You know how they say, "It's just football"? True. Yes, this is a fact. It is just football. But it is also community, family and friends. It's a university. Haven't you heard of Fansville? We love to define ourselves by our sports teams, especially when they represent our school and our town.
Wow, I love Pullman. It is one of the best college towns in the world. People who talk smack about it are mostly Huskies who wish they didn't choose a college in the real world. Because that's what's great about Pullman - it's not the real world and that's the way we like it. It's a bubble of possibility, opportunity and optimism.How did it take ESPN so long to locate the Palouse on a map? The weird thing is we probably like it better that way anyway because us Cougs are weird like that. We want you to know about us and to be noticed but we don't want you to bother us. Blissful obliviousness is WSU's motto.
Why did it hit me so hard when I watched GameDay take to my campus? Are my goosebumps supposed to be layered - I've been sporting a goosebump crew neck since Saturday morning.
You know how when someone says that words can't describe a moment? (The same person that said it's just football, in fact. They sure do have a lot of opinions for an unidentified individual.) (That would be funny if the words not being able to describe a moment thing was the first sentence of this then it just ended with a picture of Ryan Leaf chewing out an innocent reporter. That would be an exemplary instance of Couging it.) Well, they were right (like they always think they are.) Generations. Pride. Loyalty. Blood. Sweat. Beers. I have never been prouder to be a Coug than Saturday morning.
What made it so amazing? I walked those roads and sidewalks. I've been there when no one else was. (I was in the gym getting thousands of shots up when y'all were sleepin'! Suddenly I turn into a highly touted NBA prospect.) Seriously though, words can't describe the feeling.
I don't have kids but I imagine it would be somewhat comparable to having one of your children grow up to be an astronaut. Then comes the day of the big Moon mission, Apollo Whatever. You go door to door in your neighborhood letting people know that they can come over to your house for the big viewing party. You rent one of those airplanes that drags a giant sign to let the entire city know. You take eight weeks of airplane pilot lessons first. You call in to a local drivetime radio show and sit through an array of offensive sound effects (and perhaps some real flatulence noises mixed in for good measure by the gross co-host, DJ Disgusting.) to ask them to make an announcement. You change your Top Eight on MySpace to only people who are fans of outer space. You track down Buzz Aldrin (which actually wasn't that hard, he was just at home reading the newspaper and drinking a mug of hot coffee on his recliner by the fire.) Seriously though, you change your life for this event. You even put up those glow-in-the-dark stars in your room so when you can't sleep at night from countless hours of fretting when you open your eyes you remember why you are fretting in the first place and your worry only grows exponentially (maybe the whole bedroom galaxy thing wasn't a good idea. Bedroom Galaxy sounds like an awesome nerd porn though.)
Then the day finally comes. You are fist bumping people you hardly know in the Costco parking lot, high fiving baristas and chest bumping school crossing guards. You have never been this excited in your entire life, not even the time you thought you saw Kevin James at the mall but it was actually just a mall cop (you often get real life intertwined with the movies.) Your house is packed for the viewing party. It's all happening. Everything is everythinging. The time has come. You can barely watch but you still do that move where you cover your face with your hands and peek through the fingers, like I want people to know that this is really stressing me out and the last thing I want to do is watch this but I'm going to go ahead and take a looksie because in actuality I really do want to watch this but I just want you to know that I'm better than you because I care so much more and the stakes are higher for me.)
Then it happens. You look at your huge flat screen Vizio to witness a sight that you thought you would never see. Your child is Tebowing on the Moon. Then your child holds up a sign that says, "I love you Mom (or) Dad" and does a little dance that you taught them how to do when they were four and wanted to be Like Mike (Jackson.)
That's exactly what it was like when I witnessed GameDay come to Pullman. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go email Nike to have some Witness t-shirts made up for the whole shebang.
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