored! We won 12–11. It was incredible. Everyone gathered around and hugged, but, as usual, we didn't have a crazy dogpile celebration. We were happy we won but knew it was just a game. It's not that we didn't care about winning or losing, but we felt like the consequences were nothing compared to losing George. We had a different spirit and a different perspective. The guys hung around for awhile after that game, celebrating with their families and enjoying the victory. It was extra special to see George's parents there. They had come to every game that season, to cheer us on. The fact that they did that still amazes me.

We didn't let up in our next game, against Brown, and somehow won that one 10–9, after scoring in the final seconds, to clinch a share of the Ivy League title. We were headed to the NCAA tournament and our unpredictable, improbable, emotional season would continue. We played Hobart in the first round of the tournament, winning 11–5 and advancing to play Navy in the quarterfinals. Navy had one of the best teams in the country that year. We knew it would be challenging but we remembered why were playing and focused on George's values. We played Navy at home on Schoellkopf field, and as we ran into the stadium we saw a sea of red in the stands. Hundreds of people were wearing red Cornell shirts with the number 21 on them. It was very emotional. Just a few years before, the tragedy of 9/11 had occured, and the guys we were playing against would one day be fighting for our country. We respected them greatly for serving and honoring our country, but even so, we wanted to honor George with our play. It was a fiercely competitive game but, unfortunately for us, we lost 6–5.

Lacrosse is often referred to as the healing game by its Native American creators. With that loss to Navy, our season was over. I think that more disappointing than losing that game was the idea that our team wouldn't have the opportunity to continue to heal and bond each day in practice. We had overcome the greatest tragedy of our lives to accomplish more than we ever expected. Everyone was so proud of this resilient, selfless group of young men who gave everything they had to each other and our season. George's example became the spirit that inspired our team. He taught us the essence of being an honorable teammate and an authentic team.