Now that I look back on it, it’s safe to say there were numerous things I didn’t expect.
Last year, my first year on the team, we had a starting five of seniors on the sports staff.
I was the JC transfer junior looking to make my mark.
With the graduation of all of last year’s staff writers, Sports Editor Tony Pizza and I were the only returning members.
Somehow, I went from the end of the bench to the No. 2.
With my responsibilities, came the belle of the ball8212;Utah football.
I had never covered a beat in my life. I was shaking in my boots.
My first official story came in July as the Utes debuted their newly sponsored Under Armour uniforms.
I lucked out. Out of all the star players returning from the previous season, the one guy I knew on the team, free safety Robert Johnson, was one of two players showing off the uniforms. I had done a profile on Johnson before the Utah-BYU game8212;his breakout game8212;last season.
When he saw me, he burst out laughing. All the local sports writers were perplexed by his jovial attitude, he was my first official interview of the 2008 season.
“What’s the main goal of this upcoming season, Robert?” I muttered.
It rolled right off his tongue.
“Our number one goal is to bust open the BCS,” he said. “That’s it.”
That same day reporters crowded around head coach Kyle Whittingham asking him the same question that I asked Johnson. The usually conservative Whittingham stuck with what has become Utah’s mantra.
“One week at a time, one game at a time,” he said.
Looking back on that day, there was no way to predict what would transpire.
I had friends poking for information before the season even started.
“Dude, tell me, what’s up with Brian Johnson? Is he going to step up this year?”
“I’m telling you man, Louie Sakoda is the best player on this year’s team, without a doubt.”
“Can you get me into games for free?”
Once Fall Semester started, my life was Utah football.
My first official game? Try on Michigan Stadium for size. The Big House.
I was a new fish in the largest fish tank imaginable. I followed Pizza around like a dog on a leash.
Standing on the sidelines of the 25-23 victory as the Utah defense held the Wolverines to end the game, I looked out at the 111,000 strong and thought to myself, “What the hell are you doing here?”
Day after day, my fingers abused the greasy office keyboards with information about the Utes. My thought process took right hooks and left jabs thinking up new, interesting stories that any random Joe would be drawn to.
An average of 4,500 words per week was my fall reality. Whittingham and his cardiac kids didn’t help me out with story lines either, with all the wins piling up.
Week four took Utah to Air Force and me to my sister’s wedding.
I flew home to the Bay Area. With the ceremony ongoing, there I stood, stiff as a board, sneakily receiving text message updates from Tony on the Utah-Air Force game.
The ceremony ended the same time Tony sent a text that read UTAH WINS! I let out a ceremonial howl and the rest of the night is still kind of a blur.
Five games into the season, I was a seer, but not exactly a believer.
Eight points in less than two minutes culminating in a 37-yard field goal gave me a presumed slap in the face and once again, the cell phone was hoarded with messages: “That was crazy” or “Do you believe it?”
I never expected to be going to Shitkicker, USA, (aka Laramie, Wyo.). We were greeted with a cordial Big Chief hock into the spittoon nearly a foot away from our feet. The two-day trip back turned into a tour of hell.
The roads heading back toward Salt Lake City froze solid. With semis sliding off the road, we put our lives amid a Wyoming blizzard in a Ford Taurus. Photo Editor Ty Cobb fishtailed his dad’s car for a good two hours. All for a 40-7 win.
Weeks came, weeks went, and the Utes were still unflapped.
I saw the 80-yard drive defibrillate an entire Blackout crowd.
I enjoyed the perfect Southern California weather in November.
I saw BYU athletic director Tom Holmoe literally pitch a shitfit in a Rice-Eccles Stadium press box as Utah beat BYU in the Holy War.
Twelve weeks after the Utes started out victorious against Michigan, I witnessed perfection. I wrote about perfection. I experienced 12-0.
I prayed to whatever deity might exist that it would be New Orleans on New Year’s Eve and not the desert of Phoenix, Ariz.
Thankfully, I was living righteously on and off the field and my prayer was granted. The Big Easy was an engrossing metropolitan. The culture and the people were simply exquisite.
So were the Utes.
They shocked the world. Again.
No one gave them a chance, and as the red and white confetti littered the Superdome turf, I found Robert Johnson.
Johnson had finished the game with two interceptions and a injury worthy of an MRI, but he hobbled around and couldn’t stop smiling.
“Congratulations,” he said to me.
“No, congratulations Robert, you deserve it,” I said.
“We all deserve this,” he said.
There’s a perfect stamp on a season that told non-believers everywhere to shove it.
And we both finished the season No. 2.
Go figure.
Chris Kamrani