Besides the excellent education I was fortunate to receive at Notre Dame Law School, and the interesting people I had the opportunity to meet, and the lasting friendships I forged during those years, there was the added benefit of watching up close as the Fighting Irish won the 1966 college football national championship. As an Irish-Catholic kid from Sunnyside, Queens, that was as good as it could get.

In Catholic neighborhoods in those days, Notre Dame football personified Irish-America’s acceptance into the American mainstream. Beginning in the 1920s and continuing through the mid-1950s, Notre Dame won more national championships and had more All-Americans than any other college football team. But by the time I got there, the famed Golden Dome had lost its luster. During eight long seasons under three head coaches from 1956 to 1963, Notre Dame lost more games than it won. The prevailing wisdom was that its academic standards precluded it from becoming a major college football power again.

Then, in 1964, Notre Dame hired Ara Parseghian as its head coach. The “Era of Ara” had begun. In 1964 and ’65, the Irish were back in the Top 10, and in 1966 they won it all, clinching the national championship with a 51-0 victory over longtime rival Southern California, led by such luminaries as Heisman Trophy finalist and All-American quarterback Terry Hanratty, eventual four-time Super Bowl champion Rocky Bleier and future NFL Hall of Famer Alan Page.

A less-heralded but vital member of that championship team was substitute quarterback Coley O’Brien, who would have been the starter on almost any other college team. Stricken with diabetes halfway into the 1966 season, O’Brien hadn’t played for four weeks when, in the second to-last game of the season against Michigan State, he was suddenly called into action to replace Hanratty, who’d suffered a fractured shoulder with the Irish losing 10-0. O’Brien played brilliantly to lead two scoring drives, and Notre Dame tied Michigan State and preserved its unbeaten record.

The following week, despite the fact that four starting players were sidelined with injuries, O’Brien led Notre Dame to the resounding, national championship clinching victory over USC.

After his college career, O’Brien attended Notre Dame Law School and became a successful attorney in Washington, D.C. When I chaired the House Homeland Security Committee, he served as a committee counsel. I was proud to call him my friend, and it meant a lot when he, Hanratty, Bleier and other members of the 1966 team would come to my district to campaign for me.

O’Brien died several weeks ago. Reflecting on his life and career got me thinking about how much the whole concept of college football has been altered, in many instances not for the better. The attraction of the game was that it wasn’t professional. There was the appeal of watching young athletes competing for their schools, cheered on by an often fanatical fan base. And there were the bitter rivalries: Notre Dame-Michigan State, Alabama-Georgia, Michigan-Ohio State.

Sure, some of it was mythical. There were recruiting violations. Some athletes were given academic shortcuts. But there was so much that was genuine. Hanratty might be on the cover of Time magazine or Sports Illustrated but then be seen on campus, eating in the same dining hall and trudging to the same classes as other students.

That world of college football — school loyalty, amateurism and tradition — barely exists anymore. Now paid for their name, image and likeness, recruited players can go to the highest bidder for millions of dollars. And they can opt out of the following season and the season after that by entering the “transfer portal,” again able to go to the highest bidder. (Years ago, Minnesota was sanctioned by the NCAA when the coach gave a player $100 to fly home for his father’s funeral.) So you can have a five-year senior suddenly playing starting quarterback for a team whose campus he has never set foot on and will be leaving at season’s end. Players can even go back and forth from one team to the other in succeeding seasons. The “student athlete” becomes hired gun. School spirit and loyalty are traded for big bucks.

Sure, there will still be pageantry and marching bands, and I’ll still be watching on Saturdays. But it won’t be the same. What I will always have, though, is the lasting memory of what Coley O’Brien and his 1966 national championship teammates meant to their many fans, and to college football.

Go, Irish!

Peter King is a former congressman, and a former chair of the House Committee on Homeland Security. Comments? pking@liherald.com.