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Originally posted by Jeff Lebowski
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In late September, my family piled into our Honda Odyssey and drove to Greenville, North Carolina, for the Brigham Young–East Carolina football game. Like any good father, I had made a project in recent years of indoctrinating my young kids in the sports fandom of my alma mater. We rolled up to the BYU tailgate party—fancy bespoke sodas instead of beer; a canned-food drive in place of keg stands—and spent the hours before the game eating barbecue and taking pictures with Cosmo, the beloved Cougar mascot.
I had decided in advance not to bet on the game—I didn’t need any action in order to be invested in its outcome, and the stress might sour the family experience. But at the tailgate, I met a BYU administrator who told me about how prepared the team was and how the defense would be “locked in.” This was hardly insider information, but it was enough to compel me—an hour before kickoff—to put $100 on BYU to win. When I mentioned this to my 12-year-old daughter, she rolled her eyes. “That’s not very Mormon of you,” she said.
The game was a blast. BYU fans had traveled from all along the East Coast to fill a large section of the stadium. Our defense was indeed locked in, forcing two turnovers and propelling the team to an early lead. By the middle of the third quarter, East Carolina fans were leaving in droves while my kids and I belted the Cougar fight song until we were hoarse: Rise and shout, the Cougars are out!
It was one of those ecstatic family moments—a core memory in the making. And yet, as we sang, I couldn’t quite ward off an intrusive thought: I should have bet BYU to cover the spread. Much better juice.
I had decided in advance not to bet on the game—I didn’t need any action in order to be invested in its outcome, and the stress might sour the family experience. But at the tailgate, I met a BYU administrator who told me about how prepared the team was and how the defense would be “locked in.” This was hardly insider information, but it was enough to compel me—an hour before kickoff—to put $100 on BYU to win. When I mentioned this to my 12-year-old daughter, she rolled her eyes. “That’s not very Mormon of you,” she said.
The game was a blast. BYU fans had traveled from all along the East Coast to fill a large section of the stadium. Our defense was indeed locked in, forcing two turnovers and propelling the team to an early lead. By the middle of the third quarter, East Carolina fans were leaving in droves while my kids and I belted the Cougar fight song until we were hoarse: Rise and shout, the Cougars are out!
It was one of those ecstatic family moments—a core memory in the making. And yet, as we sang, I couldn’t quite ward off an intrusive thought: I should have bet BYU to cover the spread. Much better juice.
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