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.
Gunderson Sports 