Opinion: Utes will whoop ass

By By Nicholas Pappas

By Nicholas Pappas

My first great experience with the Holy War came in 1998. Rice-Eccles Stadium was new and beautiful.

The game was not. Well, it could have been.

The only thing I hate more than Brigham Young University is traffic. As the greatest of game-winning field goals was assured, I decided to run out of the stadium to avoid the rush. I cheered victory. The sinners beat the saints.

It was not to be. There was a deep, resounding clang on the goal post, and the Cougars won 26-24. Talk radio made me fume. A BYU student wanted to let us all know that his team had “opened up a can of whipped butt.”

I’ve never spent that long in Provo. Perhaps “whipped butt” was something sweet and fluffy students from the south used to fatten up their co-eds. I had never heard of it, but whatever it was, I hated it like everything else Cougar.

Superman has Lex Luthor. Batman has the Joker. Dubya has America. The Utes have the Cougars.

I hate BYU. Not because I am a bigot. Not because they block MTV and put jeans on naked statues. Not even because I-15 is at a stand still as Happy Valley suburbans make their way to The Cheesecake Factory.

I hate BYU because I must. I am a Ute.

This is a lesson on being a fan. I get tired of the willy-nilly fans who cheer the Y when they’re not playing the U. That’s not how it works. A true fan hates his rival — always. A true fan scorns every BYU win. A true fan remembers Hawaii routing BYU 72-45 to ruin their perfect season. True fans remember because it was the same night they were arrested running down the street with “BYU sucks” painted on their naked bodies.

That, readers, is a true fan.

Last year is still painful to remember. The game was in the bag. The Utes had a four-point lead with only a minute remaining.

The Cougars drove…and drove. The final play is burned in my retinas — it was the longest 13 seconds of my life.

John Beck ran right, ran left, twisted, turned, sat back and got a tan, took out his cell phone to cry to his mother and finally threw a touchdown.

I look forward to Nov. 24. I plan to eat a turkey two days prior and pretend it’s Bronco Mendenhall. I plan to paint myself red and scare small children in the streets of Provo. I hope my fellow students will do the same.

Thank you for the greatest of rivalries, Cougars. Don’t take this article too personally. I know you are all sensitive. I know, like Linus, most of you walk around holding your security blankets. Life will go on — even after you lose.

The Utes are headed down to Provo to yank your security blankets away. At the end of the fourth quarter, all you’ll have left is wet thumbs.

It’s not called “whipped butt.” It’s called “whoop ass.” Don’t forget it.

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