Week 3: A Good Day Bruined
5:25pm, Friday evening. I am walking out of the office on a journey towards what I deem the Happiest Place on Earth and I am 100% certain that we are going to beat Stanford and finally end this streak. We haven’t looked that good so far this year; we miss too many open receivers, when we hit wide open receivers they drop the ball, when we’re not up against a rushing attack anchored by a 45 year-old QB (Taysom Hill), we get run all over, but as I walk out of my office on Friday, I am absolutely certain we are going to snap this damn streak. I have convinced myself that the second Jim Mora saw this year’s schedule and realized we had Stanford at home for the first conference game of the year, he said to himself “screw the non-conference games, we’re beating Stanford” and has since focused every element of preparation for this year’s team on finally beating the Cardinal.
It's almost like Joe knew what was coming...
8:01am, Saturday morning. There is nothing like waking up on gameday. Even when Neuheisel was our coach and you knew we were going to try to run some ridiculous 3 fullback, 2 tailback offense from 1908 and probably lose by 20, it was impossible to wake up without a smile on gameday. And to be honest, today is even a little bit better than usual, because today we are beating Stanford. The next time I go to sleep we will finally have ripped that King-Kong sized gorilla off of our backs.
I’d say as recently as 2012, I didn’t care about Stanford. Andrew Luck? Good on ya. Toby Gerhart? Way to go TG! But then came Kevin Hogan. I hate Kevin Hogan.
And let’s be clear, I don’t use the word “hate.” My mother used to say the only thing she hated was the word itself. When I was a child and beginning to read chapter books, she would go through each book before I could read it, and in black ink, cross out the word “hate” and replace it with the phrase “immensely dislike.” Say what you will about this rather extreme tactic for a word I’m pretty sure is used at least a dozen times in every PG-rated movie, but to this day, I can’t even think of the word “hate” without cringing a bit. It’s simply not part of my vocabulary, except for one exception – Kevin Hogan.
I hate Kevin Hogan.
I’m sure Kevin Hogan is a nice guy. I actually have tortured myself and learned more than I’d like to admit about him. By all accounts, he is a tremendous teammate, smart young man, an all-around great guy. I don’t care. I hate Kevin Hogan.
Nobody has tortured me quite like Kevin Hogan has. Not Reggie Bush. Not Pete Carroll. Not the damn hurricane that made the Bruins 1998 opener against Miami the last game of the year, when they had a this-is-my-one-shot-to-earn-first-round-money Edgerrin James, instead of the first game of the year, when they did not have the aforementioned Edgerrin James. (Why did I just do that to myself?)
Kevin Hogan was a good college quarterback; nobody can deny that. But when he played UCLA, he was great, he more than great, he was otherworldly good (I don’t care what his stats say, he ALWAYS made the play when Stanford needed it against us).
But guess what? Kevin Hogan is finally gone. After 4 years (and 5 games) of nightmares, Kevin Hogan is gone and I don’t care if Tom Brady suits up at quarterback for Stanford today, as long as it’s not Kevin Hogan and the witchcraft he holds over us, we’re beating Stanford. We’re due. The law of averages says its time, we’ve completely reconstructed everything we do as a football team to beat Stanford. It IS happening today.
As the Coach of UCLA in any sport, you have 3 goals that drive everything you do:
1. Beat ‘SC
2. Win the Pac-12
3. Win the National Championship
It’s that simple. Everything you do should be about helping you accomplish those 3 things.
Except this year, for football, there is another line item that needs to be at the top of the list: Beat Stanford. That’s how ridiculous this has gotten.
Despite the title of this journey, I’ll actually be attending 14 Pac-12 football games this year. The ‘SC-UCLA game is my favorite day of the year and there is no way I was missing that, but I HAD to be here today. I had to be at the Rose Bowl when we finally beat Stanford.
Hopefully on the menu again at the end of the season...
12:43pm Saturday afternoon. Shockingly, we make it to the Happiest place on Earth without too much traffic. Most Saturday trips to the Rose Bowl require patience and a willingness to go 12 rounds with your inner road-rage demons, but today we are pulling into the Rose Bowl having nary heard a horn or seen a flipping bird. I deem this is a sign. Today has been pre-ordained.
After meeting up with friends at Ralph’s, we head on down into the glorious valley where the Rose Bowl sits, catch a glimpse of her majesty as we drive by, before being directed to pull onto the third fairway at Brookside Golf Club and settle into an area just in front of the greenside bunker.
300 some-odd days a year, the Brookside Golf Club in Pasadena is just a golf club. It’s a nice golf club. The home of two well-manicured courses sitting amidst the San Gabriel Mountains, in the middle of the majestic Arroyo Seco. But for 6 Saturdays every fall and for one magnificent day at the turn of each calendar, Brookside Golf Club is so much more than that.
On those special Saturdays, Brookside golf club becomes the Happiest Place on Earth for tailgaters of all ages. The Brookside golf club serves as the primary location for parking at the Rose Bowl, and as soon as gates to the courses open on Saturday morning, the courses become the site of epic games of 2-hand touch, impromptu dance parties, drinking games galore, and lots and lots of barbequing.
The golf course truly is a tremendous place to tailgate. First off, it's beautiful. Instead of being stuck in some random scorching hot LA parking lot, you're in the middle of luscious, tree-lined fairways, just a few 5-irons away from one of the world’s most iconic stadiums.
Second, you're on grass. Not some small area of artificial practice field turf that serves as the tailgating grounds at some schools nowadays, but real, live, cared-for grass. Because you're on grass, games are more fun. Whether you’re playing a game a catch or just a really intense game of flip-cup, you can go full speed ahead with reckless abandon, because what's the worst that can happen? You end up laid out in a fairway bunker with sand in your face, spilt beer down your chest, but the respect and admiration of all your fellow tailgaters.
Third, there is plenty of room to fit lots of people. This is by far the largest stadium on the 13 Saturdays journey so far, and you can immediately feel the near double mass of humanity taking in this fall Saturday. While quality trumps quantity in most aspects of life, I can’t deny that it's pretty damn fun to be surrounded by tens of thousands of fellow tailgaters making the golf course their backyard for the day. The large crowd means you'll hear lots of classic stories, get in some excellent LA people watching (lines that only can be overheard when tailgating at the Rose Bowl - "Wait, is that the guy from SUR?"), and the sheer amount of people, while frustrating when getting on and off the freeway, leads to an inherent buzz that grows louder and louder as kickoff approaches.
As for my party, we immediately go about setting up our favorite game, Dartacus. You play Dartacus by setting up two bike tires about 15 feet apart and placing three cans of beer in the middle. You and your teammate stand on opposite sides. Once everyone is safely in position, the game can begin. The game is a race to 11 and you score points by throwing darts across the field and landing them in the circle of the bike tire. If the dart lands in the interior circle of the bike tire, you get one point, if the dart gets stuck in the actual bike tire, you get two points, and if the dart pierces one of the beer cans in the middle of the bike tires, you get 3 points and the guy (or girl) who is on that side for the other team has to use the puncture in the can to shotgun the beer.
While I’m fortunate enough to be part of the first game, my friend Bull, who is the guy on the other team who can make me drink, is absolutely on fire. He is hitting can after can with greater frequency than an "on-fire" Detlef Schremf in the original NBA Jam.
As I finish the last drops of Bull's game ending can, I catch a glimpse of a Stanford fan walking by in an Andrew Luck jersey, which makes me think of Stanford quarterbacks, which makes me think of Kevin Hogan and how he’s now stuck on some NFL practice squad and no longer eligible to be under center. I am more convinced than ever that today is the day.
4:30pm Saturday afternoon. A loud boom rings out over the Rose Bowl. 30 minutes to gametime.
Apparently, this is a new thing they are trying out at the Rose Bowl this year and I absolutely love it. Remember how I told you about how my wife spent 4 years at UCLA without ever seeing the opening kickoff? That’s why they have this canon/firework/warning shot now and it is pure genius. As glorious as a day at the Rose Bowl is, the Rose Bowl is still in LA, and this is still an LA crowd. It doesn’t matter if the Lakers are hosting Game 7 of the NBA Finals, at least 30% of any LA crowd isn’t showing up until halfway through the first quarter. I’m hopeful that the canon will catch on and more fans will be in their seats when that opening kickoff is sent into the beautiful, smog-filled southern California sky.
One of my favorite parts of any gameday at the Rose Bowl is walking from the surrounding concourse through the tunnel that leads to the inside of the bowl. As you walk through the tunnel, you catch your first faint glimpse of the green Rose Bowl grass with specks of blue paint at various points indicating who’s home turf it is. As you walk through the tunnel the sound reverberates off the walls and the buzz from inside the bowl grows louder and louder with each step you take, until finally you emerge into the daylight and find yourself surrounded by the most magnificent stadium known to man. (I’ve never said 13 Saturdays was going to be an objective quest.)
As we take our seats, I scan the Stanford sideline just to be sure there is no number 8 practicing taking snaps. There is not. Kevin Love is at the Rose Bowl today. Kevin Hogan is not. I am 100% certain the streak ends today.
6:47pm Saturday night. Halftime. We are up 10-3 and it’s looking good. The defense is clicking and despite only putting up 10 points, the offense has had its moments and feels destined to put some more points on the board. We have gone all-in for this game, to be in this position, and we have the halftime lead. In 4 years, Mora has only lost one halftime lead. A second occurrence is not happening today. No way. I am 100% certain we are ending the streak today.
Despite my confidence, I am not so confident as to tempt the wings of fate and move from my seat at halftime. My friends head out to the concourse for refreshments, but I’m not moving. I’m not taking any chances. I started the game seated in the row below and we gave up a long drive for a field goal and then went 3 and out to start the game. Since I’ve moved to my current seat, we’ve outscored them by 10 and have gotten our first sack against Stanford since the creation of the iPhone. I am not moving.
Usually, around this time at the Rose Bowl, the sun sets over the San Gabriel mountains, lighting up the sky over the stadium for a few final minutes as dusk turns to night at the Rose Bowl. On this night, the sky could have turned neon green and I wouldn’t have the faintest idea. The second half hasn’t even started yet and I’m already staring at the gameclock, trying to will the digits down to all zeroes with the Bruins on top.
As my friends return to our seats, my friend Tony, who sat beside me all first half and knows how crazy superstitious I am, asks if we can switch seats so he can sit next to his wife. I don’t need to say a word, with one look he knows we are not tempting fate. Not tonight. Tony helps me in ensuring everyone returns to the same seat they were sitting in for the first half. However, the last two of our crew, Max and his fiancé KP, who is a former Stanford dolly and dressed in an Andrew Luck Orange Bowl jersey for this occasion thoughtlessly sit in each other’s seats. Tony and I realize this and immediately begin to lurch towards them, but then something hits me – maybe this is a test. Maybe it’ll actually be worse karma to force this happy couple to switch seats. Tony doesn’t have this second thought and tells them to switch, except KP is smart-she went to Stanford after all-and picks up on the reason for this request. She is not switching.
Despite this colossal misstep by my friend Max, there has still not been a Kevin Hogan sighting. I remain 100% certain that today is the day.
8:05pm Saturday night. Stanford ball. 4th and 1. Here it is. After 7 years of Stanford pounding it down our throats and picking up 3 yards any time they damn well please, we can end it right here. Everything we’ve prepared for since fall camp started and really since the end of last season is right here in front of us. Stop Stanford on 4th and 1 on our side of the field and we’re in great shape.
But then David Shaw loses his mind. He sends out the punting unit. Why is he doing this? It must be a fake, but then… it’s not. They actually punt it to UCLA’s Ishmael Adams (aka Ish), who is standing on the 15 yard line. We’re getting the ball back! At least we should. With the ball rapidly closing in on him, Ish inexplicably tries to simultaneously call for a fair catch and catch the ball, resulting in a fumble, gasps of 70,000 people, and an instant increase in my life insurance premiums. Luckily, Ish recovers his own fumble.
Now, we have the ball and with two first downs this game is over. Two plays in, we finally break off a long run. That’s one first down.
After two 2 yard runs, we’re 6 yards away from FINALLY ending this. Pick up one first down and we can run out the clock. On third down, Rosen rolls out and he connects with his man, except, inexplicably his man ran a 4 yard route when we needed 6 yards. We’re punting.
8:24pm Saturday night. Why do I do this to myself? There must be other hobbies people have. Painting. Painting sounds nice. You never see bald painters, they always have long hair and young looking skin. Painting must be less stressful than football. I should try painting.
Stanford scored. We’re losing. But we have the ball, we have 24 seconds, and we have the Rosen one, maybe this is the moment his legend is truly takes off.
First play, he finds the open receiver who scampers for a 25 yard gain to midfield. Now, if we can pick up another 20 we have a shot. Rosen is dancing around in the pocket, looking for someone, he’s got someone open downfield, he fires… and as the ball spirals down field, all I can think is “get down ball, get dooown!” (Where is the Patriots ball boy when you need him?) The ball floats half a second too long, the safety is there to hit Kenny Walker just enough that he cant reel in the pass. We have one more play, but for the first time all day, I am not 100% certain we are going to win.
8:41pm Saturday night. I’m sure there are millions of worse things than losing a football game, but as me and 70,000 of my friends walk back out the tunnel into the warm Pasadena night, I can’t think of any. I don’t have anything to say. I can’t find any words. In my mind, I see that last pass headed towards Kenny Walker’s hands, except this time the safety doesn’t get there in time. Kenny catches it, then he bounces off the safety who is screaming by half a second too late, and Kenny is crossing the goalline as I am swallowed up in an embrace with the best of friends and the complete strangers around us.
For the 10 minute walk back to the car, I’m speechless. What can you possibly say after a defeat like that?
Finally, as we get back to the cars. We begin to say our good-byes when someone finally says something to lift my spirits. We are trying to figure out the next time we’ll all be back together, when suddenly it dawns on us: ‘SC. ‘SC! My favorite day of the year.
We get ‘SC at the Rose Bowl this year, and oh, what a day it will be. Who knows, maybe a trip to the Pac-12 title game will be on the line? And maybe the North champ will be Stanford? In which case, we’ll have a date with them with a trip to the Rose Bowl on the line. Yes. Yes. This is how it was supposed to be.
We’ll finally get the monkey off our back and book a trip to the Rose Bowl all at once. This time, chivalry be damned, Max and KP are not switching seats.
