I Hate Stanford

I don't remember Cal ever winning the Big Game.

It's not that I'm too young. It's just that on Nov. 19, 1994, I was probably riding my bike up and down an empty canal in the Central Valley or tapping some guy on the shoulder, asking him to buy me a 40.

Back then, I could have cared less about the Cal football team and this thing called the Big Game.

Six years later, seven stitches in my chin from the canal and who knows how many 40s, I've learned to care about the Big Game.

But it's not because of the tradition, the pranks or the Axe. It's certainly not about winning. For me, the Big Game is about one thing: hatred.

I hate Stanford. Wait, let me rephrase that. I hate Stanford.

And why shouldn't I?

We all should. Have any of us seen a Big Game victory? Have any of us seen the men's basketball team beat Stanford? How many of us applied to Stanford and were turned down? I didn't. I knew my kind wasn't welcome down in the land of silicon and chardonnay. And that was more than fine with me.

Leland Stanford, Jr. University, how do I hate thee? Let me count the ways.

I hate having to drive through Palo Alto to get to the campus.

I hate the yuppies at the cafes on Saturday mornings, sipping lattés and looking comfortable in their cute cycling spandex and their sense of entitlement.

I hate how huge the campus is, its lushness, its expanse-all 8,180 acres of it.

I hate that they call it the Farm. How many farms do you know have a mall?

I hate that mall, too.

I hate that Stanford, bursting with money, smuggly, sits just a few miles away from East Palo Alto. You have to keep the help close by, don't you?

I hate that my uncle's ex-wife and his current wife both went to Stanford.

I hate that Tiger Woods rented Stanford for two years and is listed in the football media guide with all the other "alumni."

I hate Casey Jacobsen.

I hate that Stanford was politically correct before the term even existed and changed its mascot from an Indian to a tree. And how the hell does the Cardinal fit in?

I hate how zany the Stanford band thinks it is.

I hate that Stanford's football team plays for fans who could care less how good it is.

I hate that Stanford has one of the best football coaches in the country and in one week Cal won't have a football coach.

I hate that Cal fans deserve Stanford's football team and Stanford fans deserve Cal's football team.

I hate almost-enclosed Stanford Stadium and its stupid track.

I hate the ultra-bouncy floor at Maples Pavilion.

I hate that the West Coast offense was born on the Stanford campus.

I hate the Sears Cup.

I hate that I have to sit up in a press box and try and be an objective member of the media instead of a fruit-toting Cal Bear.

I hate that Stanford students don't feel the same way about Cal students as we do about them.

I hate that my girlfriend is studying abroad in South America and her best friend there is from Stanford.

I hate it when people do their undergrad work at Cal and their grad work at Stanford and vice versa.

I hate that guys like Andre Carter, Deltha O'Neal and Matt Beck never won the Big Game.

I hate thinking about Stanford celebrating in Memorial Stadium last year after winning such a good football game.

I hate that Tom Holmoe will probably never win a Big Game-except when he coached at Stanford.

I hate that nobody at Cal would know what to do with the Axe if the Bears win.

I hate that Cal will need a miracle to win.

I hate that if the miracle doesn't happen, I will graduate without seeing a Big Game win.

I hate the fact that that's become the norm around here.

I hate Stanford.

I hate Stanford.

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