Tag Archives: Oregon State

Just a Dad Identifying as a Mom for the Weekend

My wife recently asked me to go with her to Mom’s Weekend at our daughter’s university.  I initially declined and pointed out that I was not, technically, a mom.  But after quickly realizing my mistake, I remembered the, “Happy wife, happy life” rule, and reluctantly agreed to go.

The weekend began with an All-University Sing competition.  This competition has been held annually since 1936, and, as you might imagine, the level of competition is fierce.  On a scale of 1 to 10, a solid 23½.  Mother grizzlies react with less aggression after finding someone walking off with one of their cubs than these girls.

This event has routinely been held in Gill Coliseum, but Gill is undergoing remodeling, so the event was moved to the nearby football team’s indoor practice field.  Twenty-eight hundred plastic folding chairs were arranged around a stage which could have used a little more height.  I’m not complaining, I’m just suggesting that those beyond the first row might like to watch the show.  Our seats were on the 50 yard line.  Here I am (I stood for the shot) –

Parents dutifully forked over $20 dollars a ticket to attend the show, except us.  We were luckily enough to fall into a “special” group of parents whose kids screwed up and missed the deadline to prepurchase tickets.  So we got to enjoy paying $25.

After lining up like cattle outside the practice field, the doors finally opened and the herd burst forward.  Someone announced, “No saving seats,” over the loud speaker as moms threw elbows and dove to cover a span of four or five seats yelling, “These are saved.”  SWAT team members kicking down the door of a drug cartel leader behave more politely.

The best part of the evening was getting to experience that scene from the movie Cool Hand Luke where the warden yells, “Put’em in the box,” and the guards shove Paul Newman into that little box to bake in the Florida sun.  This is because soon after sinking into the luxury of those folding chairs, we began to feel like strips of sirloin hanging in a smoker.  The body heat of 2,800 parents trapped under that tin roof turned the place into a terrarium.  I didn’t  check, but I’m pretty sure that moisture was dripping down the walls.

The competition ended in our great disappointment and outright shock.  Our girl’s team didn’t win.  Fortunately, we were able to comport ourselves with a degree of grace and dignity, by immediately declaring the event RIGGED.  We demanded an independent and thorough investigation.  Shortly thereafter, however, all was forgiven, as I, and all the other moms, enjoyed a “spirited” after party.  That’s how we moms roll.

Rose Bowl Bound

Football Final

By Jack Edwards

I dream that one day technology will advance to the point where I will not be forced to travel long distances, expend thousands of dollars and trudge through throngs of intoxicated sports enthusiasts to enjoy watching a college bowl game. Call me a crazy optimist, but I believe that, one day, perhaps a day in the not too distance future, we will be able to view sporting events from the convenience and comfort of our own living rooms. Yes, this will likely mean that I will not get to experience the pleasure of marching with my fellow football fans toward the stadium’s entry as I tiptoe around fresh puddles of vomit left by the truly dedicated “students of the game.” Or spend quality time with that crack squad of security professionals as they rummage through my knapsack searching for dangerous contraband, like water bottles.

This year, during Oregon’s Civil War football game, I cheered enthusiastically for Oregon State, not because I cared deeply, but because my family members are rabid University of Oregon Duck fans, and I knew I was in great peril of being coerced to fund an all-inclusive trip to the Rose Bowl if the Ducks won. Alas, fate was not on my side. In pro wrestling terms, the Ducks pulled one of those moves where they jumped down into the crowd, picked up a folding chair, crawled up onto the ropes and then came down on the Oregon State Beavers like the Angel of Death.

The good news is that I managed to pay top dollar for marginal quality game tickets. Being an idiot, I ordered my tickets through the U of O’s athletic department. This assured me of paying the full face value. Meanwhile, apparently because scores of other boneheads did the same thing and then, realizing that if Oregon beat Florida State, it would play for the national championship in Texas twelve days later, and they couldn’t afford to attend both games, decided to flood the market with Rose Bowl tickets. The last I looked, Rose Bowl tickets were going for a buck ninety-five, and they were throwing in a voucher for a free medium drink and souvenir seat cushion.

Fortunately, this trip will allow me to do research for my next career. It turns out that the highest paid public employee in every state and the U.S. Territory of Guam is being a head college football coach. So I’ve been watching these guys with an eagle eye all season.

Here’s my resume:

1. I’m balding. No, I’m not sporting the classic three-quarter bald top with a spiffy comb-over, but I’m working on it. And if this turns out to be a deal breaker with the athletic director, I can always pick up a can of Nair.

2. I’m average height. (The height of every bank robber since the beginning of time.)

3. I have an innate ability to look indignant and stomp around when I get upset. (My wife will write me a character letter attesting to this quality.)

And,

4. Most importantly, and perhaps making up for my lack of practical “on field” experience, I have a very noticeable “paunch.” Few men currently coaching at the NCAA Division 1 level can compete with me. I look like I’m entering my second trimester.

To those of you who won’t be able to enjoy spending half of your retirement savings attending the Rose Bowl this year, don’t worry, while we wait for the technology to advance to the point where you too can enjoy watching back home, I’ll take plenty of photographs to share with you when I return.