You know, I didn’t grow up a Cal fan. My dad was a Wisconsin Badger—and he made sure my blood ran red and white.
Yet, there I was last Sunday morning, unable to control my shaking leg, pounding the desk in my Unit 2 room, begging the football gods for their favor.
And it happened. Cal won.
Every Cal fan has a story. It’s the type of story an old, weathered sailor spins on a rainy night—a tragedy that would make Aeschylus weep. It’s the story of the first time Cal football broke your heart.
But, as the game wore on, our Bears made plays after plays after plays.