The ball hit the ground on the
final play of triple overtime, the Oregon offense unable to pull themselves from a
difficult fourth down situation that had resulted from yet another poor snap on
the previous play. Like many Duck fans, I switched off the television, wanting
to see none of the happiness Oregon had imparted on Texas Christian University.
Like many Duck fans, I resolved to put the game from my mind and go to bed.
But at 6 AM I awoke. I felt anxious and uneasy. I could not fall back to sleep. I could hear their voices, the others. It felt like they were winning.
When Oregon loses a football game, I can almost always pinpoint the moments that could have gone their way that would have changed the result. In the Alamo Bowl there were many. Two fourth down conversions for Texas Christian University touchdowns. A backup quarterback making several key running plays after barely being able to walk to the sidelines because of pain in his ribs. Charles Nelson fumbling a kick return. The bad snaps.
So I write this on behalf of all those who don’t yell, who don’t preach hate, and generally remain unheard because of it. There were those out there who saw the often-unmentioned injuries to Chris Seisay and others in the secondary and knew the Oregon defense was in a tough spot this season. There were those who believed Pellum when he said he had to simplify his schemes, and those who saw improvement because of it as the season progressed until one half of regression against Oregon State. There were those who saw that half as a blip on the radar, and would view this Alamo Bowl in much the same light. There are those who have patience.
What can you take away from a game where you lose three offensive starters in the first half and the offense falls off the rails because of it? What should you take away from it? Nothing, I would argue. Throw out the tape. Move on.
And that can be the other story of the Alamo, how Oregon picked itself up and moved on, how they didn’t make any rash decisions because of an incredibly disappointing loss, how they didn’t listen to the anger and the hate.
Or the story can be coaches get fired, unreasonable expectations become the standard and lead to more coaches getting fired, and Oregon football becomes like so many other programs in the country, so many other aspects of America, where the people with the biggest mouths and the harshest remarks get their way, and those with patience and empathy look on helplessly as their lives are hijacked by maniacs.
If Oregon fans want to be angry, they need not direct their anger towards Oregon. They can direct it towards Texas Christian Head Coach Gary Patterson, a man who screamed, “What's it like to play with a backup quarterback!” on the sidelines during the game, as if he was exacting some sort of revenge on Oregon for his own starter’s moronic and immature behavior that led to his suspension and reveling in the fact Adams Jr. was out with a concussion. Or at how Patterson, a coach who frequently gets in the face of his players and screams at them when they make mistakes, is likely feeling pretty good about himself right now.
Or perhaps for many Oregon fans that anger would be too close for comfort.
Perhaps they do not like the look of a man turning red in the face as he directs a fit of rage at one of his own players. Perhaps it makes them feel dirty inside. One has to wonder if they get that same feeling when they look in the mirror.
At one point in the second half, backup center Doug Brenner walked off the field, head hung low after another low snap had wiped away a potential touchdown pass and forced the Oregon offense to punt the ball. What did Oregon Head Coach Mark Helfrich do? He came up to him, spoke a few words, and gave him an encouraging pat on the head. Then the two parted ways, Brenner heading to the bench, Helfrich focusing his attention back to the field.
This time, it didn’t work. Brenner’s struggles continued. Oregon lost the game.
Would yelling at him, getting angry at him, have made things turn for the better? Do we want to find out the answer to that question?
But at 6 AM I awoke. I felt anxious and uneasy. I could not fall back to sleep. I could hear their voices, the others. It felt like they were winning.
When Oregon loses a football game, I can almost always pinpoint the moments that could have gone their way that would have changed the result. In the Alamo Bowl there were many. Two fourth down conversions for Texas Christian University touchdowns. A backup quarterback making several key running plays after barely being able to walk to the sidelines because of pain in his ribs. Charles Nelson fumbling a kick return. The bad snaps.
So when I
turned off the television, I felt sadness, mostly for the seniors, especially
for Vernon Adams Jr. For one half he was putting on a show, slinging the ball
all over the field, capping his magnificent, albeit shortened, one year run as
quarterback at Oregon. And then that run became even more shortened. And he was
forced to watch from the sidelines as Oregon’s historic collapse unfolded
before his bleary eyes, and he and all Oregon fans were left to wonder what
might have been, knowing they would never get the opportunity to find out.
There would be no second chance. The game was lost. The season was over.
Adams Jr. and the rest of the Oregon seniors would never play another game in an Oregon uniform. Many will never play organized football again in their lives. I can’t begin to imagine the feeling of having it end that way.
This is the story of the Alamo for Oregon, a story of sadness. But sadness and empathy isn’t winning. Anger and hate is winning. The others.
For the same reason angry, hate-preaching politicians are rising to positions of power and prominence, angry, hate-preaching fan bases have coaches on shorter and shorter leashes. Those who yell most frequently and at the highest volume are getting their way. People have decided they are worth listening to. Oregon Defensive Coordinator Don Pellum might lose his job because of it.
There would be no second chance. The game was lost. The season was over.
Adams Jr. and the rest of the Oregon seniors would never play another game in an Oregon uniform. Many will never play organized football again in their lives. I can’t begin to imagine the feeling of having it end that way.
This is the story of the Alamo for Oregon, a story of sadness. But sadness and empathy isn’t winning. Anger and hate is winning. The others.
For the same reason angry, hate-preaching politicians are rising to positions of power and prominence, angry, hate-preaching fan bases have coaches on shorter and shorter leashes. Those who yell most frequently and at the highest volume are getting their way. People have decided they are worth listening to. Oregon Defensive Coordinator Don Pellum might lose his job because of it.
So I write this on behalf of all those who don’t yell, who don’t preach hate, and generally remain unheard because of it. There were those out there who saw the often-unmentioned injuries to Chris Seisay and others in the secondary and knew the Oregon defense was in a tough spot this season. There were those who believed Pellum when he said he had to simplify his schemes, and those who saw improvement because of it as the season progressed until one half of regression against Oregon State. There were those who saw that half as a blip on the radar, and would view this Alamo Bowl in much the same light. There are those who have patience.
What can you take away from a game where you lose three offensive starters in the first half and the offense falls off the rails because of it? What should you take away from it? Nothing, I would argue. Throw out the tape. Move on.
And that can be the other story of the Alamo, how Oregon picked itself up and moved on, how they didn’t make any rash decisions because of an incredibly disappointing loss, how they didn’t listen to the anger and the hate.
Or the story can be coaches get fired, unreasonable expectations become the standard and lead to more coaches getting fired, and Oregon football becomes like so many other programs in the country, so many other aspects of America, where the people with the biggest mouths and the harshest remarks get their way, and those with patience and empathy look on helplessly as their lives are hijacked by maniacs.
If Oregon fans want to be angry, they need not direct their anger towards Oregon. They can direct it towards Texas Christian Head Coach Gary Patterson, a man who screamed, “What's it like to play with a backup quarterback!” on the sidelines during the game, as if he was exacting some sort of revenge on Oregon for his own starter’s moronic and immature behavior that led to his suspension and reveling in the fact Adams Jr. was out with a concussion. Or at how Patterson, a coach who frequently gets in the face of his players and screams at them when they make mistakes, is likely feeling pretty good about himself right now.
Or perhaps for many Oregon fans that anger would be too close for comfort.
Perhaps they do not like the look of a man turning red in the face as he directs a fit of rage at one of his own players. Perhaps it makes them feel dirty inside. One has to wonder if they get that same feeling when they look in the mirror.
At one point in the second half, backup center Doug Brenner walked off the field, head hung low after another low snap had wiped away a potential touchdown pass and forced the Oregon offense to punt the ball. What did Oregon Head Coach Mark Helfrich do? He came up to him, spoke a few words, and gave him an encouraging pat on the head. Then the two parted ways, Brenner heading to the bench, Helfrich focusing his attention back to the field.
This time, it didn’t work. Brenner’s struggles continued. Oregon lost the game.
Would yelling at him, getting angry at him, have made things turn for the better? Do we want to find out the answer to that question?
