COLUMN: Denying the inner fan
I couldn’t feel my fingers as I sat down to write my recap of the Wisconsin game Saturday night.
My eyes were pointed at my computer screen, but all I saw was a 37-yard field goal attempt being pushed right of the goal post in Camp Randall Stadium.
I was numb, sick and felt my soul empty out of my body as fast as a college student’s gas tank.
My stomach tightened every time the Aggies missed that kick. By the fifth or sixth time the scene played out in my mind, all that remained of my insides was a tangled mess of football players fighting for a loose ball at the bottom of a pile.
My desk jumped as I slammed both fists on it, as did the handful of people still gazing blankly at the television in the room.
“I am an unbiased student reporter,” I whispered to myself, hoping I could believe the lie. “I am not emotionally invested in any team I am assigned to cover.”
It wouldn’t work.
I didn’t even want to watch BYU lose three times to Utah in the Holy War – the next-best thing to a scoreless tie – as red-clad fans rushed the field over and over again in my hometown of Salt Lake City, Utah.
Eventually my fingers moved, slowly at first and then with dexterity as though someone else was writing the game summary for me.
No words were dictated from my mind to the keyboard. Snippets of scenes from the battle in Madison, Wis., played through the movie screen of my mind and were projected onto the page, translated from pictures into the English alphabet.
I saw a sophomore quarterback wearing number 16 throw a pass to a shorter man who ran to the end of the field while fans wearing a different color sat in their seats with depressed expressions.
I saw a host of players in gray uniforms hold a running back wearing red out of the end zone force a field goal. A few paragraphs later I saw the same defense stop him again just before a red-jerseyed teammate missed a field goal.
I saw a punt ran back for a touchdown and a giant, red monster rise out from the stadium. I saw a reputation on the line for one team and an upcoming identity forming for the other. There was frustration of repeated situational failure and there was ecstasy of uncertain victory.
The missed 37-yarder played again, this time serving as a closing scene before the credits rolled.
I came to my senses in time to write my own byline, still fatigued with the surreal vertigo that usually comes after waking from a dream I’m not convinced wasn’t real. For me, the loneliness in knowing I’ll need frequent out-of-body experiences or a few dozen behavioral-modification serums to both help and hinder my sports writing career is an identity crisis in itself.
It’s the price I’m sure I will continue to pay as I continue in my attempt to combine my career with my passion for athletics.
– Tavin Stucki is in his third year at Utah State, majoring in journalism. He is an avid Aggie fan and has been since birth. Follow him on Twitter at @stuckiaggies and send any comments to tavin.stucki@aggiemail.usu.edu.