Where I Came From: How I Became A Cal Fan

My great-grandfather went to Cal. He was an ME/CE and designed the lighting system on the Bay Bridge. Sadly enough, his gift for math, design, and calligraphy didn’t pass down as I am a math idjut, my handwriting looks like hieroglyphs, and I can barely draw a straight line with a ruler. Both of my grandfathers went to Cal. One worked as an engineer for United, and the other served in the army and then worked for the Atomic Energy Commission as an accountant. My lack of math skillz is starting to make me look like the runt of the litter…

My parents met at Cal in a good old fashioned boy-meets-girl, girl-says-hell no, boy-stalks-girl, girl-facepalms-but-admits-boy-is-strangely-cute, kind of story. Many moons later, I started going to Cal football games with my dad around age 8. Quite honestly, I didn’t become a real football or basketball fan until I was junior high/high school age. But, my dad always made it a special experience to go to games with him. We would drive out early to have breakfast with my grandparents. My grandmother used to be one of the best cooks anywhere. She would prepare a farmer-style spread that makes me salivate just thinking about it – eggs, home fries, bacon, sausages, home-made biscuits and gravy. Then, she’d pack up a special half-time snack (sandwiches, chips, dessert, mac or potato salad, hard-boiled egg) and send us on our way. After watching the Cal Band perform their pre-game concert on Sproul. We’d hit the ice cream shop on Bancroft and then walk up to the stadium to watch the team warm-up. In later years, we’d march up with the band to enjoy their on the move renditions of the Cal Drinking Song and the song featuring the Titanic sinking. Usually, the game itself featured Cal getting the snot kicked out of them. (I did have a few good years while growing up thanks to Pawlawski and Russell White under Coach Synder) Afterwards, we’d take my grandfather back home where my grandmother would have another enormous meal waiting for us. For the Big Games, Grandma would take her show on the road and prepare the best tailgate spread you’ve ever seen. To this day, her fried chicken is still the best that I’ve had anywhere.

We didn’t start going to basketball games until I was older…but it just so happens that we that the beginning of our bball fan-dom coincided with the arrival of a certain Jason Kidd. That pretty much sealed the deal. In later years, I got up early and ran with the bulls for student tickets. I blew off studying for the GRE to watch the team win an NIT championship in NY. I also almost got suspended from my residency for not scheduling any patients for a night clinic session so I could attend Cal-ucla.

My parents still attend all the home football/basketball games and will often travel to support the team for select away games. With the arrival of the offspring, particularly Psycho Teething Baby, I’ve been home-bound the last few years. CGB has been a great way of sharing a game-day experience with other fans as well as keeping up to speed. (Mrs. Kod just sighs a lot when I make her watch replays on tv.)

So, I suppose the combination of food and fun times with my dad made it an easy indoctrination into the Way of the Bear. Even though my mom insisted that I apply to other UC’s and even to ’furd, I knew where I wanted to go. In fact, I sent ’furds “do you want to come here?” postcard back to them covered with Cal stickers. They actually sent me a 2nd letter asking me to “clarify.” Douches.

The girls are a little too young to sit through games, but I’m looking forward to bringing them within the next few years. The older one already thinks that the proper response to “Hurray!” is “Go Bears!” :)

Not many of us around, but I was born and raised in Berkeley, with my Mom, Dad and stepDad all working of Man University in some capacity. My Dad got the family pack of tickets when I was about 5 and it’s all been downhill from there. I saw Chuck Muncie run, Joe Roth throw, and Marky Crane fumble away a Big Game at home. I’d hang out outside the locker room for autographs, after the game I’d run onto the field and evade the yellow-coats (and sometimes run through the band………sorry…..), then we’d go listen to the band at Bowles Hall and eat pizza at LaVal’s on Durant. I lived within 5 minutes walk of the stadium, which became our playground when I got older. We’d play capture the flag, horse around, and, one time, got inside and on top of the North Scoreboard. Sorry to say, there’s some pro ’Furd grafitti in there. Maybe we can get the maintenance crew on it…….

After The Play, we (still in high school) joined the party, and ended up back at the stadium to soak up any more euphoria (don’t want to let THAT go to waste). From up in the stands someone started who-raw-ing us, so we started yelling back. Said he was Richard Rogers and confirmed it by matching up whatever we could find on him in our program. I think he soaked up most of the euphoria before we got there.

From Berkeley High School I went to UC Davis (had to leave home SOMETIME), but never lost my passion for the B&G. In fact, I think it’s grown. I follow more Cal sports from Portland than I did when I was in Berkeley (thanks, Al Gore, for inventing the internet….). I focus on Football, men’s and women’s basketball, and softball, but keep up on the rest. Every year older I get the more important that Rose Bowl is. I’m only 43, but it may end up being a once in a lifetime experience for me. Go Bears. Go to the Rose Bowl, PLEASE !!!!!!!!

The first football game of the 2009 season. When applying to colleges, I forgot I even applied to Cal, as I figured I had very little chance to be accepted. However, upon learning that not only had I applied, but that I was also accepted to Cal, I immediately knew where I wanted to go to school. Now, the main reasons I chose to go to Cal were the academics and convenient location (I live in San Mateo). Sports did not really enter the equation, for some reason, although I love sports. I never really had school pride in high school, but from the Maryland football game on, I bled blue and gold. I read the same website multiple times every day in hopes of finding some update about Cal recruiting. And the rest is history-going into my second year at Cal, I consider myself one of the more spirited students at Cal, and am officially a Cal fanatic.

I wasn’t going to go to Cal. Seriously, I was going to go to USC, who had opened my horizons by sending me a brochure about a program that let high school students skip their senior year and go directly to college. I got in, but my parents had cold feet about sending their sixteen year old daughter to Los Angeles (and trying to figure out how to pay for it). Add in the fact that I grew up near Redding — you know, the forgotten part of the Central Valley way up north, and my parents’ hesitation was understandable.

So going into senior year, my top two were USC and Stanfurd (Cal was third, actually, as I’d been on Berkeley’s campus once and liked it). But over the course of the year, Stanfurd rejected me (I maintain it’s because I wasn’t rich) and USC failed to come through with the scholarship I would need if I was going there. And then I got the third crushing blow — the scholarship I needed to go to Cal also wasn’t going. Guess I was going to UC Davis.

Which then led to a hilarious conversation on the phone a few days later:
“Hi, this is the R&C scholarshop office at UC Berkeley.”
“Hi.” (sigh, I have to deal with this? Calling to rub it in?)
“Did you get our letter?”
“Yeah.” (Yep, calling to rub it in. Stupid Berkeley.)
“We made a big mistake. You should have gotten an acceptance letter.”
“…” (Wait….did he just say what I thought he said?)

So yeah, that’s how I ended up at Berkeley. Of course, going to the school is only half the battle. Now, I was a big fan of my high school’s football team, which, I think, only had something like five losses in my time there, and my senior year, we had a perfect season. So I get to Cal in the fall of 1996, end up joining Rally Comm, and thrill as Cal goes 5-0 out the gate, including a historic win at USC. Things were looking pretty good for the Bears.

Then they go up to the Palouse. I was at home that weekend, as I had an orthodontic appointment, and was visiting my high school English teacher. In pride, I turned on the radio to give him a taste of how awesome Cal football was, only to have Wazoo go up on the Bears something like 21-0 nearly immediately. We turned off the radio and went on to something else.

I get home and decide to try to figure out what was going on. Keep in mind, this was 1996, and the internet was nowhere near the awesome place it is now, so I found myself trying every radio in the house trying to pick up KGO — my house was down in a depression, which made it harder. And I finally managed it on the clock radio in the kitchen. The radio was fading in and out, but I discovered Cal had pulled within a score, and was driving. The two minute drill was working perfectly — Pat Barnes was hitting his recievers, they were doing what they were supposed to, it was inevitable we’d pull out this game…

And then on the one yard line, Barnes fumbles the handoff to the running back and WSU recovers. Game over. The scream of agony I let out sent both my parents running into the room, and a scolding for letting out such a scream over a football game.

But it’s that moment I knew I was hooked on my Bears, win or lose. And there were a lot of losses—remember, most of my undergrad career was the Tom Holmoe years. But they were still my Bears no matter what. And I still live and die by the boys in blue.

And that’s how I became a Cal fan. Go Bears.

My great grandfather and great grandmother met at Cal in the 1910s (and I have a Cal songbook from the era that doesn’t even include ‘Big C’ because it wasn’t written yet!). Their son (my grandfather) went to Cal on the GI bill after serving in the European Theater of WWII. His daughter (my mother) went to Cal, where she met my father.

Cal fandom is in my blood. I attended 8 Big Games prior to my college years. As a preteen I loved Sean Dawkins and Ed Gray and I couldn’t understand why the 49ers wanted Mooch. As a high-schooler I loved Nick Harris and Andre Carter, hated Tom Holmoe and Ty Willingham, and was utterly convinced that Ben Braun was the guy to take Cal to the promised land (oops). It was my dream to attend Berkeley.

I applied to Cal, Davis, and Santa Cruz, and was only accepted to UCSC. while I tried to decide which college housing to choose as a Banana Slug, my father insisted I appeal to both Davis and Berkeley. A few weeks later Davis sent back their response: Rejected again. I sent in an enrollment fee to Santa Cruz. Another week later and I come home from a track meet. My mom handed me an unusually thick envelope. …Seriously, Berkeley accepted me on appeal?!? You’ve gotta be kidding me! This is the greatest thing ever!!!

5 months later I’m in the student section as we all hold hands and pray as Tyler Frederickson lines up for a field goal in triple OT against USC. 6 years later and I’m getting married to the girl I met at Berkeley.

I’m a very lucky guy.

I guess you could say my Cal fandom began, in its own small way, on November 20, 1982. I was in junior high school and my science class had a field trip to the California Academy of Sciences that day. Also that day, Cal was playing Stanfurd in “The Big Game” in Berkeley. I was already a bit of a sports fan at that age and was aware of The Big Game. I didn’t really have a rooting interest — my parents are alumni of a Big1T1en school and any real college football/basketball “fandom” to that point had been for their alma — but I remember leaning toward the bad guys (read: the Cardinal) that day because of John Elway.

My dad was one of the drivers for the field trip. When he picked us back up, I asked him if he knew who won The Big Game. He proceeded to describe this utterly crazy, improbable, miracle ending that he had heard on the radio. A crazy play, laterals, with Cal winning. Impossible, I thought. I saw the highlight later that night on the news and was astounded. Well done, Cal, I thought. Well done.

Still, I wasn’t what you’d consider a Cal “fan” at that point. But my next step in that progression was the summer of 1984. I managed to get into a program where kids entering high school could take an intensive 8-week math course on Cal’s campus and get high school credit. I still remember that the class met at Haviland Hall on the north side of campus. I spent quite a bit of time on the Berkeley campus that summer and loved the place. From that point forward, I rooted for Cal whenever I saw their games, and was squarely in the Cal camp for the Big Game. I agonized when Leland Rix missed the chip shot FG that would have won the 1985 Big Game and took great pleasure in watching every snap of the epic 1986 Big Game upset of Stanfurd on TV (Joe Kapp’s final game as Cal coach). But I wouldn’t say I became a true “fan” until my senior year in high school.

I applied to a motley collection of colleges and was eventually trying to decide between Cal and Northwestern. I remember being home one night watching the 1987-88 Cal basketball team play at Harmon Gym against Ucla. Cal was not good that year — the Bears did not break single digits in wins, as I recall. Yet, here they were beating Ucla on this night. But even more than that, I remember seeing the atmosphere at Harmon Gym. The enthusiasm and energy of the Cal students was palpable, even on TV. In my heart of hearts, I decided that night that I wanted to be a Bear.

I was lucky enough to be accepted to Cal. And the rest is history, as far as my fandom goes. Even though I grew up in the South Bay, I didn’t attend my first Cal game until the season opener of my freshman year — Cal vs. Pacific. We won, 30-7. In my four years as an undergrad, I missed only one Cal home game, and that one only because I was the station engineer for the KALX broadcast of the game. I became one of those crazy Harmon Gym student section crazies. I became a KALX sports guy and called play by play for baseball, basketball, and football, which are experiences that I still count among the best in my life. I was a Young Alumni season ticket holder from the time they created such a status (the 1994 season) until I moved to Ohio.

Moving to Ohio hasn’t dampened my fandom. I am always a Bear.

I met a girl at a wedding who marched five years with the Cal Band. I knew nothing about her team but figured "tall, blonde, has own season tickets – why not?"

That was 2001 – the last year B.T., when the only win was a road game at Rutgers in December. The next year, she brought me out for Big Game week, and went to a Band dinner in SF where people were bemoaning the fact that they hadn’t beaten Furd in 7 years.

And I usually replied with something to the effect of "well, I wasn’t around then. There’s gonna be some changes around here…"

If Cal hadn’t won, I probably would currently repose in a sack full of concrete somewhere downcurrent of the Bay Bridge. Instead, I wound up moving out here, getting married, and oh yeah, five straight Big Game wins until…until I missed the game last year.

I blame myself.

Please inform the Cardinal that they have something that belongs to me and I will be coming around in November to collect my property.

To this I can only add three things:

1) Vanderbilt’s game against St Mary’s in Moraga the night before Big Game was a revelation as to just how many Cal-Vandy marriages there are around here. (The woman who organized the Vandy event for said game is married to a Sproul. As in Plaza.)

2) My property reposes in perfect security at the corner of Telegraph and Bancroft thanks to the good offices of Jahvid Best, Mike Mohammed (peace be upon him) and Sugar Shane Vereen. Heroes all.

3) I work for the Furd now. After ten years, they will pay 50% of Furd tuition toward the college tuition of your offspring. There is a legitimate possibility that said bandsperson and I could have a child and send said child to Berkeley on Furd’s dime. If that ain’t a show…well, you know.

I became a Cal fan in October 2004. I put on some dark GAP® Brand Jeans, took a cool, refreshing sip of fresh-from-the-tree Minute Maid Orange Juice (Medium Pulp), put on my Adidas® Samba™ Sneakers, and made my way to the game. It was entertaining, but the stylish blue Nike® Flex Jerseys set against the backdrop of bright green Fieldturf™ Brand Turf was what really won me over. Not to mention that it was a hot day and I could not have been more thrilled to see the California Memorial Stadium concession stands had ice cold Coca-Cola® (Always Coca Cola!™. From that day forth I knew I would be a Cal fan forever.

…because Fuck Stanfurd, that’s why.

Even as a kid in Chicago, I had a sense that Berkeley was THE place to engage in political debate. But no one in my family had ever graduated from high school, so I never thought I’d actually go to college, let alone Berkeley.

At 18, I enlisted in the Air Force. In ‘95, I got transferred from a closing base in Southern California to Travis AFB in Fairfield. On the drive up, the very first place we stopped in the Bay Area was Cal. I drove up University Avenue telling my wife how I’d dreamed of going to the school, and how the kids who there were some of the smartest in the country, but also a little bit nuts. She observed that while I clearly had the latter trait, she wasn’t so sure about the first.

When I finally made it to college on the G.I. Bill, I visited several campuses that were appealing. But nothing could compare to my visit to Berkeley — large groups of pro-Israel and anti-Israel students were screaming at each other, and I itched to get into the fight. I was sold on Cal for good.

As I have hinted in the past, my story is not pretty. I come from a long line of Furdies. Parents. Aunts and uncles. Siblings. Furdies all. Growing up, the only college athletic events I ever attended were on the Farm. I knew I didn’t like the Furd. It was boring. It was snooty. It was apathetic. Their teams sucked. What to do, what to do?

Mom the Furdie was best friends in high school with one of the Tuck daughters (the Tuck parents were/are huge Cal sports fans — they endow a golf scholarship, and another of their daughters is married to Gary Rogers, as in “T. Gary Rogers Rowing Center”). Thankfully, on non-Cal home game years, the Tucks threw a huge Big Game party at their house. They were kind enough to invite us in spite of the Furdie-dom, and through them I learned to love the Big Game experience. But I still viewed Berkeley as being full of dirty hippies, and I am most definitely not a dirty hippie kind of girl. After visiting colleges up and down the coast of California, I thought maybe U$C was the place for me.

Then the boy who I used to make out with in high school went to Cal. And my senior year of HS, when we got a few days off from school to go visit colleges, I lied to the parents and told them I was going to visit a girlfriend at the Furd, and instead went to visit make-out boy for a couple of days. We went to class, we ate Top Dog, we hung out on Dwinelle, we made a surprise emergency visit to the student health service, we, um, made out, and I was convinced. I applied to Cal, I applied to U$C as my safety school, I applied to the Furd to keep the parents sweet, but I knew where I was going.

I got my acceptance letter on December 1. It arrived only five days after I submitted my application, and because it was so soon, I figured it was some informational mailing about dorms or something, and I actually opened it while sitting on the toilet. I screamed a bit, sorted myself out, then ran around the house screaming a bit more. The parents were a bit shocked since they weren’t even really aware I’d applied, much less that I had decided I wanted to go there.

I sent my registration confirmation in the same week. My Nonni, the only Cal alum in the entire family, promptly decided I was her favorite grandchild. I showed up on campus in the fall of 1984 and I’ve been bleeding blue and gold ever since.