Sometimes I really freak myself out when I examine the depth of
my hatred for USC.
On the way to the Coliseum for the rivalry game several years
ago, I recall being worked up into such a fury at the sight of
Southern Cal fans that as our car approached a parking lot, I stuck
my head out of the sun roof and told a couple of geriatric Trojan
fans to do something to themselves that involved the F-word.
I was probably 13- or 14-years-old, and I really don’t
understand why I felt the need to express myself in that manner. My
mom and dad ““ model UCLA fans ““ were not pleased with
me.
My parents, Larry and Adrian, graduated from UCLA in 1974 and
have remained loyal to their alma mater since. My dad has been to
every ‘SC game over the last 20 years.
In actuality, it is quite easy to see how I can be worked up
into such fervor at the sight of a surgeon (this slur for a Trojan
was coined by radio personality Jim Healy and is a shortened
version of the moniker “brain surgeon,” which USC fans
and players clearly deserve, as they are geniuses). This hatred
runs in the family with my dad as the paradigm of outrageous
behavior.
“I am much more mature now than I once was. I am able to
stay calm,” he said. “The week before the game I get
kind of excited. But once I get to the stadium and I see someone
wearing cardinal polyester pants, my hair stands on end and
it’s all over after that.”
I recall some of my father’s more insane shenanigans at
the ‘SC games, as I remember him coming home from every game,
so hoarse from yelling that he could not speak.
Some might say my dad takes the game too seriously.
“He takes it too personally,” my mom said. “He
hates the ‘SC fans ““ I don’t hate the fans, I
just want the Bruins to win.”
“Certainly mistakes were made with regards to substance
abuse,” my dad added.
“He should be regretful,” my mom countered,
laughing. “I just remember when you kids were little, and he
got very drunk and loud and stood up, and people asked him to be
quiet, and he became belligerent and grabbed himself and flicked
people off.”
Back in his wilder days my dad used to tape a flask of whiskey
to his upper arm in order to partake of the sweet barley nectar
inside the stadium. That method was adjusted when his children
arrived on the scene.
“He used to tape bottles of alcohol to your sister’s
arms and legs because who is going to frisk a little girl?”
my mom said.
She later told me she was joking about that tale, but my sister
Felicia was able to partially substantiate the claim.
“He had me sneak in a flask for him to get through
security,” she said. “I was scared that I was doing
something obviously wrong, but I was happy to help my
dad.”
In fact, Felicia has a rather levelheaded opinion of our
dad’s behavior.
“Sometimes it was embarrassing to be with him when he was
screaming and yelling at the football field and the people in the
stands,” she said. “I wanted to pretend I wasn’t
with him, but in the end I was always proud to have such a
spirited, animated and loud father.”
The pageantry of the rivalry is another exciting aspect of the
game. And by pageantry I mean downing alcohol and enjoying some
chili with all of the fixings.
“I love going to the games, I like the whole experience of
it,” my mom said.
My parents will be attending Saturday’s game with some of
their friends, and I will go visit their contingency after my
compadres and I ingest some food that will look rather plebian in
comparison to the parents’ spread.
My mom informed me of their menu: deviled eggs, bagels and lox,
spinach quiche, fruit salad, and homemade chocolate chip cookies
and brownies. To drink: Bloody Marys.
Of course, my mother, the best cook in the world, will be
preparing the feast. While I’m trying to figure out how to
wrap bacon around a hot dog like the delicacy the vendors at the
Rose Bowl sell, my parents will be eating quiche.
Spinach quiche.
But we all know that going to the big game is so much more than
fancy food and cocktails; the game is primarily about flipping
out.
All of this talk of wild behavior makes me wonder about what my
dad was like in college at the games.
“I’m sure I went to all the UCLA-USC games in
college, but I only remember freshman year.”
I hope I don’t remember my four Southern Cal games ““
then I’ll know I had fun.
Each of this week’s sports columns will celebrate Beat
‘SC Week.