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…