Daniel Miller Miller orders three beef
tacos with the red salsa from King Taco. E-mail him at dnmiller@ucla.edu and tell him what
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I was a Bruin fan long before I was a Bruin.
I always hoped it was a given that I would end up a student at
UCLA ““ I like to think I was bred for it. When you grow up in
Los Angeles, the son of two alumni who met their sophomore year
here and were married a few years later, you know which team you
are rooting for on brisk Saturday afternoons in the fall and on
rainy Thursday nights in February.
After a quarter here as a student, my viewpoint has changed
completely. I remember when I could only smirk during an
orientation activity I attended this past summer as the counselors
gave a dramatic speech about the eight-clap and its significance as
a cheer in the student section.
I know how to do that, I thought. I’ve been doing it since
I was five years old.
In fact, I remember when I first learned how to complete the
cheer at a football game a long time ago, when I sat on the 50-yard
line with my dad and some family friends. It was so extraordinary
and besides the food from King Taco, it was one of the most
exciting parts of going to the Rose Bowl.
I remember wondering how the stadium’s staff managed to
clean up after the game and conjectured that the only way all those
peanut shells could be removed from under the seats was by special
peanut-eating dogs. Determined to make the dogs’ job easier,
I crushed the shells underfoot. At that age, almost anything was
more thrilling than the game.
As a student, I have learned to watch the football games from a
different perspective. Literally, I sit perched from high above, on
a bench looking down on the 10-yard line on the sunny side of the
stadium. After years of plush 50-yard line seats in the shade, I
experienced quite a bit of withdrawal. Then again, there is nothing
like picnicking on the golf course with some friends, the way my
parents may have done it some 25 years ago.
On Sunday I was at a dinner party with my family when I realized
I had become a Bruin. I dragged myself back and forth from the bar
to the sushi station, giving my full attention to a spicy tuna roll
and a vodka-tonic, trying to forget about the 69-68 loss to Arizona
State the day before. Even more troubling, I received an e-mail
from a high school friend who is now a student at that school.
Here’s the e-mail presented in its entirety:
“i hope you feel better because we just [expletive] u up
hard. the best game ever ucla choked up. i still love ucla but
arizona state dominated peace.”
Take what you want from the e-mail ““ sorrow, or what I
choose, solace. I was shaken from my Grey Goose-induced stupor by a
slap on the back from a family friend who is a diehard UCLA fan. He
asked me about my thoughts on the loss.
I didn’t want to talk about it.
Then we launched into a 20-minute discourse on how a No. 18 team
should not lose to a 14-10 team at home with first place up for
grabs in the Pac-10.
During the depressing conversation, I noticed that my sense of
pride remained intact. It was the same pride I felt when the
football team lost to USC, after which I got a barrage of
ridiculous phone calls from rabid Trojan fans and the same pride I
had as I rushed the court when the basketball team defeated Kansas.
As the conversation ended I realized that my family friend was a
fan, and I was a Bruin.
Somewhere in my youth, probably during the angst-ridden teenage
years when I had long hair and loved Nirvana Unplugged, I decided
that I didn’t need to do the eight-clap anymore. I think I
didn’t like raising my hands above my head to cheer; I
didn’t want to appear to care too much because I felt it
wasn’t cool. Even though I did care, I didn’t
cheer.
The willingness to demonstrate my dedication to the
school’s athletics comes from witnessing every pathetic game
the Bruins should not lose, but do; and those wonderful victories
in games when it seems that they cannot possibly triumph.
I wear my dad’s old, tight, light blue, vintage polyester
UCLA shirt to all the big games. Besides being a big hit with the
fashion-minded kids, I feel the shirt should get to visit all the
nice places it used to frequent.
When I went to my first football game as a student I wore that
shirt, but I was a little reluctant at first to cheer expressively,
as I was a little intimidated by all the big college kids. It felt
like my first day of kindergarten. But I’ve got to tell you,
I have become pretty good at raising my hands up high.