Last night, as I watched players dump yellow Gatorade all over Washington State coach Nick Rolovich in a celebration more reminiscent of ending an Apple Cup losing streak than perpetuating a Stanford Cardinal winning streak, I was reminded of classic literature.
Specifically, the F. Scott Fitzgerald novel “The Great Gatsby.”
(Stick with me here, I know it’s pretentious but a) I can’t change who I am and b) I promise I land this plane.)
From the moment I read Gatsby in high school, I’ve always loved it — both the book and the character — but for the longest time I didn’t know why.