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 Friday, December 13, 2002
One fine day
By Ed Cunningham
Special to BCSfootball.com
Ed Cunningham was one of four captains on the 1991 Washington Huskies squad when it faced Michigan in the Rose Bowl on Jan. 1, 1992. He recalls the day.
When you're getting ready to go to college to play football, your mind runs wild with dreams of playing in bowl games, being named All-American and winning a national championship. The summer before you head off to school, you spend time working out and daydreaming about how great your career is going to be.
Win after win, championship after championship, just like when you were a 10-year-old out shooting hoops, counting down the final seconds before you hit the winning shot to hand your team the title. You visualize walking off the field, coach on your shoulders, celebrating the biggest win in your school's history. Even my wildest dreams paled in comparison to what happened on Jan. 1, 1992.
|  | | Tyrone Rogers and Don James hold up the Rose Bowl trophy. |
The day began like every other game day under our head coach, Don James. After being in his program for five years, you could follow his itinerary without even looking at it. Pre-game meal, followed by a walk-through of the main plays for that game, then up to your room to pack up, and head down for the buses to the stadium. Once I got on the bus, I realized this game day was going to be different.
Coach James believed in keeping things rather subdued in the hours before the game. Anyone who wanted to listen to music did so with headphones. Talking was kept to a minimum, and joking was saved for after the game. His theory was that every player prepared differently, so no one player should be able to disrupt another's frame of mind.
As we boarded the bus for the 45-minute ride from our hotel in Anaheim to the Rose Bowl, it was the most relaxed I'd ever seen our team before a game. Relaxed, but amazingly focused. The calmness came from how confident we were in our preparation. We knew we were facing a good opponent in Michigan, but deep down, we knew they didn't have a chance. We had two weeks of near flawless practices, working on a game plan that was the best we'd ever seen.
I sat just a few rows behind Coach James, right next to our starting running back, Beno Bryant. Beno and I talked for the entire ride about how special this day was, and how much fun it was going to be playing in front of this many people. We had played in the Rose Bowl the year before, but we knew this was different.
The previous year, we finished 10-2, and ranked in the Top 5. This time, we entered the game 11-0, and tied with Miami in one of the two polls. We knew if we won convincingly, we would at least share the crown. Yet somehow we were able to appreciate the moment. Sometimes, as a participant in such an event, you are so focused and nervous about the task you have to perform, you forget to take it all in. Beno and I were reveling in the moment, and so was the entire bus, including the coaches. We were breathing in all it had to offer.
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As the buses descended into the valley that houses the grand old building, the hair on the back of my neck came to full attention.
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As we pulled off the freeway, we started picking up the energy the Rose Bowl exudes. A back way was secured for the teams' buses to find their way quickly to the stadium. It was lined with fans looking to catch a sneak peak at the teams, and maybe a glimpse at which one seemed more prepared. As we made our way through the residential streets, I looked over and saw six of my fraternity brothers who'd made the trek south in a borrowed Suburban. They were waving wildly at the bus as it passed, and looked more excited about the game than I was. Then, as the buses descended into the valley that houses the grand old building, the hair on the back of my neck came to full attention.
As our fans saw the team coming down the hill, they sprinted from their tailgates and surrounded the buses. As the caravan slowed to avoid running over the throng, the fans, engulfed in purple, engulfed the bus. They began to cheer and slap the sides of the bus. The energy and determination of the team was matched by that of the crowd. We fed off of them just as they were feeding off of us. As I searched the faces of the mass of hysteria outside, I met the eyes of two familiar faces. My mother and father had seen me, and were waving to catch my attention. As we made eye contact, I was overcome with emotion.
As the bus continued it's slow journey to the locker room, I craned my neck as long as possible to smile and wave back to my parents. When I turned back, with tears rolling down my cheeks, Beno smiled and nodded his head in understanding. He knew exactly how I felt.
The one thing I'll never forget about either of the Rose Bowls I played in was the warmups. Typically, you go out an hour before the game, run through some stretches and drills, and just try to conserve some emotion and energy for the game. This game makes that a difficult task. As you run out on the field with your position group, the roar is deafening. All 100,000 fans have already made their way to their seats, and can't wait to prove which team has the more boisterous fans.
Right away, you notice the stadium is cut right down the middle. Your sideline is awash in your school's colors, and in the middle of each end zone the dividing line is clearly visible. One narrow aisle separated purple and gold from maize and blue. I could only imagine the words that went across that three-foot patch of concrete.
As the game began, and I focused in on the task at hand, I was amazed at how quiet it became. It was like the opening whistle was a mute button.
The focus paid off. As confident as we were on the ride over, there was no way we thought we could dominate a good team like we did. Desmond Howard, that year's Heisman winner, was held to one reception. Elvis Grbac was constantly thrown on his back. I can't remember one play from the first half that didn't gain more than four yards. The contest was basically over at halftime.
|  | | Billy Joe Hobert threw two touchdown passes in the Huskies' 34-14 rout of Michigan in the 1992 Rose Bowl. |
By the midway point of the third quarter, the starters were on the sidelines cheering on the younger guys, and basking in the spotlight. I turned and found exactly where my family sat, and walked behind the bench to celebrate a bit. The clock started to dwindle, and on cue, our fans began chanting the obligatory "We're No. 1!" They knew the fate of our national title hopes rested on the polls, so they were doing everything in their power to help us out.
As time expired, I shook hands with the Wolverines, and then joined the other captains on the podium for the trophy presentation. Time was frozen. It's one of those moments in life that you need no photographic proof that it's transpired. Nearly 10 years later, I can close my eyes and see, smell and hear exactly how that moment went: Coach James thanking the fans, each of us hoisting the trophy over our heads, and the pride that is shared between men who had reached a common goal because of the reliance they had on each other.
When the ceremony ended, I had to find my family. I worked my way over to the stands, and walked up the aisle. Fans patted me on the back, and shouted congratulations, but I was on a mission. As I reached their row of seats, my mother was covering her mouth, trying to control her sobs of joy. I took her in my arms, she buried her face in my shoulder pads, and we expressed our love and pride without saying a word. Moms have a way of making special events in your life even more meaningful. She confirmed the magnitude of the moment.
After a long evening of celebration, we went to bed not knowing what the polls would decide. The funny thing was, we didn't care. To a man, we were content. We had done our job the best way we knew how, and didn't need confirmation that we were the best team in America. We knew we were.
Ed Cunningham is a college football analyst for ABC Sports and a regular contributor to BCSfootball.com.
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Billy Joe Hobert hits Mark Bruener in the back of the end zone for six.