The Crummy Cougars

This afternoon, my graduate school alma mater, Oregon, plays the Washington State Cougars in football. As a sports fan growing up in Kellogg, I was raised to loathe the Cougars, the Crummy Cougars. My dad and all of his friends never referred to them simply as the Cougars. They were the Crummy Cougars. I don't know if I've ever been in the company of such a deeply-rooted hatred for a single team since. I'm not quite sure why my dad and almost all of his friends hated the Crummy Cougars so much. Wrong side of the state line from the Vandals? Jerry Turnbow went to the University of Washington for a year or os so all of his brothers, friends, and my dad hated the Cougars? Did someone get pulled over for speeding in Pullman? Was it because Harry Missildine came to Kellogg during the Rich Porter basketball hey-day and had a few too many Cutty Sarks and water and got pithy and pissy with the Silver Valley crew at Joe and Henry's? I don't really know the reason. All I can say is if you have any of the old-timers from Joe and Henry's on your Christmas gift list, do not give them Cougar Gold.

How intense was this hatred? Bob Turnbow, the oldest of the Cougar-hating Kellogg Turnbow brothers, was part of a Kellogg entourage about forty years ago at a basketball game at Bohler Gym. He and my dad left their seats for some pre-game rest room relief and on their return my dad suddenly saw Bob go to his knees, but continue walking.
"Jesus Christ, Bob! What the hell are you doing?"
"Goddamnit, Pert! We took too goddamn long in the pisser.... I can't stand for the Crummy Cougar goddamn fight song!"

Dad and Bob and the other members of this Silver Valley posse had tickets to see WSU play UCLA in Bohler because the Silver Valley Bogie Bread man, Mike Turner, had married UCLA assistant coach Denny Crum's mother. (Yes, that's right. Denny Crum got us Crummy Cougar tickets.) The seats were right behind the UCLA bench. I got one of these tickets in 1969, Lew Alcindor's senior year, before he became Kareem. Maybe there were fifteen or twenty of us from Kellogg, the only people in Bohler rooting, and rooting hard for UCLA.

If you haven't been to Bohler Gym, it was a classic old school gym that gave the Cougars a trememdous home court advantage. Seating started just beyond the out of bound lines on the long sides of the court, and the seats rose sraight up. Then, on one of the wide sides of the gym was a balcony, packed with huge signs taunting the Cougars' opponents. My favorite in 1969 showed a black player with a huge afro and read, "Sidney Wickes, you're so bush your mother was a tree." Classic Whitman County smack. (That sign would probably be removed today by the Enforcers of Appropriateness.)

The UCLA players were seated, waiting for player introductions. I couldn't believe my fifteen year old eyes. My dad had his hand on Lew Alcindor's right rib cage. Dad was talking in his ear. I thought, "Jesus, Dad. He's been the NCAA Player of the Year two years running. His coach is freakin' John Wooden. He's learned the Wooden Pyramid of Success. What are you telling him? Be sure to screen your man off the boards? Let the game come to you? I can get you a job at the Zinc Plant? Don't be like me!? " Whatever he was saying, Alcindor maintained his expressionless gaze, chewing calmly on a wad of gum, staring straight ahead. If he needed motivation to excell against the Cougs, I don't think my dad's pep talk was having that strong of an effect.

It wasn't long that night in February of 1969 before it became obvious to the three thousand fans rising up behind us, that this Kellogg gang was rooting boisterously for UCLA. Silver Valley men stood beet-faced to challenge every call that went the Cougar's way. When Harry Missildine walked to the press table he was showered with verbal abuse: "Sit down, Pencil Head." "Hey, Muscle Head, get out of the way!" "Sober up, Harry!" "Hey, Missildine, crawl back in your hole." "What tree did you fall out of!" The verbal abuse continued toward Marv Harshman and Jud Heathcoate. At one point, Dick Costa went to the concession stand and bought an ice cream bar and handed it to the famously animated Heathecoate: "Here, cool off, coach." Reporting that Heathecoate said, "Uh, gee thanks!", Costa inspired doubled over laughter from the guys from Kellogg.

It wasn't long that night before the Silver Valley mob got just what they wanted: peppered. Ice cubes, wads of gum, popcorn containers, pop cups, all hurled down on these UCLA boosters from Kellogg. Other abuse came pouring down. The Kellogg guys loved it. They knew they had the Cougar fans right where they wanted them. They'd got their goat. "What's the score, Crummy Cougars?" "Booger the Cougars!"

UCLA won. Silver Valley Cougar baiting and hating triumphed once again. As I sign off this post, the Cougars are beating the Oregon Ducks 13-3 at halftime. I've mellowed considerably toward the Cougars since moving away from the Silver Valley. But, any time I find myself wishing the Cougars well or feeling happy that they have defeated, say Oregon State or the University of Washington or have made it to the Rose Bowl, I can't feel that happiness immediately. There is a mechanism inside me, an emotional checkpoint, created by years and years of adamant formation, the Booger the Cougars filter that that good feeling for the Cougars must pass through, before I can feel good for them. But, I have no problem being on my feet when I hear the Cougar fight song.