MIAMI GARDENS, Fla. — The distance between the frozen 50-yard line at Memorial Stadium, home to the Hoosiers of Bloomington, Indiana, to the center of the field of Miami’s Hard Rock Stadium, where those Hoosiers did snow angels in red and white confetti celebrating a College Football Playoff National Championship on Monday night, is 1,166 miles.

But it’s a hell of a lot of further than that.

It is also 715 losses, which was the most recorded by any team in the 156 years of college football. Was. It was an all-time bowl record of 3-8. Was. It was zero double-digit win seasons since 1887. Was. It was the promise of so many coaches hired — nine from 1982 to 2023 — brought to town with so much energy, from Lee Corso and Cam Cameron to Gerry DiNardo to Kevin Wilson to Tom Allen. All flirted with winning, all teased the fan base with signs of success, but all ultimately left town as just another letdown with another folder full of losing records.

Was no outright Big Ten titles since 1945. Was no appearances in the Big Ten championship game. Zero weeks atop the AP Top 25 poll. No Heisman winners. No Rose Bowl wins. No national titles.

Was. Was. Was. Was.

All that came before — more accurately, all that never came before — was swept away in a wave of was Monday night. So many years. So many games. So many moments of acceptance that, well, hell, Indiana is just never going to be good at football. Gone. Erased by way of a thrilling 27-21 victory over a resurgent college football blue blood, the Miami Hurricanes, and in Miami’s home stadium. The kid who won that Heisman won the game not with the arm that earned his accolades, but with a bulldozer 12-yard touchdown run. And a team that made its living breathlessly outscoring teams iced the victory with a red zone interception in the closing seconds.

People argue that the multiverse isn’t real. But we now live on a college football timeline in which the worst program in the game’s history is one of the most memorable national champions that history has ever witnessed.

“I know Indiana’s football history has been pretty poor with some good years sprinkled in there,” said coach Curt Cignetti, who removed his team from the top of the all-time loss rankings with a 16-0 season. “It was because there wasn’t an emphasis on football, plain and simple. It’s a basketball school. Coach [Bob] Knight had great teams. The emphasis 1768925918 is on football. It’s on basketball, too. But you’ve got to be good in football nowadays. … We’ve got a fan base, the largest alumni base in the country, Indiana University. They’re all-in. We’ve got a lot of momentum.”

Indiana. Football school. It is a truth that is hard to accept. But none of us should feel guilty about that, because the Hoosiers themselves also are having a hard time with it.

“What I want to do right now is go back to the 1990s and tell everyone that this is going to happen, because they won’t believe it. And I know that because honestly, it’s hard for me to believe it, and I’m standing out here on the field right now,” said Adewale Ogunleye, perhaps the perfect one-man encapsulation of the Indiana football story — a three-time All-Big Ten defensive end and Indiana Athletics Hall of Famer who had an 11-year NFL career that included a first-team Pro Bowl selection. And yet from 1996 to 1999, his four Indiana teams went 13-31 with zero bowl appearances and never finished higher than eighth in the conference.

The former captain of his team and honorary captain of this team paused and pointed toward the crowd as the fans serenaded that Heisman-winning quarterback, Fernando Mendoza, with ABBA’s “Fernando.”

“I love all the people who have gotten onboard with Indiana football this year and last. But what I really wish is that every single one of those old-school fans who stuck it out with us back in the day, I wish we could have them all here tonight,” Ogunleye said as he sneaked a peak at his phone and grinned. The texts were rolling in from his NFL friends who attended the so-called football schools, including a few of the Miami legends who had been on the Hurricanes’ sideline but were already headed home. “The fans who showed up on a cold Saturday in November, knowing we were going to lose to Ohio State or Michigan, all the schools these guys are texting me from right now. Those fans, the ones who showed up then, they earned this just as much as those guys up on that stage with that trophy. They deserve to be here.”

So many were. They made that 1,166-mile drive south over the weekend, many at the last minute and more than a few without a ticket. It was a modern-day version of those classic images from the film “Hoosiers.” A conga line of cars and trucks rolling down I-95 into South Florida as if they were following the Hickory High bus to Indianapolis for the state championship. They were inspired by their team’s postseason run through the throne rooms of college football royalty, beating Ohio State, Alabama, Oregon, and now a chance to topple The U in its own backyard.

Like Harry Davis of Indianapolis, wearing a red-and-gold Hickory High T-shirt that he bought from the gym in Knightstown, Indiana, where many of the game scenes for the movie were shot. In giant lettering on the back was the quote from Norman Dale (Gene Hackman): “My team is on the floor.”

“I ain’t telling you how much I paid for this ticket because I don’t want my wife to read this and divorce me for irresponsible spending,” Davis said from his seat four rows from the top of Section 345. Secondary market ticket prices for the game reached record levels thanks to the participation of the hometown Hurricanes, but according to one streetside ticket seller outside of the Indiana team hotel Sunday afternoon, “It’s because of the Indiana people.”

“But what the hell was I supposed to do?” Davis continued. “Wait and hope the prices came down next year? Do you know how long I’ve been waiting on next year to happen? You think I’m gonna wait for another one?”

Davis politely told this nosy reporter that he didn’t want to talk anymore because, well, there was game going on. Same for the Indiana fraternity guys wearing vintage 1991 Final Four T-shirts. “I took mine from my dad’s closet. The other guys got theirs on the internet.” Same for the Johnson brothers from Terre Haute, who wore the jerseys of arguably the two greatest pre-Mendoza Hoosiers, the quarterback from Ogunleye’s era, pre-internet dual-threat sensation Antwaan Randle El and the pride of Terre Haute, running back Anthony Thompson, who finished second in the 1989 Heisman race. “We went with our dad to Wisconsin and saw Anthony run for four TDs and almost 400 yards,” one of the brothers shouted over the crowd singing “Mr. Brightside” by the Killers. The other brother added: “That team went 5-6. Welcome to Indiana football.”

Was. What Indiana football was.

It was, like Thompson’s career, all about great moments that added up to great disappointments. Pretty good. Never great. No offense to Corso’s 1979 Holiday Bowl champs or Vaughn Dunbar’s heroics in the 1991 Copper Bowl, but that’s as good as it ever was. The good people of Bloomington content to let Notre Dame be the state’s football school with occasional loan-outs to Purdue, while everyone in red waited for hoops season to finally tip off.

“Even last year, it was like, that was amazing, but you could feel people saying, well, will they just settle back into what they always do?” acknowledged Alberto Mendoza, Fernando’s younger brother and backup quarterback, as that CFP title confetti settled on his shoulders in the same stadium where the Miami natives used to attend Hurricanes games. He was speaking of 2024, he and Cignetti’s first season in Bloomington, a year that produced a then-school record 11 wins and a playoff berth that ended with a first-round exit. “I get it. When you’ve been beat down, you have to be careful about your expectations. Now I think those expectations have changed, don’t you?”

Yes sir. What we thought — what everyone outside of the Indiana locker room thought — was just a Cinderella in high-top sneakers, a one-season wonder, now feels like the origin story of a Midwestern monster.

“I will have a beer and I will give myself a day to enjoy this. Maybe. A day sounds too long, doesn’t it?” Cignetti said as a smile finally cracked his now-internet-famous scowl. “No one expected this. Even if they are a believer tonight, I know they aren’t expecting Indiana to keep rolling. So let’s get to work on that.”