"Deserves" Has Nothing To Do With It

This weekend was the annual rivalry game between the University of Utah Utes and the Cougars of Brigham Young Academy University.  It's a familiar story, replayed in nearly every rivalry in sports:  Team X hates Team Y and vice versa, and fans of both hope their team stomps the other into dust so they can gain some feeling of superiority-by-proxy through their team's victory.  Of course, parties to the Utah-BYU version of the story feel that there is something extra special about their rivalry.  In the local Utah press, it is called The Holy War, as if the very tenets of Provo's Candyland Mormonism are under assault by the mixed-faith gentile forces from Salt Lake. 

Both of my parents and two siblings attended BYU, so I was a Cougar fan from afar growing up.  When I enrolled at Utah after my return from Russia, I became a Ute, but didn't really get into the rivalry in my first year.  I liked them both.

Nothing like a year's worth of up-close exposure to their program to cure that.

It wasn't so much their fans in Utah that pushed me over.  Most of the trash talk you hear is the same crap you'll hear in any rivalry.  I'm not one of those who believes their fans should be held to a higher level of decorum because they root for God's school.  They're just as prone to human passion as I am.  Besides, good-natured trash talk is half the fun of it.  No, it was their players that killed any affection for their program.  The more I had to listen to jagoffs like Reno Mahe run their mouths to the press about how they get no respect for their 12-0 season, the more joy I experienced when a middling Louisville team mopped the floor with them in their bowl game that year.  It was the crybaby, entitlement arrogance from those teams earlier in this decade that transformed me from a Holy War agnostic to a war-painted Ute.

This year's game was an overtime nail-biter.  It didn't turn out the way I would have liked, and to be stuck watching in a venue where we Utes were outnumbered made it all the more difficult to swallow.  I about ground my teeth to dust watching them all stand up and sing their stupid fight song (who writes fake growling into their fight song?!). But it was amicable afterward.  I laughed and continued my trash talk, congratulating the Cougar fans and telling them all to get bent.  They called me a bitter poor-sport; I told them I've got their sportsmanship right here in my jock.  Haha.  Fun and games.

Then Sunday morning I read what BYU quarterback Max Hall had to say.  No haha from Maxie.  He decided to go scorched-earth at the post-game press conference, sparing nobody.  Here's a more-or-less complete collage of his mouthing off, so you can get an idea of the breathtaking arrogance of this kid:

"I don't like Utah. In fact, I hate them — I hate everything about them.  I hate their program. I hate their fans. I hate everything. So, it felt good to send those guys home. They didn't deserve it. It was our time, and it was our time to win. We deserved it. We played as hard as we could tonight, and it felt really good to send them home and to get them out of here, so it is a game I'll always remember."

When pressed about why, he continued:

"I think the whole university and their fans and organization is classless. They threw beer on my family and stuff last year and did a whole bunch of nasty things. I don't respect them, and they deserve to lose."

Not one to limit his goodwill remarks to his vanquished foe, he was next questioned about his poor performance in last year's game, which gave him the opportunity to micturate all over his own fans:

"People can say whatever they want to say, but until you're on the field and in that position, you have no room to talk or say whatever.  So, I really am thankful for our loyal fans and the people who stuck with us and with me and who continue to be positive with us and with me and say good things. And for the fans who sit behind screen names on the internet and say bad things about you aren't true fans, and it felt really good tonight to get a win in front of the good fans."

Hear that, BYU fans?  Until you've thrown 5 interceptions and fumbled twice (in one game!!), you don't deserve to criticize me!  I am above your thoughts on good quarterbacking.  So if you criticize me, you are not TRUE Cougars.  I only play for GOOD fans.  If you want be be a LOYAL fan, you'll only say positive things about me so I can continue to feel good about myself.  I'm talking to you, CougarBlu4Life.

If there's a way to win the battle while losing the war, Max just found it.

I really don't care about him saying he hates Utah's program and fans and the university in general.  Whatever.  It's a rivalry.  And despite the press release apology that the P.R. department wrote on his behalf, I accept that Max Hall still hates me.  I think his comments were as raw and unfiltered as they could be, and that he really does feel that way.  And I don't care.  Fuel for the tank keeps my motor running.  What really gets me is the "deserves" part of his comments.  BYU played their hardest, therefore, they deserve to win.  By extension, Utah must not have played their hardest, and therefore did not deserve to win. 

Really Max?  Because I always thought that the quarterback who goes 12-of-32 for 134 yards was the one who deserves to lose.  You turned in a dogs*#t performance and then walked into the press conference and threw up all over your opponent and your own fans.  I'd say that you deserved to lose, and you won DESPITE your on-field performance.  But deserves has nothing to do with it.  The sad part is, BYU fans have loved you because of all the monster numbers you've put up against the bottom feeders of the MWC.  It is you who has betrayed them by regularly wetting the bed in every big game you've played in.  You are a choke artist.  That is your M.O.  That, and now poor sportsmanship.  Lucky for you I've still got plenty of that left in my jock for you.  But since you seem to be better at performing with your mouth than with your arm, you'll have to come get it on your knees.