My First Love

With BYU kicking off the 2012 season tomorrow, there are few things that occupy more of my mind. I have this obsession for BYU football that could be described as unhealthy at best, manic at worst. I lose sleep the night before game-day, as thoughts of triumph and heartbreak swirl in my head. If BYU wins, I'm on this fabulous high that could rival that of an illegal substance. If they lose, it takes me a few days to snap out of the funk that sets in. All this, coming from a person that has no affiliation with the school that the football team represents. 

What on earth is wrong with me? 

I don't ask this rhetorically. I truly would like to know why I am the way I am. 

While the attempt to answer this question is futile (I'm sure I need the help of a certified professional for an accurate diagnoses) I decided I would take a close look at my life and find out why. Why does BYU's success on the football field dictate my sense of well-being? Why do I passionately defend and support an institution that I have never attended? Why can't I just live my life like so many others who couldn't give a flying fart about BYU? 

Maybe the answer lies in my past somewhere. My dad used to take my little brother Joe and I to BYU games when we were little kids. I remember my dad trying to explain the different vernacular that goes along with the game. "Second-and-three means that the offense only has to move the ball three more yards before they get four more chances, and they are on their second try." I'm sure it sounded something like that. Sooner or later I'd lose interest, so Joe and I would go explore the stadium. In doing so we made friends with an officer on the field in the Northwest end zone. His name was Chris and he had a gun and a mustache. He must have liked the company, for Joe and I would go down and hang out with him game after game. One time we were down talking to Chris and James Dye returned a kickoff to our end zone. I can still remember him making guys miss as he sprinted up the field, crowd roaring. He became my favorite player. Later in my childhood, we passed LaVelle Edwards in the stadium that was named after him. My dad asked him if he would stop and take a picture with Joe and I. He was so nice. He stopped and put an arm on my shoulder and an arm on Joe's and smiled his trademark smile. I wish I had that photo. 

                                       James Dye                                               LaVelle Edwards

As I got older and gained more knowledge, my appreciation for BYU (and sports in general) grew. By the time I was in junior high, I was a blue-blooded, full fledged cougar. In 7th grade I had a royal blue JanSport back pack. At some point in the year I took "white-out" and painted a big, white Y on the blue fabric of the bag. Later in the year I watched a kid take my pack, throw it in the garbage can, and pour soda all over it. He was wearing Utah gear. As I retrieved my wet, sticky bag from the garbage can, a small group of kids stood laughing and pointing. Utes...

Three years later I attended a BYU vs. Hawaii game. I had a fifty dollar bet that BYU would win. Late in the fourth quarter, an anti-mormon referee (I'm joking here) called back a BYU touchdown due to holding. That touchdown would have put BYU ahead. In my outrage I hurled the plastic water bottle I was holding at the ref. He ducked. Minutes later I was hand-cuffed with officer Lemon reading me my Miranda rights. BYU lost the game and I got a court date and a juvenile record to boot.  

On my mission I enjoyed two years of peace. Luckily I missed two very bad years for BYU football. I remember my dad writing me and telling me about the games. Usually we lost. It was so strange because I didn't care. At all. I could tell that my dad cared, but I couldn't have cared less. It was odd. However, it all came flooding back when I stepped into LaVelle Edwards stadium after my two-year absence. I was finally home. 

Maybe I deeply care about BYU football because it's a very real part of who I am. I cherish those memories, and have so many more I could share. Memories of BYU pulling off the impossible. Memories of Joe and I taking a bus to the game when I was in the 4th grade. Maybe I love BYU because I want to believe there's more of those moments still to come. Justin Meier, Brad Barth and I agreed as kids that when we grew up, we'd live next-door to each other and we'd take our kids to BYU games, just like our dads did with us. Whatever the case may be, I'm glad I am the way I am. They say you never forget your first love. Maybe BYU was mine.