Roses are ...

I can't help but think of the gray hair I pulled out earlier this evening as I recall the Rose Bowl I attended -- nearly 10 frickin' years ago! It was the first time Washington State, my alma mater, had been in the Rose Bowl since flappers roamed the earth. It was also the time I stood on the precipice of a divorce, after having survived coming out, changing jobs, turning 30 and living for months with a guy who dealt with his emotions in such varied ways as punching a door and writing a folk song called "I Hate Lesbians."

When I left for Pasadena, I knew I would come back to a different life. I'd already dropped a neutron bomb on my old life, but the time had come for me to bulldoze the buildings and start anew. And so I did.

But before all that, I spent a week in Southern California embracing my inner Coug and pretending to appreciate giant wheeled vehicles of flowers. I wrote a lot of stories about fans, about hype, about Ryan Leaf. Sigh. Ryan Leaf, the big, goofy quarterback, who I thought would be one of the greatest pros ever, ended up as probably the greatest bust ever. He's the guy drafted second in 1998 -- right after Peyton Manning, a genuine superstar. But Leaf had a $50-million arm and a 5-cent head.

The Cougs almost won, but lost. They played again in 2003, and just plain lost. The Rose Bowl, meanwhile, lost its historic place as the classic dueling site for the Pac-10 and Big 10. Though tonight it regained much of its cache, with a national championship game in which an excellent Texas team (ranked No. 2) knocked off a USC team that many, including me, thought had moved beyond excellent into stratospherically amazing.

I am doing much better than the Cougars, nearly 10 years on. I'd like to think that unlike my perpetually mediocre and occasionally overachieving college team, I've been able to win my own personal Rose Bowl with the coolest team I could ever imagine: Cheryl and our boys, Eddie and Chas.