What’s it Like Following a College Team?

And the individuals around them reflect the personality that talented individuals reflect in their outward persona. Win or lose, they were an intriguing bunch that stayed out of the Fulmer Cup mix.

Marshawn was just Marshawn, a character who exploded with potential and Applebee’s runs. There were the silent warriors like Mebane and Rulon Davis, leaders by example and by experience. Greg Van Hoesen and Daymeion Hughes earned their colors on and off the field—literally.

Joe Ayoob continues to pursue the dream of making it one day, in spite of the vitriol he experienced during his time here. There was DeSean Jackson, modeling himself into an unstoppable video game character for the next generation of Madden lovers.

You had Robert Jordan, who could have been a star for perhaps any other team in the conference, but opted instead to be that steady second/third option on a team that went much further. Desmond Bishop wore his cleats to grade school; still holds onto them today.

The list goes on and on. Everywhere you looked you could find individuals who played for the game without forgetting they had lives beyond it.

Well, except for Steve Levy.

What made me love Tedford’s Bears is they infused style into their play. There was always the potential for something crazy to happen. We developed a craving of the immeasurable and the unforeseeable.

During the dominating 2004-2007 run (ending with the Oregon State defeat), when the Bears went 33-9 it was less a matter of whether we were going to win and more a consequence of how we would win. It was an unshakable confidence, that either our running backs would take it, whether our playmakers would deliver impressive plays, whether our defense would flex their muscle and get the stops they needed.

Sometimes it all came together, sometimes one element would step up more than usual, but four times out of five, it’d produce victory. We’d comeback late, we’d blow teams out, we’d shut offenses down. And then we came back the next Saturday and did the same thing all over again.

And that was the saddest part of last year’s slide. Somewhere along the way style got lost and the players began fending for themselves. The O-line began missing a few more blocks than usual. The defense, a makeshift band racked up by injuries, crumbled. Longshore gimped around heroically no more of Jackson dashing around for glory, when he realized.

Even the Hawk wasn’t flapping his wings as much as he used to. Once the style left, they became just another team, not the Bears that I’d followed so vigorously the past two years. And it brought out the worst in the fan, the players, and the coaches. It was a cataclysm that everyone wanted to escape.

So we’re beginning again, another season rift with possibility and promise. We begin anew, with a new cast of characters ready to usher in the next age of Cal football. One where the glory of past Bears diverge into the pathways laid out for them in the pros. One with a new set of amateurs rising to the task of leaping to glory.

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