Striving to Be Civil About the Civil War

Oregon residents get a little chippy about the Civil War, the over-the-top nickname we give to the annual football game between the University of Oregon and Oregon State. Even though it's only a football game, we live in a state where you are either green and yellow or black and orange, and most people wear one set of colors or the other. Flags are flown on doorsteps or from car windows. Jaws jut out. People make friendly wagers and unfriendly ones. Bragging rights are risked, and for one half of the state, the next twelve months are a little more uncomfortable to live, especially when the subject of football is brought up. You are either a Duck honk or a Beaver Believer, and life is either a little better or a little worse depending on who winds up on the big half of the score on Saturday afternoon.

I have always been a Duck, although there are times I wish I wasn't. The Ducks will break your heart in a hundred ways, and put your heart in your throat a thousand more. Things are never easy for Duck fans. Most games come down to the final play, and sometimes you're not even sure if it's really over even then, waiting for an official's signal. Last year they lost a game on the final play when a receiver, reaching desperately for the goal line with seconds to go, fumbled the ball into the end zone and out of bounds. The officials huddled. Anxious seconds passed. Still no signal. Finally, touchback: Ducks lose. We've won games in the same anxious and uncertain way. Wesley Mallard mugs a receiver in the end zone with time running out. No call, no flags: Ducks win. In an infamous game in 2006 the Ducks were trailing against Oklahoma with little time left and tried on onside kick. It didn't go ten yards before a Duck player touched it, and Oklahoma recovered, but the officials awarded Oregon the ball. They drove for a go-ahead touchdown, but the game still wasn't won: they had to block an Sooner field goal on the final play. To be a Duck fan means getting good at holding your breath, making excuses and throwing pillows at the TV. Defensive coach Nick Alliotti has taken years off my life with his maddening and predictable tendencies, rushing three on third and long, or leaving the tight end uncovered in the second half.

Elated over the victories, and agonized over the times we've just run out of time, I've always worn green and yellow, and shook my head over the times Nike has trotted out new uniform colors I didn't recognize at all. A further embarrassment of being a Duck fan is their quirky, cozy relationship with number one alumnus Phil Knight of Nike, which has led to all sorts of fashion-forward football uniform choices that are ridiculed around the country: mustard-colored pants and urine-yellow helmets, and the latest affectation, a ring of feathers on the shoulder pads that look more like a garland of Tampons, a garish and effeminate-looking creation that appears to have been inspired by Liberace or fat Elvis. Every telecast or mention on the national sports channels, the first thing they talk about is the uniforms. The Ducks are either innovative or a laughingstock, and sometimes they're both. I wish we would just play football, and stop collapsing in the November stretch drive. Maybe this is the year.

I say that every year, and some years we get close. In 2001 Joey Harrington led a team that finished 12-1 and number two in the country, pasting Colorado in the Fiesta Bowl. Last season Dennis Dixon ran and passed the PAC-10 silly on the way to another number two ranking before going down to a season-ending knee injury in the ninth game. Devastated by the loss of perhaps the best player in the country the Ducks fell apart and lost their last three games, missing a field goal at the end of regulation in losing to the Beavers in two overtimes, James Rodgers scooting around the corner for a touchdown on the dreaded fly sweep. I still have nightmare visions of Duck linebacker Kwame Agyeman penetrating four yards into the backfield but clutching air as Rodgers sprints for 25 yards. The year before they lost missing a field goal in the final minute. The Beavers always save their best for the Ducks, and the Ducks, well, sometimes they fly and sometimes they get shot down.

I love them just the same, and have ever since I was a young man and Dan Fouts was slinging touchdowns and Bobby Moore (now NBC NBA reporter Ahmad Rashad) was catching them. The hardest part is taking the ribbing and gloating that follows a loss of the Civil War. My friend Doug is usually pretty gracious about it, a Beaver fan since he rooted for them as a youngster. Two of his kids graduated from Oregon State and his wife and two of her brothers are also Beavs. Or, as they are affectionately called by Duck fans in private, Barkrats. Not a very gracious nickname, admittedly.

While Doug is gracious in victory, having been around long enough to remember when both teams were awful (one year they played to a 0-0 tie) Stephanie takes full advantage of her bragging rights. She is a merciless and formidable adversary, particularly when she has the upper hand, and for the last four or five years, she has had it a lot. The Ducks have mostly underachieved since reaching the heights with the 2001 team, and the Beavers have routinely exceeded expectations during the same time frame. They've won three of the last five Civil Wars, and two in a row, and I'm starting to feel a little uncivil about it.

Somehow in our state it's more than a football game. It's liberal versus conservative and country versus city. It's the bad blood of old misunderstandings and treachery and trickery and dancing on one another's logo. Everyone takes sides and someone has to lose. This year both teams are 8-3 and nationally ranked. If the Beavers win they go to the Rose Bowl for the first time in 44 years. If the Ducks win they get a vacation in San Diego and a very large monkey off their back. And I get to avoid a jubilant, crowing phone call from Selah, Washington, and the right to wear my sweatshirt with pride instead of embarrassment.

We'll see how it goes. The Beavers are favored by three but their phenomenal freshman running back has a bum shoulder and might not play. Already this season they've proven to be a resilient and well-coached unit, and the loss of Quizz Rodgers (fly-sweep artist James' little brother) is more likely to inspire them than make them wilt. The Ducks have talent and a deep-pocket sponsor, but Saturday we'll find out if they have the courage and determination to derail a Rose Bowl dream. I'm not optimistic, but I never am: I'm more of a Lou Holtz poor mouth worry and wring a kitchen towel kind of fan, this year in particular. The Ducks have had their stumbles and fumbles this season, and even after 11 games, it's hard to know how much resolve and readiness they'll bring to any game or any given play. After a bye last week they should be rested. Saturday at four p.m., the entire state will be watching, and Stephanie will have her cell phone ready.

I got an email from Doug tonight, and he says there is a Civil War party at A Taste of Wine in Tualatin. At least I know I'll get my phone call in a congenial and pleasant atmosphere and in good company, and that will be a victory all by itself.