AS THE UNIVERSITY of Noire Dame's six-sealer descends through the clouds toward South Bend, Ind., early Friday afternoon, Nov. 19, Regis Philbin is getting impatient. "It's very important that I gel there," he says to no one in particular. Then he leans over and, hoping to speed things up by invoking the name of the Irish's vaunted football coach, shouts at the pilot, "Lou Holtz needs me!" Soon the plane touches down, and Regis and his 19-year-old daughter, J.J., a Notre Dame sophomore, pile into a car driven by George Kelly, assistant to the athletic director and an old pal of Phil-bin's. At one point, as they approach the campus, Philbin screams out the car window, "Fm com in', Lou! I'm comin'!"

None of this should come as a surprise to anyone who has heard Philbin wax enthusiastic about his alma mater's football team on Live with Regis & Kathie Lee. After Notre Dame upset No. 1-ranked Florida State 31-24 on Nov. 13 to move into the lop spot in the national rankings, Philbin couldn't shut up about this trip to attend the final regular-season game—against Boston College, a team the Irish had pounded 54-7 in 1992.

"This is my favorite place in the world," says Philbin, peering from the car. "The more I travel the more I love Notre Dame." In his view, the school represents "everything that is good and fair and just. I think the world would be a much better place if people adhered to the golden rules of Notre Dame." Turning to Kelly, he says, "How 'bout when you and I retire, we buy one of those houses right next door lo the campus? Then we'll be able to look across and see that golden dome every morning. And George, when I die, I want you to make sure that my ashes are sprayed all over the campus."

Philbin's first slop is the Quarterback Club luncheon at the Joyce Athletic and Convocation Center, where he receives an honorary membership in ihe fan group and gets a chance lo whisper top-secret strategy to Holtz. Then he heads across campus to his old dorm, Zahm Hall. Passersby can't believe what they're seeing. "God almighty, it's Regis Philbin," exclaims one student. "Hey, where's Kathie Lee?" asks another. Philbin graciously obliges autograph seekers and poses for a few photographs. As he makes his way to the outdoor Grotto, where students light candles and say prayers asking for God's help in their upcoming exams, a young man holding a match yells out to Philbin, "Hey, Reege, this one's for you!"

Philbin was inspired to attend Notre Dame by his father, Frank, a personnel director, who had heard wondrous tales of the school's spirit from his neighbors in The Bronx. Regis, who graduated with a B.A. in sociology in 1953, was, in his words, "a very, very average student." He didn't compete in sports, except for a little intramural boxing. Instead he made his mark as a prankster. "I was always carrying on in the hallways," he says. "I used to twist this one kid's feet when he was asleep. I thought it was such a scream."

When Philbin arrives at his old room, 222, in Zahm Hall, the three young men living there are nonplussed. "Is it true they made you be in your rooms by 10 o'clock?" asks one. Philbin smiles. "I feel like the old elephant who has come home to die," he says.

Another student says, "We have our own difficulties today. We have to have the girls home by 12." Philbin ponders this and starts grilling the students: "My daughter doesn't come over here, does she?" The third student says mischievously, "She doesn't come to this floor, but I've seen her on the others." Regis's brown eyes grow huge. "Keep her out!"

Next it's on to Walsh Hall, where J.J. lives with four other women. Before entering his daughter's room, Regis says, "It's a snake pit in there. I once opened up a closet full of dirty clothes, and I swear I heard somebody breathing."

But this time the suite is, well, neat—al least the living room is. Regis peeks into J.J.'s bedroom. There is a board game on the floor called "Party 'Til You Puke," and clothes are strewn everywhere. "Thai's a health-department violation if ever I've seen one," he says.

J.J. recalls her father being obsessed with Notre Dame when she was growing up. "He was always talking about Knute Rockne and the Gipper," she says. But he didn't pressure her to apply. "When I decided to go to Notre Dame, it was my decision," she says. "He was more ecstatic for me than he was for himself. In a lot of ways, we're alike. We both have a lot of spirit."

The next day, enroute to the stadium, Regis confides, "It does my heart good lo see my daughter as happy here as I was." Bundled up in a white turtleneck and a Fighting Irish jacket, he takes a seat next to Dick Ebersol, president of NBC Sports (which televises the Notre Dame games), in a VIP box filled with Catholic bishops and other clergy. Right before kickoff, Phil-bin begins pounding the table in front of him. "Lou and I are ready!" he shouts. "Bring us the Eagles!"

But Boston College doesn't follow Philbin's plan. By the end of the third quarter, Notre Dame has fallen behind, 38-17. "I'm gonna kill that Eagle," he says, referring lo the B.C. mascot cavorting on the sidelines.

The Irish rally in the fourth quarter, and when they pull within six points, Philbin lakes charge. "Bishops," he announces, "I don't want you leaving this room." Then with 1:09 remaining, Notre Dame moves ahead, 39-38. Philbin, Ebersol and the bishops hug each other and holler with delight.

The euphoria doesn't last long. Boston College rumbles back up the field, and with five seconds left, David Gordon kicks a 41-yard field goal, the longest of his career, to give the Eagles a 41-39 win.

Gloom settles over the box. Philbin lakes his jacket and slams it on a desk. But he isn't one to brood. Walking slowly through the emptying stadium with Ebersol, his humor returns. "Imagine," he says, "I had this game today, and next week I've got Kathie Lee."