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Eric Johnson waxes poetic (TLDR) about being a cuog...
PurpleBaze
Member, Swaye's Wigwam Posts: 29,488
komo4 buttfucker and in passing
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RANDOM THOUGHTS ON WHY THE APPLE CUP MATTERS
(For Cougs AND Dawgs to enjoy, but probably more enjoyable if you're a Coug)
I told somebody at work today that I'm nervous about the Apple Cup. He shrugged and said, "It's just a football game."
Yeah. Maybe he's right.
And Bohemian Rhapsody is just a pop song. And the Grand Canyon is just a hole in the ground.
Look, I love the Seahawks, and I'm a huge Mariners fan.
But there is only one sporting event that I feel deep inside my guts, way down in the pit of my soul where the very foundation of my being exists. Only one contest actually "matters" to me. That is the Apple Cup.
Sometimes I think to myself, "What's the big deal? Most of the players aren't even from our state! Why do you care so much?"
Why indeed?
I was raised in the Spokane Valley, and I can still hear my Dad out in the garage on crisp Saturday afternoons cussing up a blue streak as we listened to Bob Robertson doing play-by-play of the Cougs games. After a fumble or an especially egregious penalty he'd look at that old radio and say half to himself, "&%$# damned Cougars can't stand prosperity!"
For the longest time I didn't know what he meant by that. But over the course of years I learned that the Cougs had an uncanny knack for making the worst kind of error at the worst possible time. Game-changing, season-altering bonehead mistakes that defied logical explanation. Those lacking even a basic level of dignity, bereft perhaps of certain socially redeeming qualities, long ago dubbed it, "Couging it..."
Fine, decent men like my Dad preferred to say simply, "&%$# damned Cougars can't stand prosperity!"
And so, year after year, it came to take on an almost mystical quality, this squandering of good fortune. Somehow they'd get ahead and then sure as heck prosperity would take a whuppin' and like clockwork the cussing would begin.
We used to load up in our Volkswagen Thing and head to Pullman as a kid. We'd drive through the Palouse and my Dad would tell me stories about growing up in Colfax, about working on a farm in Uniontown during the summers of his youth, and about how my grandparents had a scandalous romance in Genesee, Idaho. We'd be driving through those golden, rolling wheatfields and the stories would be flowing and it felt like the day would last forever. And then we'd get to the game.
I didn't go to big league baseball games. I never saw a pro football game until I got into the broadcasting business. Here's what I did: I went to Cougar games.
We went to see the Cougs once at Joe Albi Stadium when I was about 10, and down on the field after the game we saw my favorite player, an All-Pac-8 safety who happened to be named Eric Johnson. Dad said, "Go say hi to him!" He was standing there with his blonde curly hair all over the place like some Viking god, with a girl on each arm. I was a chubby little curly-headed kid, and I walked right up and said, "My name is Eric Johnson too!" He smiled and said, "Hey, that's cool!" and I stumbled away all giddy and thrilled like I'd just met royalty. Because, of course, I had.
I watched the great Jack Thompson play quarterback, and I can see him still in my mind's eye: the most graceful, aesthetically beautiful quarterback I've ever seen. When he left Washington State he was the most prolific passer in NCAA history. I saw a whole bunch of his finest moments sitting right there with Mom and Dad in the our end zone GA seats at Martin Stadium. (How could I have known back then that one day Jack would live right down the street from me, and that we would come to be close friends, and that I would learn he's a better man than he ever was a quarterback?)
The years passed and the seasons came and went, and you would have had to fight me to keep me from enrolling at WSU. And, not surprisingly, I loved the place the way I knew I would, because it was already a part of me before I ever set foot on campus.
I loved it the way all Cougs love it. I loved it because along with 20,000 strangers I was thrown out into the middle of nowhere to sink or swim, and I found out that there's no such thing as a stranger in Pullman. Just Cougs. And Cougs don't need a big city to have fun. They have each other.
And yes, when you are a Cougar, there is a built in hang-up of sorts about the Huskies. It's been described as a big brother/little brother sibling rivalry. I'll buy that. There is an underdog mentality that takes root at WSU, an "us against the world" bunker mentality thing. Cougs see it as the big rich school against the little engine that could. We're the little engine, and we keep chugging along and we know we'll get to the top, but it might take a little longer.
Huskies generally root for the Cougs, aside from the Apple Cup. Cougs never root for Huskies. And whats more, most of us wish the Huskies DIDN'T root for us. That's just the nature of the Coug/Husky dynamic. They wanna pat us on the head, we wanna knock their hand away. It's not right. It's not wrong. It just is.
In '82 I was a student in the stands when Chuck Nelson (who also turned out to be a lovely guy later in life) missed the field goal and the Cougs knocked the Huskies out of the Rose Bowl, and we all felt like we had lifted David up on our shoulders so he could slay Goliath. It felt good.
They tore the goalposts down and dragged 'em up and down the streets of campus like it was the carcass of some fire-breathing dragon. It was beautiful.
Before the Apple Cup in 1983, the great Don James said, "Being a Cougar prepares you well for life. You learn not to expect too much."
He shouldn't have said that.
We all drove over to Seattle and watched the Cougs knock the Dawgs out of the Rose Bowl again in the pouring rain, and suddenly we Cougs didn't feel like David anymore, we felt like Alexander. We wanted to take over the world!
And there for a while it seemed like it might happen.
In '97 I I got my Dad out of the hospital just in time to sit in the house he built and watch the Cougs beat UCLA on TV. He was dying of cancer and had about a week to live. When it was over he smiled and said, "Well how 'bout that?"
They went on to win the Apple Cup at Husky Stadium, and in doing so, they clinched their first trip to the Rose Bowl in 50 years. Bruce King tossed to me live on the field afterwards, and I was swimming around out there in Cougar glory, interviewing coaches and fans. The players had roses in their mouths. People were crying and laughing and nobody knew how to act. I remember being so happy that I was alive to see it, and sad at the same time that my Dad wasn't.
They won thirty games in three seasons starting in 2001. They were nationally ranked. But you know what I remember most about those three seasons? The Cougars lost the Apple Cup all three years. I shudder still when I try to wrap my head around that one.
For a time here at KOMO I actually hosted Husky post game shows after ABC televised games. One Apple Cup week, Jack Thompson and I got our kids together in the middle of the night and went down the street to a friend's house that has a purple and gold fire hydrant out in front. We painted that baby until it was a stunning crimson and grey beacon of hope. We were giggling and the kids were scared we'd be arrested. It was a blast. The next morning we drove to the scene of the crime, and to our dismay the crimson had run down into the grey, and it looked like a couple third graders had painted the thing with blindfolds on. The guy who owns the house told us we'd Couged it.
We had a TV camera with us that night, shooting the whole thing, and we showed it on the news the night before the Apple Cup.
Well, the Huskies whupped up on the Cougs that following day in the most demoralizing of ways, and I was doing the post game show live on the field. My guests were Husky great Greg Lewis and Jack Thompson. And right as the game was finishing and we were getting all set to go live, a guy behind us yells, "Hey Johnson! We saw that video with the fire hydrant last night! You suck!"
I looked at Jack and we rolled our eyes. Then the guy gets a bunch of his buddies to join in a lovely little chant, right as we were starting our live show. The open to the show rolled, they took the live camera, and there I was, on the air with this chant going on behind me: "Eric Johnson sucks! Eric Johnson sucks!"
It was a career low, and I probably deserved every bit of it.
A few years ago a couple buddies, Dave Karle and Dave Toll, created this garish giant "W" out of plywood. They painted it purple and gold and put Christmas lights on it. Then, while I was at work, they lashed it to the fence in front of my house in Magnolia. It was truly hideous. But that was just the beginning.
They called Mike Ferreri at KOMO and set up a real doozy. Now, I was supposed to throw it out to Mike live on the news that night at Husky Stadium. But instead, when I tossed to Mike, he was actually live AT MY HOUSE! With that giant purple "W" blinking in the background! It was awful. Really awful. And kind of brilliant too, I must admit.
I love that stuff. I love the 6-pack bets and the trash talk. I love the back and forth of it all.
There are bigger games I suppose, in the greater scheme of things. Ohio State-Michigan, or Alabama-Auburn. But I don't care about those games. I care about THIS game. This is OUR game.
So now, after all these years, I'll be in the garage on a Saturday afternoon messing around and, amazingly, Bob Robertson is still there with that wonderful gravelly voice of his. I'd rather listen to him read a phone book than anybody else read Shakespeare.
And just for fun sometimes, just because it feels right, I say, "#$%@ damned Cougs can't stand prosperity!" And you know what? It helps.
I took my son to Pullman for the 2012 Apple Cup. It was cold and thrilling. The Cougs trailed 28-10 at one point, but they completed a thrilling comeback with a 31-28 overtime win.
After the game we charged down onto the field, and a friend snapped what is my favorite Apple Cup photo. It's blurry and not centered. It shows me all fired up and yelling dopey things, but the best part is my son Jack. He is gazing out in his Jeff Tuel jersey and just taking it all in with a look of wonder on his face. That look of his, to me, is what the whole glorious rivalry is all about.
So, back to the original question, "Why does it matter so much?"
Well, it matters because we're Cougs. Because we went out in the middle of nowhere for four years, only to learn that it's really the center of the universe. Because the taste of victory means nothing if you haven't felt the sting of defeat. Because it is impossible to leave Pullman after four years and still take yourself too seriously. And, because win or lose, Cougs always have each other, and sooner or later, we know we'll get that little engine to the top of that hill. To be a Coug is to believe.
Go Cougs!
--------------------
RANDOM THOUGHTS ON WHY THE APPLE CUP MATTERS
(For Cougs AND Dawgs to enjoy, but probably more enjoyable if you're a Coug)
I told somebody at work today that I'm nervous about the Apple Cup. He shrugged and said, "It's just a football game."
Yeah. Maybe he's right.
And Bohemian Rhapsody is just a pop song. And the Grand Canyon is just a hole in the ground.
Look, I love the Seahawks, and I'm a huge Mariners fan.
But there is only one sporting event that I feel deep inside my guts, way down in the pit of my soul where the very foundation of my being exists. Only one contest actually "matters" to me. That is the Apple Cup.
Sometimes I think to myself, "What's the big deal? Most of the players aren't even from our state! Why do you care so much?"
Why indeed?
I was raised in the Spokane Valley, and I can still hear my Dad out in the garage on crisp Saturday afternoons cussing up a blue streak as we listened to Bob Robertson doing play-by-play of the Cougs games. After a fumble or an especially egregious penalty he'd look at that old radio and say half to himself, "&%$# damned Cougars can't stand prosperity!"
For the longest time I didn't know what he meant by that. But over the course of years I learned that the Cougs had an uncanny knack for making the worst kind of error at the worst possible time. Game-changing, season-altering bonehead mistakes that defied logical explanation. Those lacking even a basic level of dignity, bereft perhaps of certain socially redeeming qualities, long ago dubbed it, "Couging it..."
Fine, decent men like my Dad preferred to say simply, "&%$# damned Cougars can't stand prosperity!"
And so, year after year, it came to take on an almost mystical quality, this squandering of good fortune. Somehow they'd get ahead and then sure as heck prosperity would take a whuppin' and like clockwork the cussing would begin.
We used to load up in our Volkswagen Thing and head to Pullman as a kid. We'd drive through the Palouse and my Dad would tell me stories about growing up in Colfax, about working on a farm in Uniontown during the summers of his youth, and about how my grandparents had a scandalous romance in Genesee, Idaho. We'd be driving through those golden, rolling wheatfields and the stories would be flowing and it felt like the day would last forever. And then we'd get to the game.
I didn't go to big league baseball games. I never saw a pro football game until I got into the broadcasting business. Here's what I did: I went to Cougar games.
We went to see the Cougs once at Joe Albi Stadium when I was about 10, and down on the field after the game we saw my favorite player, an All-Pac-8 safety who happened to be named Eric Johnson. Dad said, "Go say hi to him!" He was standing there with his blonde curly hair all over the place like some Viking god, with a girl on each arm. I was a chubby little curly-headed kid, and I walked right up and said, "My name is Eric Johnson too!" He smiled and said, "Hey, that's cool!" and I stumbled away all giddy and thrilled like I'd just met royalty. Because, of course, I had.
I watched the great Jack Thompson play quarterback, and I can see him still in my mind's eye: the most graceful, aesthetically beautiful quarterback I've ever seen. When he left Washington State he was the most prolific passer in NCAA history. I saw a whole bunch of his finest moments sitting right there with Mom and Dad in the our end zone GA seats at Martin Stadium. (How could I have known back then that one day Jack would live right down the street from me, and that we would come to be close friends, and that I would learn he's a better man than he ever was a quarterback?)
The years passed and the seasons came and went, and you would have had to fight me to keep me from enrolling at WSU. And, not surprisingly, I loved the place the way I knew I would, because it was already a part of me before I ever set foot on campus.
I loved it the way all Cougs love it. I loved it because along with 20,000 strangers I was thrown out into the middle of nowhere to sink or swim, and I found out that there's no such thing as a stranger in Pullman. Just Cougs. And Cougs don't need a big city to have fun. They have each other.
And yes, when you are a Cougar, there is a built in hang-up of sorts about the Huskies. It's been described as a big brother/little brother sibling rivalry. I'll buy that. There is an underdog mentality that takes root at WSU, an "us against the world" bunker mentality thing. Cougs see it as the big rich school against the little engine that could. We're the little engine, and we keep chugging along and we know we'll get to the top, but it might take a little longer.
Huskies generally root for the Cougs, aside from the Apple Cup. Cougs never root for Huskies. And whats more, most of us wish the Huskies DIDN'T root for us. That's just the nature of the Coug/Husky dynamic. They wanna pat us on the head, we wanna knock their hand away. It's not right. It's not wrong. It just is.
In '82 I was a student in the stands when Chuck Nelson (who also turned out to be a lovely guy later in life) missed the field goal and the Cougs knocked the Huskies out of the Rose Bowl, and we all felt like we had lifted David up on our shoulders so he could slay Goliath. It felt good.
They tore the goalposts down and dragged 'em up and down the streets of campus like it was the carcass of some fire-breathing dragon. It was beautiful.
Before the Apple Cup in 1983, the great Don James said, "Being a Cougar prepares you well for life. You learn not to expect too much."
He shouldn't have said that.
We all drove over to Seattle and watched the Cougs knock the Dawgs out of the Rose Bowl again in the pouring rain, and suddenly we Cougs didn't feel like David anymore, we felt like Alexander. We wanted to take over the world!
And there for a while it seemed like it might happen.
In '97 I I got my Dad out of the hospital just in time to sit in the house he built and watch the Cougs beat UCLA on TV. He was dying of cancer and had about a week to live. When it was over he smiled and said, "Well how 'bout that?"
They went on to win the Apple Cup at Husky Stadium, and in doing so, they clinched their first trip to the Rose Bowl in 50 years. Bruce King tossed to me live on the field afterwards, and I was swimming around out there in Cougar glory, interviewing coaches and fans. The players had roses in their mouths. People were crying and laughing and nobody knew how to act. I remember being so happy that I was alive to see it, and sad at the same time that my Dad wasn't.
They won thirty games in three seasons starting in 2001. They were nationally ranked. But you know what I remember most about those three seasons? The Cougars lost the Apple Cup all three years. I shudder still when I try to wrap my head around that one.
For a time here at KOMO I actually hosted Husky post game shows after ABC televised games. One Apple Cup week, Jack Thompson and I got our kids together in the middle of the night and went down the street to a friend's house that has a purple and gold fire hydrant out in front. We painted that baby until it was a stunning crimson and grey beacon of hope. We were giggling and the kids were scared we'd be arrested. It was a blast. The next morning we drove to the scene of the crime, and to our dismay the crimson had run down into the grey, and it looked like a couple third graders had painted the thing with blindfolds on. The guy who owns the house told us we'd Couged it.
We had a TV camera with us that night, shooting the whole thing, and we showed it on the news the night before the Apple Cup.
Well, the Huskies whupped up on the Cougs that following day in the most demoralizing of ways, and I was doing the post game show live on the field. My guests were Husky great Greg Lewis and Jack Thompson. And right as the game was finishing and we were getting all set to go live, a guy behind us yells, "Hey Johnson! We saw that video with the fire hydrant last night! You suck!"
I looked at Jack and we rolled our eyes. Then the guy gets a bunch of his buddies to join in a lovely little chant, right as we were starting our live show. The open to the show rolled, they took the live camera, and there I was, on the air with this chant going on behind me: "Eric Johnson sucks! Eric Johnson sucks!"
It was a career low, and I probably deserved every bit of it.
A few years ago a couple buddies, Dave Karle and Dave Toll, created this garish giant "W" out of plywood. They painted it purple and gold and put Christmas lights on it. Then, while I was at work, they lashed it to the fence in front of my house in Magnolia. It was truly hideous. But that was just the beginning.
They called Mike Ferreri at KOMO and set up a real doozy. Now, I was supposed to throw it out to Mike live on the news that night at Husky Stadium. But instead, when I tossed to Mike, he was actually live AT MY HOUSE! With that giant purple "W" blinking in the background! It was awful. Really awful. And kind of brilliant too, I must admit.
I love that stuff. I love the 6-pack bets and the trash talk. I love the back and forth of it all.
There are bigger games I suppose, in the greater scheme of things. Ohio State-Michigan, or Alabama-Auburn. But I don't care about those games. I care about THIS game. This is OUR game.
So now, after all these years, I'll be in the garage on a Saturday afternoon messing around and, amazingly, Bob Robertson is still there with that wonderful gravelly voice of his. I'd rather listen to him read a phone book than anybody else read Shakespeare.
And just for fun sometimes, just because it feels right, I say, "#$%@ damned Cougs can't stand prosperity!" And you know what? It helps.
I took my son to Pullman for the 2012 Apple Cup. It was cold and thrilling. The Cougs trailed 28-10 at one point, but they completed a thrilling comeback with a 31-28 overtime win.
After the game we charged down onto the field, and a friend snapped what is my favorite Apple Cup photo. It's blurry and not centered. It shows me all fired up and yelling dopey things, but the best part is my son Jack. He is gazing out in his Jeff Tuel jersey and just taking it all in with a look of wonder on his face. That look of his, to me, is what the whole glorious rivalry is all about.
So, back to the original question, "Why does it matter so much?"
Well, it matters because we're Cougs. Because we went out in the middle of nowhere for four years, only to learn that it's really the center of the universe. Because the taste of victory means nothing if you haven't felt the sting of defeat. Because it is impossible to leave Pullman after four years and still take yourself too seriously. And, because win or lose, Cougs always have each other, and sooner or later, we know we'll get that little engine to the top of that hill. To be a Coug is to believe.
Go Cougs!
Comments
Cuogs cuog and doogs doog.
No
Nude.
On my nob.
In the middle of husky stadium.
What a fag.
My favorite part is that it's like two million words long and yet I didn't notice one derogatory term for homosexuals in it. This place really is evolving...
Note: If you don't have a AA/AS degree, you can insert "Bellevue High School Grad" for "GRCC."
As a result of my amazing academic performance at GRCC, I was offered a big scholly to WSU. I turned it down to pay full price at UW. Probably the best decision of my life. Literally.
Cuogs are sheep fucking fags.