So Jen buddy and I went with her family tonight to Peach Days up at The Maddox in Brigham City, and the pie was frigging fantabulous. The waiter spilled raspberry viniagrette on her shoulder so we got a free tasters pie, brilliant! I love tasty, tasty pie and I believe that deep down so does everybody else. The succulent fruit with the perfect sugary sauce, the buttery crust that melts in your mouth after each reluctantly delightful bite. That is some damn fine imagery peeps.
I expect that I will be more up to date on the writings of this blog during the football season as I follow the Cougs, whether I post joyful updates or those of the deep sorrow that only a true fan can feel. I forgot to mention that I am currently viewing the Fugitive with old Harry Ford the perpetual hunk, pretty impressive that I can so successfully blog while watching such an entertaining example of film making.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Road Trip
What is that smell? Is it west Texas? It has to be. Unfortunately it was not the smell of cattle that wafted through the car on Friday morning. That smell was excitement and the effects of sitting in a car for almost twenty hours of driving not through America’s heartland or the Badlands but through the Blandlands. My best friend Jeff and I made our biblical like sojourn from Salt Lake to Dallas to watch our favorite team, the BYU Cougars in action versus the mighty Oklahoma Sooners. Anticipation was the theme of the drive, though I will say by Albuquerque it started to shift towards a hazed sense of,” why the hell did we decide to drive this sub-vanilla stretch of highway?”, littered with ghost towns and rusted, tetanus riddled jalopies strewn about the land like children’s toys. All of our delirious anxiousness aside I realized that this is why college football is the greatest of sports, long road trips with a promised land of barbeque and high hopes that await these two weary travelers. Not too high of hopes, but the hopes of a jilted lover returning for a second round of that crazy train called… Love???
Jeff and I on our way to this game of games, must travel through sleepy towns, once populated but now left as remnants of an unforgiving sense of societal erosion, leaving behind empty fields and weathered propane tanks in its wake. The sky is endless in West Texas, the expansive firmament scattered with big, cottony clouds. I notice that a zombie sensibility has come over me, my eyes listless, and my mouth agape as if my body has succumbed to the atrophied ambience by which I am surrounded. It is a scientific fact that the earth is not flat but rather curved, and this has never been so apparent while we make our way through the ocean-like landscape that lies ahead of us, daring us to press on, leaving in our wake the pungent smell of a skunk. As I long for human populous I cannot help but to wonder what brave and lonely soul settled this windswept land of desolation.
As Jeff and I discuss the prospect of what lies ahead, determining for me what my mood will be until the next football season, I cannot help but think of the majesty that is college football. Saturday morning we tailgate with thousands of other fanatics, awaiting our royal crown or shameful walk, the air filled with plumes of smoke billowing forth from grills carrying upon them mouth watering smells of smoked meats, perfectly cooked as to fall apart in your mouth begging you to eat until you feel as if to explode.
As we arrive at the new Cowboys Stadium, affectionately known as the Death Star in Dallas, we are the minority among a sea of Crimson and Cream. The fans are gracious so far with some fun banter between us, expressing far different opinions on the outcome of the soon approaching game. As we enter the Death Star we are taken aback by the sheer monstrosity of the stadium, it is the most unbelievable sight and I am left completely dumb founded. The halls and seats are filled with Sooners fans, raucously screaming at a deafening level. My heart is racing so fast it feels as though I had just run wind sprints, the sweat coursing down my face and the enormity of the game weighing on my conscience. Wondering why I put myself through this mental and physical torture, I make my way to my seat with not a BYU fan in sight, I truly am an island. The fans are hostile towards me yelling taunts, belittling the team I so affectionately follow and of course I retort with equally cutting remarks, bolstered by the confidence of my physical stature and acute wit. Then it hits me, I ritualistically put myself through a self inflicted torture to the pain, because I love everything about college football; the fans, the food, the football, the atmosphere, the coeds, the stadiums and the game. This has truly become a part of who I am, shaping different aspects of my persona and passions. I snap back to reality, brought back by the ravenous fans, beer and spit shooting forth from their mouths as they coach and referee the game from their seats, obviously having the answer to each failed play and blown call.
The game was close the entire time in both score and overall matchups. Oklahoma was expected to pummel the mighty Cougs by an embarrassingly large point spread. 21. I never estimated our team to be as lowly as a double digit defeat but I never counted on our defensive unit to punch the Sooners in the mouth, leaving them wobbly and filled with self doubt. Seeing a team as good as Oklahoma getting outplayed by my Cougars was truly a sight to behold. My warriors had heart and a determination I had never seen before. They left everything on the field, putting forth an effort that truly defined them as football gladiators.
As I ponder the magnitude of the game from this past weekend, I am convinced that I was witness to the greatest game ever played by BYU, because of the ramifications of this win. If they continue to prepare for each opponent and desire to win each game at any cost, we could run the table and be crowned victorious at season’s end. I am a possible witness to the greatest BYU season of all time and it all started with a lonesome drive to Dallas.
What is that smell? Is it west Texas? It has to be. Unfortunately it was not the smell of cattle that wafted through the car on Friday morning. That smell was excitement and the effects of sitting in a car for almost twenty hours of driving not through America’s heartland or the Badlands but through the Blandlands. My best friend Jeff and I made our biblical like sojourn from Salt Lake to Dallas to watch our favorite team, the BYU Cougars in action versus the mighty Oklahoma Sooners. Anticipation was the theme of the drive, though I will say by Albuquerque it started to shift towards a hazed sense of,” why the hell did we decide to drive this sub-vanilla stretch of highway?”, littered with ghost towns and rusted, tetanus riddled jalopies strewn about the land like children’s toys. All of our delirious anxiousness aside I realized that this is why college football is the greatest of sports, long road trips with a promised land of barbeque and high hopes that await these two weary travelers. Not too high of hopes, but the hopes of a jilted lover returning for a second round of that crazy train called… Love???
Jeff and I on our way to this game of games, must travel through sleepy towns, once populated but now left as remnants of an unforgiving sense of societal erosion, leaving behind empty fields and weathered propane tanks in its wake. The sky is endless in West Texas, the expansive firmament scattered with big, cottony clouds. I notice that a zombie sensibility has come over me, my eyes listless, and my mouth agape as if my body has succumbed to the atrophied ambience by which I am surrounded. It is a scientific fact that the earth is not flat but rather curved, and this has never been so apparent while we make our way through the ocean-like landscape that lies ahead of us, daring us to press on, leaving in our wake the pungent smell of a skunk. As I long for human populous I cannot help but to wonder what brave and lonely soul settled this windswept land of desolation.
As Jeff and I discuss the prospect of what lies ahead, determining for me what my mood will be until the next football season, I cannot help but think of the majesty that is college football. Saturday morning we tailgate with thousands of other fanatics, awaiting our royal crown or shameful walk, the air filled with plumes of smoke billowing forth from grills carrying upon them mouth watering smells of smoked meats, perfectly cooked as to fall apart in your mouth begging you to eat until you feel as if to explode.
As we arrive at the new Cowboys Stadium, affectionately known as the Death Star in Dallas, we are the minority among a sea of Crimson and Cream. The fans are gracious so far with some fun banter between us, expressing far different opinions on the outcome of the soon approaching game. As we enter the Death Star we are taken aback by the sheer monstrosity of the stadium, it is the most unbelievable sight and I am left completely dumb founded. The halls and seats are filled with Sooners fans, raucously screaming at a deafening level. My heart is racing so fast it feels as though I had just run wind sprints, the sweat coursing down my face and the enormity of the game weighing on my conscience. Wondering why I put myself through this mental and physical torture, I make my way to my seat with not a BYU fan in sight, I truly am an island. The fans are hostile towards me yelling taunts, belittling the team I so affectionately follow and of course I retort with equally cutting remarks, bolstered by the confidence of my physical stature and acute wit. Then it hits me, I ritualistically put myself through a self inflicted torture to the pain, because I love everything about college football; the fans, the food, the football, the atmosphere, the coeds, the stadiums and the game. This has truly become a part of who I am, shaping different aspects of my persona and passions. I snap back to reality, brought back by the ravenous fans, beer and spit shooting forth from their mouths as they coach and referee the game from their seats, obviously having the answer to each failed play and blown call.
The game was close the entire time in both score and overall matchups. Oklahoma was expected to pummel the mighty Cougs by an embarrassingly large point spread. 21. I never estimated our team to be as lowly as a double digit defeat but I never counted on our defensive unit to punch the Sooners in the mouth, leaving them wobbly and filled with self doubt. Seeing a team as good as Oklahoma getting outplayed by my Cougars was truly a sight to behold. My warriors had heart and a determination I had never seen before. They left everything on the field, putting forth an effort that truly defined them as football gladiators.
As I ponder the magnitude of the game from this past weekend, I am convinced that I was witness to the greatest game ever played by BYU, because of the ramifications of this win. If they continue to prepare for each opponent and desire to win each game at any cost, we could run the table and be crowned victorious at season’s end. I am a possible witness to the greatest BYU season of all time and it all started with a lonesome drive to Dallas.
Son of a Bitch…
These words have oft described the futility of my favorite team as crunch time has approached and yet again I watch football suicide occur, helpless to affect the once promising outcome of a game for which I had much faith, but my team had zero works. When I say “my team” that is exactly what I mean; for I have bled with my team, died for my team and shed tears of joy or anger on the behalf of my team. Making It mine! Of which team do I speak? The sometimes mighty, but often meek BYU Cougars football team; and nothing better defines that love than the majesty of Lavell Edwards Stadium; not just the large, concrete edifice that is the holy ground for us Cougars, but the background of purple and brown hued mountains that jut forth like incisors, piercing the sheep-like clouds. The perfect setting for an autumnal battle to the death; death as described by football fans is anything less than a national championship, or at least a bid for a BCS bowl. Like blood-thirsty hooligans putting off our religious fervor for just “one more Saturday”, we cheer on our gladiators, praying they dismantle our hated opponents while practicing proper sportsmanship, of course.
While I thought of BYU football I asked myself some simple questions, for example; why is this team so meaningful to me? Why do I spend my free time day dreaming of not only watching these gladiatorial matches but participating in them, forever etching my name in the conquests of Cougar lore? Common questions that sports fanatics ask of themselves, especially while suffering through a drought of success; thirsty I am. Why is it then that my blood runs blue through and through? Why do I not bleed red or Aggie blue? Why has fate chosen me as a disciple of Cougar Nation?
My fate was decided when two young Mormon missionaries climbed a steep hill and knocked on my mother’s door, giving her the opportunity to join a religion which best served her to live a life she believes to be right in the eyes of God. Living in Westchester, New York as a Latter-day Saint had its challenges, but the thought of a modern day Zion kept my mother firmly planted in this “unusual” faith; the banner of which is Brigham Young University. For her to attend her new found religion’s flagship school would be a dream come true. She packed everything she had, including her two small children and drove across the country to reach her “promised land.”
Now the late eighties was a time in which BYU was building a dynasty of sorts, having created fervor after a newly won national title. Well of course at the top of the to-do list for my mom was student season tickets. But what would be the significance of this in later years?
Picture a structure so massive it seats 65,000 people. Now these are not normal people but crazed people, who trek many miles, braving cold, rain, intense heat, and terrible traffic on single lane roads, all to watch a team of young men battling to defend their home. Listen to it. Can you hear it? That is the sound of thousands of fans, screaming in unison, mixed with the strong brass that only a large marching band can create, filling the stadium with an unimaginable sound. This is quite a lot to take in at one time. Now, imagine you are six. As a young boy this is what my dreams were made of. How could I not become completely obsessed with this team? Everything I observed, the smell of kettle corn, the rousing chant of the cheerleaders, the picturesque setting, the expansive concrete holy ground and My Warriors, taking the field in their specific battle formations; fatefully deciding for me a life of allegiance and loyalty to this team of teams, no matter what the circumstance, good or bad.
So what is to become of a poor fan whose life blood most strongly courses during the months in which the leaves of the flora change? Of that I am not sure; I do know that the decisions I make for whom I cheer now, will affect how my progeny are swayed to cheer. For they are destined to bleed as I bleed, die as I die and cry as I cry. Who knows maybe in fifteen or twenty years as their team struggles to find success, they will utter the words that I utter, while headed for dire straits. Son of a Bitch…
These words have oft described the futility of my favorite team as crunch time has approached and yet again I watch football suicide occur, helpless to affect the once promising outcome of a game for which I had much faith, but my team had zero works. When I say “my team” that is exactly what I mean; for I have bled with my team, died for my team and shed tears of joy or anger on the behalf of my team. Making It mine! Of which team do I speak? The sometimes mighty, but often meek BYU Cougars football team; and nothing better defines that love than the majesty of Lavell Edwards Stadium; not just the large, concrete edifice that is the holy ground for us Cougars, but the background of purple and brown hued mountains that jut forth like incisors, piercing the sheep-like clouds. The perfect setting for an autumnal battle to the death; death as described by football fans is anything less than a national championship, or at least a bid for a BCS bowl. Like blood-thirsty hooligans putting off our religious fervor for just “one more Saturday”, we cheer on our gladiators, praying they dismantle our hated opponents while practicing proper sportsmanship, of course.
While I thought of BYU football I asked myself some simple questions, for example; why is this team so meaningful to me? Why do I spend my free time day dreaming of not only watching these gladiatorial matches but participating in them, forever etching my name in the conquests of Cougar lore? Common questions that sports fanatics ask of themselves, especially while suffering through a drought of success; thirsty I am. Why is it then that my blood runs blue through and through? Why do I not bleed red or Aggie blue? Why has fate chosen me as a disciple of Cougar Nation?
My fate was decided when two young Mormon missionaries climbed a steep hill and knocked on my mother’s door, giving her the opportunity to join a religion which best served her to live a life she believes to be right in the eyes of God. Living in Westchester, New York as a Latter-day Saint had its challenges, but the thought of a modern day Zion kept my mother firmly planted in this “unusual” faith; the banner of which is Brigham Young University. For her to attend her new found religion’s flagship school would be a dream come true. She packed everything she had, including her two small children and drove across the country to reach her “promised land.”
Now the late eighties was a time in which BYU was building a dynasty of sorts, having created fervor after a newly won national title. Well of course at the top of the to-do list for my mom was student season tickets. But what would be the significance of this in later years?
Picture a structure so massive it seats 65,000 people. Now these are not normal people but crazed people, who trek many miles, braving cold, rain, intense heat, and terrible traffic on single lane roads, all to watch a team of young men battling to defend their home. Listen to it. Can you hear it? That is the sound of thousands of fans, screaming in unison, mixed with the strong brass that only a large marching band can create, filling the stadium with an unimaginable sound. This is quite a lot to take in at one time. Now, imagine you are six. As a young boy this is what my dreams were made of. How could I not become completely obsessed with this team? Everything I observed, the smell of kettle corn, the rousing chant of the cheerleaders, the picturesque setting, the expansive concrete holy ground and My Warriors, taking the field in their specific battle formations; fatefully deciding for me a life of allegiance and loyalty to this team of teams, no matter what the circumstance, good or bad.
So what is to become of a poor fan whose life blood most strongly courses during the months in which the leaves of the flora change? Of that I am not sure; I do know that the decisions I make for whom I cheer now, will affect how my progeny are swayed to cheer. For they are destined to bleed as I bleed, die as I die and cry as I cry. Who knows maybe in fifteen or twenty years as their team struggles to find success, they will utter the words that I utter, while headed for dire straits. Son of a Bitch…
Well I am a huge BYU fan. I love the mighty Cougars and have suffered with them, through their losses to any team that seemed to matter. I wrote a pretty sweet paper inspired by the football team that I love so much. I have posted it for your enjoyment. I will also post one that was inspired by the not onlyh the long drive to Dallas but also the primary purpose of that arduous journey, which happened to be the biggest win in Cougar history. Beautiful.
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