God and Sports…can they ever co-exist?

God, it appears, has a lot of free time on his hands. According to every professional, collegiate and high school athlete, God took time out of his day to assist in his/her/their accomplishment.

That’s sweet of him, considering that the rest of world is crumbling beneath our collective feet; but hey, if were goin’ down, we’re goin’ down with gridiron success!

OK, perhaps it’s not that extreme, but the absurdity of what’s becoming is just too hard to ignore.

For that, I present you the poster child, Russell Wilson.

Wilson, darling child of the media, creator of all that is good in the world, is just a quarterback (as of right now). He’s a damn good one and, apparently, a really good, well-to-do person. Great. I hope he is, and have zero reason to doubt the claims. Wilson also has a platform, a worldwide stage, and he’s intending on making the most of it.

But following his latest heroics, a you-had-to-be-there-to-believe-it comeback, he took his first missteps. According to Wilson, not only is God now taking the time to help aid his team to victory, he’s manipulating the circumstances to make it more interesting.

The following quote, according to Peter King, he of the Monday Morning Quarterback, came when he asked Wilson about the four interceptions he threw in the game.

“That’s God setting it up, to make it so dramatic, so rewarding, so special,” Wilson told King. “I’ve been through a lot in life, and had some ups and downs. It’s what led me to this day.”

OK.

I’m not here to bash on Wilson, the person. This is an issue that stems from athletes of days-gone-bye, men who probably helped mold Wilson into the man he is today. Because God has, apparently, been helping create unbelievable feats of athletic ability since the beginning of time.

In normal walks of life, suggesting that God is layering obstacles in front of a man in order to test his will and resolve is fine. I’m a believe in that myself. Some of the world’s greatest, in every walk of life, have had to overcome. Going through trying times shapes us. If God had a hand in their journey, that is amazing, and something we should all hope for.

Thinking that there is something out there gets many people through, and has no doubt shaped and nurtured for thousands of years.

Wilson, however innocent his intentions may have been, came across as offensive and insensitive in this instance. A quick look into his life reveals very little about what most people would consider “…going through a lot.” His father was a lawyer, his mother a legal nurse consultant. They certainly had no problem putting food on the table, and he always had a roof over his head. He was a star athlete from an early age, educated at North Carolina State and Wisconsin, and in just three years in the NFL has ascended to super-stardom.

Not exactly giant stumbling blocks on the harsh road of life.

Again, this is not to pile on Wilson himself. There have been many examples that are far more offensive. Ray Lewis, former NFL-er-turned-analyst, was involved — however deeply — in a double-murder investigation, and has been very outspoken about God.

What was more agitating about Wilson’s comments came from the suggestion that it was his struggles in the past, along with his his interceptions in the game, that let him know God was there.

The athlete who overcame poverty, or raised by a single parent, or who lived with Grandma, those are the ones who can speak of overcoming. Perhaps Wilson, with a background blending between African-American and Native Indian, went through racial discrimination. If he did, and came out the other side, then good on him for doing so, and not succumbing. As a white male, I can’t begin to understand what people of color have gone through.

Just the same as Wilson, a man born of money, can’t understand the life of those who weren’t. The tight-rope walk of God in sports, always delicate, should be reserved for those moments when something truly special has occurred.

Maybe God was with Wilson on Sunday, and he felt it. But the delivery of his message was cringe-worthy.

Thanking God for helping you overcome all that you’ve been through should be reserved, in public, for those who truly did.

Thanking God for interceptions, to create a dramatic moment, should be left out completely. it’s insulting to those whose lives are throwing them REAL interceptions.

I expected better from Wilson. In an emotional moment, perhaps the biggest of his life, a man who is widely praised for poise and composure completely dropped the ball.

In his eyes, maybe it’s just part of God’s plan.

When PR’d became the new KO’d

Let’s be clear: this was not Cardale Jones’ fault. He’s but the latest victim in a seemingly darkening world, one that looks to completely erase the notion of true student-athletes.

It was painful, but he was the subject, and is therefore taking the heat. Cardale Jones, he of the infamous “We ain’t here to play school, classes are pointless” tweet, had been shaken. Suddenly, in his words, a first-round selection in the NFL Draft means nothing without his education, and that’s why he’s returning to school.

Right.

It has come to this, in 2015, where a football player starts three games in his career — albeit big ones — then holds a press conference to announce…nothing, essentially. He was made to look like the golden boy, spurring the nototrious shield of the NFL to return to quant little Columbus, where he will hunker down next to his fellow students, eager to expand his mind on top of his draft status.

Problem is, college football programs are becoming as much the shield as the NFL is.

But, it’s supposed to be a beautiful twist of emotions, isn’t it? A young man who saw overnight stardom suddenly choosing to study Monet over spending all his new-found money. Biology over fast cars. Math 201 instead of film room 101.

No one is buying it, however, and tOSU comes across looking foolish.

The saddest part in it all is that Jones will be the one mocked over his words, the ones coming from his mouth, but not his heart. They could have told him to tell us he’s not physically ready. He wants to improve his footwork, or learn to read coverage’s better.

It was his decision to return, but something tells me it isn’t for the reasons said. Being a high pick in the draft WOULD mean the same to him, education or not. Just a hunch. It’s PR spin from a university terrified of letting him speak his mind. And it’s gross.

Ohio State is a school that prides itself on the moniker of THEE, so no one should be surprised by the way he was pressed under their thumb. If it’s not meticulously derived, it’s not OK. Jones’ decision could have been announced in the form of a press release, just as Marcus Mariota’s was; no hassle, no pomp and circumstance. But that wouldn’t heap attention on a team that is seeing, just four days after a national championship, eyeballs moving in other directions: Mariota. Winston. NFL Draft predictions. LeBron and Love.

So they pounced. ESPN cameras everywhere, national press from every major network on hand, ready to take in the news. And then they threw their young QB — a man who has told anyone that will listen that he cares not about classes — out to the wolves, a tightly wound soldier, spitting rhetoric from a piece of paper that bore his name, but not his feelings.

He was the latest, but not the last, to become a machine in the big-money world of the NCAA. The worst part is, I doubt he even realizes it. He took a hit, was mocked up and down, and he won’t even know.

He will be in school, not because he wants to learn, but because some guy from the NFL told him he won’t make very much money this year. Return to school, improve, and try again next year.

So Cardale will. Because he wants to be there, to study and lockdown that education, which will serve him well as an NFL’er. And tOSU is just lucky to have him.

He said it, so it must be true.

But despite what the school…err, he…says, I doubt he will see much classroom time.

Reflect and Reboot: A look back at a magical run

It started so innocently, a warm night in August, and extended out through five months of twists and turns. In years to come, it may become a note in the pages, one season set aside hundreds more. But for those who experienced it, who lived and breathed it, the 2014 Oregon Ducks season will never be lost in the shuffle.

It ended in sorrow, but not in shame. They’re a team that has overcome so much, yet was unable to leap the last hurdle, a bulldozer named Brutus, who denied Oregon its first national championship. Today is about reflecting on what was, not what could have been, because magical seasons don’t reign down all too often, and that’s what this was: magic. In every form. It was different, and it was special.

 

The Start

When Marcus Mariota announced his intention to return for his junior season, along with senior stalwarts Hroniss Grasu and Ifo Ekpre-Olomu, the stage was set for Oregon to hold its position amongst the sports elite. Two years of coming up short by their standards– no conference titles – had a fan base restless, unfairly or not. But in Mariota they had something unique, something the school had never had before. They had a star at the most important position, one who was capable to taking them to heights never before seen. With the right amount of dust, it appeared a fairytale ending was within reach.

For one month, it certainly appeared so.

With a dominating opening night win in the books over lowly South Dakota, Oregon faced their most daunting, and important, challenge: Big Ten champion Michigan State, they of the brooding, bullying-style that had given Oregon fits for years. The Spartans offered Oregon not only a barometer, but an opportunity to lay any pre-conceived notions about this year’s team to rest. They would not be pushed around anymore. A new approach had made them stronger, bigger, and ready to be the bully.

After 60 minutes, the talk was backed up.

A back-and-forth start saw Michigan State jump out to a nine-point lead. After that, Oregon blew the Spartans away, breezing past and blowing through the nation’s stingiest defense. For their part, the Oregon defense also stood tall, no play more evident than the 4^th-and-2 stuffing they laid out, ending a Spartan drive, as well as their soft reputation.

“People make too much out of us not being physical,” Oregon offensive coordinator Scott Frost said. “Just because we don’t play … with three tight ends and two backs doesn’t mean we can’t be physical.”

With the early season challenge out-of-the-way, but offensive line injuries mounting, Oregon limped into a Thursday night showdown with Arizona vengeful, seeking redemption for the embarrassing loss suffered at the hands of the Wildcats a year before. What they got, however, was the most important lesson of all. In a numbing defeat, before a stunned home crowd – Helfrich’s first as head coach – Oregon walked off the field with more questions than answers. Their line was a mess, Mariota appeared vulnerable. Fans that had grown far too accustomed to domination were beginning to turn its back on a coaching staff that had built the program into what it is today.

They needed something – anything – to lift spirits and turn around a season that, with just one loss, felt as if it were slipping away.

 

The Return

For all the talk of Mariota’s season, and the magnificent things he accomplished, perhaps no one had a bigger impact on it than offensive tackle Jake Fisher.

A week after the Arizona loss, Fisher – who had missed the previous two games with an injury – made his triumphant return to the starting lineup, as Oregon headed to Pasadena for what turned out to be the first of two trips on the season. Solidifying an offensive line that had rendered 12 sacks the previous two games, Fisher’s return ignited the Ducks, who instantly became a different team with him on the field.

Suddenly, the offense had time to operate without Mariota running for his life. Running backs had bigger holes to run through. The team as a whole had a different swagger.

They ran away from UCLA, a pre-season top 10 team, and never slowed down.

 

High Octane Fun        

When Oregon’s offense is humming, there may be no better show in town. It’s why kids come to play here from all over the country, uniforms and facilities aside. It’s open spaces, bruising backs and jittery receivers. It’s a quarterback who, week-in-and-week-out, does something that simply defies reality.

And when Fisher returned, and more parts were working than not, the offense was at its all-time best.

In its path went the Huskies for the 11^th straight time, a Stanford team that twice had ended championship runs, and other opponents that didn’t belong on the same field. Included in the demolition was a rematch with Arizona, the only team standing in front of Mariota’s quest for a conference title and a Heisman.

Not a problem.

On an “I-was-there-when” night, Oregon put forth one of the most dominating efforts in school history, stifling an Arizona offense that came in near the top of every category. It was a statement game and win. Oregon had slayed their latest dragon, locked in the school’s first ever Heisman, and showed the rest of the country that come playoff time, they were a team to be reckoned with.

“It’s a different team this time of year, Helfrich said. No truer words were spoken.

 

A Tale of Two Games       

With the new playoff format in its infancy, Oregon found itself in a familiar spot: the Rose Bowl. Only this time it would not be against a Big Ten opponent, and it would not be the end. Because before them stood the Florida State Seminoles, their 29-game winning streak, and a shot at the national championship.

For this team, in this season, things went exactly as you would expect.

A blitzkrieg defensive effort, combined with an opportunistic offense, propelled Oregon past a wilted FSU team 59-20. It was a crowning moment for a team that seemed dead in the water just three months before. Any other year would have seen this as a storybook ending, a team and career nestled in one perfect picture, covered in confetti.

But this year was different. This team had something bigger to play for. The problem is, so did a team from up north. And last night, in Jerry’s World, Ohio State, led by Urban Meyer, put a halt to Oregon’s season, deflating them in a 42-20 win, claiming the eighth championship in school history.

For Helfrich, despite the loss, nothing could take away from the season.

“It’s unfortunate and a little bit insulting in a lot of ways that whoever loses this game, the word failure comes up as a descriptive for the season,” said head coach Mark Helfrich, now 24-4 in two seasons. “As I told the guys in the locker room, that will never exist in these guys’ vocabulary. Every player to a T has just battled and gutted this out.”

It wasn’t the way anyone on the roster wanted to go out, but, less than 24 hours after it came to an end, we’re not ready to close the book on this season. Because it was too special, and too rare to do so.

You only get the first Heisman one time. You can’t redo the first ever College Football Playoff victory. And you can never get this exact group of young men back, ones who overcame so many obstacles, only to leave us wanting just a touch more.

 

Reflection

When the game ended, I chose not to sulk; this team had given me too many amazing memories to dishonor them that way. Instead we turned on a TV show, and the symbolism was too hard to ignore.

In the show, a young writer’s computer crashes, forcing her to reexamine all of her work. In doing so, she realized the value of reflecting back on what she had accomplished. The moments became clearer, crystalized in the distance.

When she was done reflecting, she said it was simply time to reboot, to start the process over again. And that’s what Oregon and its fans will do. You can’t take away what the last five months gave us. The Heisman will always be there. The titles and memories will never go away or fade in time. The details might blur, but the emotions we all felt never will.

To the 2014-15 Oregon Ducks, we say Thank you. It was an once-in-a-lifetime team. Now that it’s over, all that’s left to do it reboot.

No longer an Urban Legend

A few days after he was named the head coach at Ohio State, I sent a text to a friend, with a simple message:

“College football is about to be turned upside down.”

I wasn’t exactly going out on a limb; Urban Meyer had already won two national championships at Florida, after turning Bowling Green and Utah into household names. While at Florida he was widely regarded as the best coach in the game. His programs were dominant and unrelenting.

Still, questions remained about his desire to coach, and what he would do in a big conference without the built-in advantage of Floridian speed.

More importantly, had he recovered from his burn-out? The one which nearly drove himself into an early grave while at Florida, so consumed with winning that every other aspect of life — family, health, perspective — got put on the back burner. Could he find the balance that his daughters made him swear he would, one that would teeter precariously between commitment and sanity, yet still deliver the only thing his home state wanted from him?

It took less than three years for all questions to be answered.

After last night’s 42-20 beat-down of Oregon — and it was a merciless, cruel one at that — Ohio State sent a message not to the rest of the Big Ten, or the Pac-12, but across the nation, from the far reaches of the northwest to the tip of the south:

Ohio State is not going anywhere, and could be on the precipice of the most dangerous dynasty the sport has ever seen.

Meyer’s all-time record is 143-26. He’s 9-2 in bowl games and has won three national championships…and he just turned 50. In football years, he’s a pup. He relates to kids, is meticulous in preperation, recruits better than anyone and, perhaps scariest of all, he’s coaching against weak Big Ten competition. He has it rolling, and there’s no one, with apologies to Jim Harbaugh, who can stop him.

Not ‘Bama. Not Oregon. Not Texas or USC. Because for as good as Ohio State was last night, and in the Sugar Bowl, Meyer and Co. appear to just be scratching the surface of what they can do.

Of the 21 men who started for Ohio State night, 16 are freshmen and sophomores. And they did all of this after losing their Heisman-hopeful, Braxton Miller, before the season ever started. Oh, and in case you forgot, they also did it after their second Heisman candidate, JT Barrett, went down in the final game of the regular season.

To say that the Buckeyes overcame the odds under Meyer would be simplifying the act; as a team, they may have completed the most improbable run-to-greatness we have ever seen.

“Going back to camp in August, everybody counted us out when our Heisman Trophy quarterback went down,” said Cardale Jones, the infamous third-string quarterback who has risen from unknown to Rock Star of Columbus. “Then when the first College Football Playoff rankings came out, we were No. 16.

“Long story short, we weren’t supposed to be here.”

That may have been true for a while, but we should have known. Shame on everyone who failed to realize what is happening. Ohio State has the fifth highest athletic budget in the country, a wide-ranging, ravenous fan base, and is located in fertile recruiting grounds. They have tradition, branding, and a committment to be the best program in the country.

Jim Tressel was cute. Urban Meyer is frightening.

No one knows how long the reign will last. With Meyer, you can’t anticipate when the burnout will hit. But this much is true: as long as he’s there, everyone else appears to be in a tight battle for second.

From Coos Bay To Arlington, Helfrich Has Shown The Way

The last few months have brought about good-natured banter amongst friends about Oregon head coach Mark Helfrich. What started last season after – gasp –  two losses, reached a crescendo on October 2nd this season when Oregon fell at home to Arizona.

For some, it seemed a logical question: Is Helfrich the right man, at the right time, to be leading Oregon?

As off-putting as those questions seemed, those who questioned could have made a valid argument. Fresh off an unimaginable run under former head coach Chip Kelly, which included four straight BCS bowls, Oregon appeared to be a different squad under Helfrich. The swagger was gone. The cutthroat mindset of Kelly, sharp-tongued and ferocious, was missing.

Three losses in a nine game span had many jumping to the conclusion that Mark was too young, too nice, too “Not-Chip” to lead — and,  better yet, keep Oregon where it had been.

With injuries piling, and an unrealistic fan base seething, everything around Helfrich looked to be crumbling. Even me, perhaps his biggest supporter, was growing frustrated.

Something had to change, and fast, for this hometown boy to have a happy ending. So many questions hung out there needing to be answered.

 

STAYING TRUE TO HIMSELF

In the spring of 2013, just one month into the job, Helfrich stood on the sidelines of the Moshofsky Center as his departing seniors, men he would never get the chance to lead, did their best to impress NFL scouts. As a wet-behind-the-ears journalist, with a flimsy credential and shaky knees, I knew that my interactions with Mark would be non-existent. There was too much to do, too many national brands to speak with.

So I bit my tongue, stood behind the crowd, and took in the experience.

At one point I found myself amidst the smallest crowd of the day, with just two other people. Small conversations began, as much of the on-field activities were coming to a close. Suddenly, a familiar voice rang out, asking how we were doing.

It was Helfrich, perhaps the most talked about man in the state; certainly the one with the most eyes.

For five or so minutes he chatted us up, as sincere as you could imagine. The next moment he was on ESPN, and he was the same man who was talking to us: just Mark, nothing more. I turned to someone next to me, and at the same time, we had the same reaction.

“He’s going to be special.”

There was no reason. It was a feeling in our bones. When you’re in the presence of greatness, sometimes you just know.

 

LOCAL BOY DONE GOOD

By now, he’s a well-chronicled story. Raised in Coos Bay, spurned by big schools, then an All-American at Southern Oregon, Helfrich was destined to be a football coach. Although he dreamt of being an orthopedic surgeon early on, football was in his blood; both his father and uncle played at Oregon, and he would spend many Saturday’s in Autzen, knowing one day he would return. Although he was offered a walk-on spot with the Ducks, Helfrich stayed close to home, and used his playing days at Southern to help launch a coaching career that has already spanned 16 years, despite being just 42 years old.

With stops that included Arizona State, Boise State and Colorado before arriving in Oregon, Helfrich has worked with some of the brightest football minds, which undoubtedly shaped who he is as a coach. Despite his stops in other states, he is an Oregon-born kid who always wanted to be home. Tugged by family, all he wanted was a shot.

He wanted to be a Duck. He just needed to receive the call.

 

MAKING THE MOST OF AN OPPORTUNITY

Helfrich detractors will point to the fact that for four years under Kelly, despite holding the title of offensive coordinator, he was not the man who made on-field calls. They say he was Chip’s Yes Man, there to put in the work Monday-Friday, but leave the glory to the big guy on Saturdays.

Perception and reality are never one-in-the-same, and those close to the team — those who truly know — say Helfrich was instrumental in Oregon’s rise to power. Starting in 2009, the trio of Chip, Helfrich and current offensive coordinator Scott Frost has helped Oregon lead the PAC-10/12 in so many offensive categories, it’s almost impossible to list.

One thing that stand above the rest is wins.

As head coach, Kelly went 46-7, obliterating school records along the way. He took a program that had flirted with greatness for the better part of a decade, only to stumble along the way. But in just two years Oregon, who had never played for a national championship, found themselves in primetime, ready to play with the big boys.

They fell short, but the message was clear: Oregon is here to stay.

Chip’s record through two seasons was a scintillating 22-4, with two conference titles and a state at his feet. He was a God amongst men; by his side stood Helfrich, who took the blame when necessary and always deflected credit when it was due. He sat idly by, awaiting his turn, one that he knew would eventually come.

 

CLEARER VISION NEEDED

Helfrich, by the way, is 24-3 in his first two seasons, with one game remaining. He coached the first Heisman in school history, a player he plucked from the unknown. He has elevated recruiting, formed a bond with players that Chip never did, and has not only kept the program where it was but, with one more win, he will have elevated it far beyond what so many have dreamed it could be. That’s not to dismiss Chip. It’s simply fact.

You want to know why Oregon fans need to embrace Helfrich? Why they need to loosen the leash, should things ever get tight?

Because on the day he was hired, before anything had happened, good or bad, Mark sat before a nation, as cool and collected as you could hope for. He told Oregon fans who had been crushed by the departure of Kelly that if he could, right then and there, he would sign a lifelong contract.

Oregon, he said, was his dream job.

He’s not in it for a quick payday, or to elevate his stock. He’s here for as long as the school will have him. From a young boy who sat in the stands, dreaming of the day he would rule Eugene, Helfrich has been a Duck. He’s not going anywhere. He’s going to fight until his last breath for his players, for his school, for his fans. Because it means more to him.

He’s not coaching for the check. He’s coaching for the love he has for the school, a love that was forged between father and son on the long drive from Coos Bay to Eugene. He loves the school the way fans love the school. It’s in his blood. It’s in his smile.

And since that loss on October 2nd, Oregon is a perfect 9-0, outscoring opponents by 28 points per game. Questions answered.

Whether he wins on Monday or not, Helfrich is one of us. He’s a Duck fan, who just happens to coach.

Frankly, I wouldn’t want anyone else on our side.

Tales From The Road

I’ve been home for six days now, my rear-end and brain still fast asleep from the combined 34-hours of travel. Despite the perfect car companion, who provided me with memories I will never forget, I-5 does afford you the opportunity to think. And with the journey fresh in my mind and wallet, I can’t help but look back with nothing but a smile.

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The numbers will rise-and-fall with time, but make no mistake: the Rose Bowl, in all its glory, was filled to the brim with Green-and-Yellow on the first day of 2015. From the moment the sun peeked out from the mountains, the outcome was clear. Oregon, and their fans, were here to win. They donned their colors and plowed through the barriers the moment they could. There was one mission, at least amongst the travelers.

This was Oregon’s day, Seminoles and winning streaks be damned.

Distance and repeat years will be blamed for the absence of Florida State fans. First hand, I blame it simply on arrogance and a lack of passion. They walked around with noses in the air, and a small, sometimes invisible, logo on their coats. Some wore nothing to signify their allegiances, which would have been fine in most instances. But this day was different. It was a first. It was monumental. And, just minutes into the festivities, it was clear: Just because you’re from the South, does not that a die-hard make you.

Try finding an Alabama or LSU fan at a playoff game without showing their true colors. Look for an Ohio State or Oregon fan, and it’s clear who they are. They’re proud, and they’re passionate. Florida State? It was only one impression, but it was the first…and it wasn’t good.

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I must admit, my first views of the actual Rose Bowl stadium, hidden along the tranquil valleys of Pasadena, was one of slight disappointment. Not that it wasn’t grand — the size of both the building and its tradition are enough to stop you in your tracks — but it had an odd feel to it. Of course, it was 7:30am, we were fresh off lots of driving and very little sleep, and faced six-plus hours of tailgating.

But still, it felt off, if for no more than a second.

Then, you go in, and everything changes.

This is the fourth appearance Oregon has made in the Rose Bowl since I have been alive, and the first three went by without my presence. That’s not right, I know. I’m with ya. So, as it came to be, once we saw tickets — or I should say, once my wife saw there were tickets — we, she, jumped. Because this one was different.

This was for more than pride, for more than a trophy. This was a chance at immortality; to cement our legacy amongst the elite; to watch our Heisman in person one last time, and tell him thank you; to knock off last year’s Heisman, and tell him thank you for nothing. Mainly, this was a chance to see history unfold before my eyes, with the colors as vibrant as you can imagine. The Rose Bowl always shines, but when the lights are on, the smells are clear and the moment is tense, it transports you to a place you never imagined possible.

With the San Gabriel Mountains a deep mixture of oranges, purples and golds, it feels as if the action before you is unfolding in a dream. You don’t feel cold. You don’t feel heat. All you feel is the action suffocating you, every play amplified one thousand times, with fear of a long road trip home settling in. You don’t want to travel home with reflections of as loss in the rear view. You don’t want your team to come out on top — you need them to come out on top. 

Lucky for us, we came to support the correct team.

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It became clear from the opening moments that Oregon was not only the better team but, in person, they were bigger and faster. The incorrect perception has always been that while Oregon is fast, they aren’t southern fast. They aren’t southern big. When faced athlete-to-athlete, they will come up short.

Perception, meet reality.

Oregon is now at a different level, player-wise. Faced with the daunting reality of living in a state that produces little PAC-12 talent, they have gone beyond the realm and away from the norm. They’ve found hidden gems, diamonds and the occasional star. Mainly, though, they recruit guys who have the physical tools, the correct attitudes, and have molded them into stars. It’s taken a sharp eye, an even sharper coaching sense, and presto: you have a team that never wins February and signing day, but wins when faced with teams that will stockpile the NFL.

I’ll take high character, hidden talents every day of the week.

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For years, I’ve been trumpeting how college football is far and away better than the NFL; not from a quality-of-play perspective, or on the business end, but from sheer entertainment and joy. After seeing perhaps the most significant college game ever (from a historical standpoint), I feel justified in my beliefs. There is simply nothing that can compare to the passion fans have for their collegiate team of choice. Whether you’re an alum and you fancy the memories of your youth, or if you just fell in love at an early age and never let go, there’s no comparison between the two leagues.

Feeling the pulsing vibe Oregon fans left upon the Pasadena floor will resonate forever. Whether in good moments or bad, you can feel fans passion, and it has an authenticity to it that no other sport can match. It’s real, and it’s raw. It’s unfiltered and unmatched, but above all else, it comes from the heart and it’s pure. Not everyone can understand it, and that’s OK. You don’t have to. I think my wife gained an appreciation for the love we have for our Ducks on this trip, because she felt, even 1,000 miles from home, how much people care.

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I didn’t get a chance to hear it live, obviously, but listening to Kirk Herbstreit’s analysis of the Rose Bowl almost brought s tear to my eye, because it was so accurate. There’s just not a word that can describe the feeling residing over the stadium when the sun sets and the lights come out. The sun had cast shadows all day long, leaving us thirsty and a touch burnt. But as it crossed the line and began its descent to the heavens, it left you wondering why you ever question your love of the sport.

Few things in life can bring people together like the love of a team; along with about 70,000 people dressed in similar colors, with the sky Seminole-red, I felt a kinship with my fellow Oregonians that I had never felt before. Standing, cheering, rooting together, time stood still. The memories etching themselves in our eyes one minute at a time.

It was bliss. And it was real.

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In-N-Out burger, by the way, lived up to the hype — at least the burger did. The fries? Quite possibly the worst food I have ever eaten. Seriously. I’ve been known to eat some shady fast food in my day, but my God…those were beyond awful.

Oh well. Animal style, and forever more.

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There’s nothing like a road trip for a relationship. We missed our baby like crazy, and scooped her up the second we got her, but for three days it was just me and the wife, and it was fantastic. Squables, laughs, singing, eating…all of it together, unfiltered, without distraction. Just like it was in the beginning, a wonderful reminder amidst the chaos of everyday life of why we’re together. When a relationship starts, you’re stripped of inhibitions, free to be yourself. Somewhere along the line, between work and kids, bills and falling asleep on the couch, you lose your freedom.

You lose sight of who you want to be. Out on the open road? You remind yourselves why you’re there.

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I don’t know the next time I’ll find myself in the Rose Bowl. Perhaps next year, or the year after. What’s becoming clear, however, is that no appearance after this will be the same. As the days go by, and the significance of the game begins to settle in, I gain a greater appreciation for what my eyes, which have betrayed me before, allowed me to take in.

Thank you Marcus. Thank you Katie. Thank you parents. Thank you Strahm’s. Thank you Puddles. Thank you aunts and uncles who opened their home. All went into the most electrifying three days of my life.

Go Ducks. Won, not done.

 

The Tiger roars, and fans respond

It may have come from far left field, in a less-than-ideal situation, but on Wednesday night, it happened: The Thomas Robinson, circa Kansas 2011, descended upon Portland like a monsoon. And, for a town used to droplets of water, even they bowed down before the storm.

Ladies and gentlemen, Thomas Robinson would like to announce his presence, mayhem and convention be damned.

Coming off two years of frustration — and staring down 25 games this season of the same — Robinson appeared to be a caged animal, smelling his opportunity to shine, but yet to receive it. With one broken hand to Robin Lopez, the cage opened.

And what an exit it was.

“I had failed, but I wanted to fix that, and I knew I still had time to,” Robinson said after his 15-point, 16-rebound outburst in the first start of his career. He was of course referring to the first years of his career, which had started with a thud and two trades. But Robinson, 23, could have had an eye towards Blazers management with those words, as the time to decide on Robinson is coming up.

A free agent at the end of the season after the Blazers declined to pick up his fourth-year option, they have expressed a desire to keep Robinson, but with sporadic minutes and even more sporadic production, no one knows what his value is. Part of it has been his own doing, part has been a lack of opportunity.

When Lopez, who is expected to miss 6-7 weeks, went down with his injury, many fans expected Joel Freeland and even Meyers Leonard to get the majority of the minutes. But head coach Terry Stotts, as he is known to do, went outside conventional wisdom and started Robinson, who had only played in 10 of the teams first 25 games, topping out at 13 minutes in a win over Dallas in November.

In his 29 minutes Wednesday, Robinson responded in the most Robinson of ways: with energy, recklessness, and the demeanor of a man who knows his opportunities are limited. Quite simply, he wanted it more than anyone else out there.

Robinson’s belief in himself, despite all of the setbacks, has never wavered. When asked to assess his first 2 1/2 years in the league, he’s blunt, honest.

“If I wanted to complain about it, I would say it’s been unfair,” he said. “If I stick to me and not complain about it, I would say I’ve had a tough road.”

Judging from the reaction of the fans, he would be correct. As he prepared to exit the game for the final time Wednesday, Robinson was met with a standing ovation, an outpouring of support for a man who is perhaps more relatable to fans than anyone else on the roster.

Robinson, like you and me, wants a chance. Like the man sitting in the 300 level of the Moda Center, he wants to shine, to let his full potential be seen. Like the kid who sits on the bench in middle school, while the popular kids break a sweat, he just wants one opportunity to run with the big boys.

He got it, and run he did. And those fans, the ones who are still awaiting their opportunity, took notice.

“(That) they understand the situation,” Robinson said when asked why the fans, who have rarely seen him, have shown such an outpouring of admiration. “They understand how hard I worked for it, and that they love me. And I love them back. That’s exactly why I will make sure I give 100%.”

No one — not Robinson, not Stotts, not the fans — knows how long his opportunity will stay open. The window could close any second. When Lopez returns, his spot will be secured as the linchpin in the team’s future. But you can bet that Robinson, whether he gets five minutes or 30, will keep the caged-animal mentality. It’s all he knows, and it’s his meal ticket to success. And the fans will be there, ready to show their appreciation the moment they can.

“I will be back,” he said, letting the moment sink in. “Once I get a chance, I’m going to shake this league up.”

Never bet against an animal trying to survive.

One for the ages, A legend for all

Honolulu, Hawaii is a special type of quaint. Lost deep in the heart of the Pacific, it’s a land of passionate natives, naive tourists, and youngsters with big pride and bigger dreams.

Locals hold their own as lore, never letting one go, no matter where their travels may take them. Once a Hawaiian, always a Hawaiian. The pride is returned by those who leave, as they wear their culture on their figurative sleeve, ready to bleed their Poly blood in the moment it needs to.

They are fiercely protective. The Hawaiian roots run so deep, so effortlessly for those who remain, that a constant battle for respect ensues.

They hold onto their own. But now, one local prodigy, forever embodied in the lore of college football, will have to be shared.

Because Marcus Mariota won more than the Heisman on Saturday night. He won immortality.

He won the right be to called “Ours.” Whether you’re an Oregonian, an Oregon fan, both, or someone who simply appreciates people who do things the correct way, Mariota is now ours. He’s the shining star littered in a world of gray. He’s the beginning and the end to the conversation of what collegiate athletics should be. He’s an all-american, all-student, all-role model, all-everything.

He’s the man you dream your son could be and the one you pray your daughter says is The One. He’s all that and it’s real, shed free of phoniness.

Mariota, a redshirt junior, returned this season, passing up guaranteed millions. As for why, he gave the answers you expected: he wanted to improve, to be with his teammates, to enjoy college. He gave answers that were expected.

Then, he went out and outdid himself in every way.

It’s no surprise that he brought home the first ever Heisman to the University of Oregon. His talents have been clear from the moment he took off 80 yards in a spring game in 2012. It’s also no surprise that he accepted his accomplishments with as much grace and dignity as you could ever ask from a kid who is barely old enough to sip an adult beverage.

The surprise comes from how rare it seems to be.

Chris Fowler made a point throughout the broadcast to highlight the high character of all three nominees. And I’m sure he’s correct. There didn’t seem to be a bad apple amongst the bunch. But Mariota just seems to be cut from different cloth. His shyness can make him seem off-putting; the sly smile can give off hints of arrogance. But to those who know him, and those who choose to share, there simply is no kid out there — and yes, he’s still a kid — who can better represent a school, a community, and a heritage, like Mariota can.

He referenced that heritage numerous times Saturday night, both during the build-up and in the acceptance. It came between sniffles, as the tears came faster than words. Those tears beget ones from his head coach, Mark Helfrich, who has seen him grow from an unknown high schooler, too shy to speak, to standing amongst giants, all hanging on every word he said.

He referenced his heritage with pride, honor, and an understanding that he is now more. He’s no longer Marcus Mariota, laid-back Polynesian. Now, he’s Marcus Mariota, Heisman winner.

Hawaiian.

Oregonian.

Legend.

But he won’t change. It’s not in his nature; it’s not how his people do it. He’s different from winners in the past. He’s humble, appreciative, unique.

He’s the ambassador for a school, and for a small group of people, in a small island out on the middle of the ocean, who will undoubtedly claim them as their own.

He is theirs. And now, for forever more, he will be ours as well.

For Oregon Fans, Playoff Run Has Different Meanings

I found myself on a lonely highway earlier this afternoon, with nothing but slick roads and an open mind in front of me. This is both the best and worst time to drive; with nothing in front to keep your mind focused, it’s too easy to slip into another world.

And with one month and one day until potential bliss, that’s exactly what happened.

I pictured Aiden Schneider, our unheralded and previously unknown walk-on freshman kicker, lining up with nothing but shame or glory staring him down. I saw the Alabama special teams, still stunned to be in this position, anxiously awaiting the snap.
I saw before us a national title. And it got me wondering: what would it mean?
I’ve long believed that there are two types of Oregon Ducks fans. There are subsequent layers of those two, but for the most part, you either fall into one or the other: appreciative of the present, acknowledging of the past; or ready to jump ship the moment things aren’t clicking.
While I may fall into the newer age bracket, having never sat through the Toilet Bowl or a three-win season, I know how truly special the last 20 years have been. I appreciate every win, no matter how out-of-hand they may get. I take the losses in stride, feeling both pain, yet appreciating that the rareness of them is a gift.
Unfortunately, I’m becoming more of the exception than the norm.
It’s easy to understand, and should come as a shock to no one. It was going to happen, and Oregon is not the only place that will fall victim to it. With the way the ascension came, both meteoric and with flash, it was going to attract a fickle fan base with short attention spans.
It was aimed at young people, new people, and those who are easily taken with what’s new.
Blur offense. Uniform combinations. Facilities. Fast. Hard. Finish. All of it, deigned to reel you in, to trap you, worked like a charm. It has left a state dizzy, wrapped-up in Green/Yellow/Black/Gray. It’s Nike, Chip Kelly, the Black Mamba and a Heisman, shiny and easily digestible.
It’s 21st-Century Oregon. For many, though, it doesn’t represent the Oregon they fell in love with. It simply stands for the Oregon they currently follow.
Surely, a national title would be special for fans, no matter what level they fall into. Newer fans will rock the gear, bragging to those who failed to jump on the wagon. Older fans will step back and let their eyes glisten, as memories of days past float away, with the new reality setting in.
A loss, however, would reveal more. The people whose allegiances are pure will still be there on January 13th if the day before didn’t turn out. They won’t hide and re-appear in September when a news season begins; they will still be there in the spring when the team comes together to begin another hourney. For them, January 12th – if they make it there – will be special win or lose. Seeing this team, seeing our team, playing with the tops in the sport, means as much as anything else.

To show that the pomp and circumstance wasn’t just for show, but was done with a purpose.
They may not be the vocal group when things go right or wrong, but for the fans who have stuck through and come out the other side, this may just mean a little more.
Oh, and for the record…in my dream he made the kick. And I started to cry, thinking about what it would mean, how it would make me feel. I wasn’t there for the dark years, but I appreciate them.
And, win or lose, I’ll be there in the spring.

A Career Not Finished, A Legacy Never To Be Forgotten

For the most part, it’s the cookies I will remember most.

It was September 1st, 2012, and I sat by myself, eyes fixated on the TV in the press room, high above the multi-colored turf of Autzen. It was my first on-site coverage assignment, and I was going to make the recap of Oregon-Arkansas State the most talked about piece of journalism that had ever poured through the cracks of this state.

It wasn’t. And looking back, my mind still drifts towards those little bites of something I can’t describe; fluffy, buttery, with just the perfect amount of frosting.

Those cookies still resonate today.

That night also marked the debut of Marcus Mariota and, in reality, 20 years from now, that will be slightly more prominent in my mind. Because it was that night, under the casted, illuminated shadows, when his legend began.

It was, as we will find out next Saturday when the Heisman finds its way to his hands, the beginning of something more than special.

But don’t take my word for it. Take, for example, his head coach, Mark Helfrich. He should know, because there he was, visiting the beautiful islands of Hawaii in 2010 to recruit another player, when he saw something in the lanky, 6’4″ kid who had yet to start a game for his high school.

He gave him a chance and the rest, as they say…is history.

After Mariota helped the Ducks defeat the Arizona Wildcats on Friday to secure the team’s fourth Pac-12 Championship in six years, he sat side-by-side with the man who gave him his shot. Per usual, Mariota was quick to pass praise.

Helfrich wouldn’t let him.

“If this guy isn’t what the Heisman Trophy is all about,” he said, “I’m in the wrong profession.”

He will win it, and it could be by a record margin.

For much of the country, the award will appear to be handed down due to his on-field antics; his sprawling, ducking, diving methods, and his gaudy stats.

They would be right. But they would be missing the other half of the picture.

They would be missing the people who have passed him on the street, only to be greeted with a smile and a shy “Hello.” They would be missing the interns, the young men who work their tails off for the Oregon football team, who sing the praises of Marcus, as he makes them feel just as much a part of the team as he is.

They will miss the half of the story that people around the state of Oregon already know, and won’t soon be forgotten. They will miss the fact that as good as Marcus is on the field, perhaps he is even better off it.

His on-field performances have earned him the Heisman. His off-field behavior only justifies it.

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I was driving home from school last December, rain splashing off my windshield as I drove too fast down a blurry highway, wipers flying a million miles an hour. I was pushing the limits because word has just come through the speakers. It was official, but the ramifications not yet realized:

Mariota was returning for his junior year.

I knew instantly that it would make the team better. I knew it meant good things for Helfrich, a man I greatly enjoyed, yet was in the middle of a public pounding for, gasp!, suffering two losses in Year One. What was not clear, however, was just how much one kid — who no school wanted out of high school — would turn a state, and a sport, on its head.

But that’s what Mariota did; not because he did outlandish things, or was transcendent in the personality department. He accomplished it being a parents dream, and a rivals nightmare. He made fans from other teams simply shake their heads and say “damn,” because he did nothing wrong.

He patted the rear-ends of opposing players. He high-fived scout-teamers who got to smell the field and taste the glory in front of a live crowd.

And he did it all, that perfect SOB, in a way that cannot be described, and will not be appreciated, until long after his time has ended. The stats will live in print: 10,000 yards and over 100 touchdowns. His name will be on plaques, Heisman’s and potentially a national title. Those are in the now, and will be shared with teammates and coaches, faculty, fans and the like.

But it’s the other part of Mariota, the part that WE get to see on a daily basis, that will live on, will transcend his time on campus.

So, until it ends sometime next month, we should live in a bubble. A bubble that is filled with highlights and speeches by a kid who doesn’t get how good, how rare he is. Perhaps that, above all else, is what makes Mariota one of a kind. He doesn’t believe the hype, because it’s not what’s important to him.

He may not see how special he is. For the rest of us, however, it’s as crystal clear as the trophy he is still aiming for.