Growing up, my brother was the Cougar. I went with the more popular choice. In the end, Corey had it right and I was wrong. I remember being upset about the ‘92 “Snow Bowl” and now look back on that very same game with great fondness. Perspective is funny that way.

When I realized that to follow my choice of studies meant attending Washington State University, I took the approach of “well, it’s my school, but I won’t be a fan.” That lasted all of about a week. There’s something about this school, this place. It grabs hold, insidiously. Once it has you, it never lets go. Once a Coug, Always a Coug. There are some exceptions, but the exceptions are rare and notable. In my case, once I became a coug, and I mean really became a coug, being a coug became a part of my identity. “My name is Aaron, Go Cougs!”

I have gone to nearly every football game played in Martin Stadium since 1998. In 2006, I missed one game to attend my grandfather’s funeral. In 2011, I fell ill and missed a single game.

This year, I gave my tickets away for one game and yesterday I committed a cardinal offense. I left at halftime. I became a part-time coug. The final score was 44-36, but I left after UCLA scored 30 in the second quarter to lead 37-7. The way the second half played out does evoke some regret that I didn’t stay to see it, but I can’t get past my feelings when I left at halftime.

I posted a comment to facebook that read

I’m done. I’m home. I have beer. I’m not turning on the fucking TV or the radio. Just me, drinking beer, in the fucking dark.

Losing badly is not a new thing. I was there in the pissing rain when Oregon State walloped us in 2009. I was there when we lost to Idaho in 1998 and 1999. Dealing with loss and coming back is part of the identity of a fan. WSU fans deal with it a lot.

But yesterday… yesterday I broke. I thought about the cold, I thought about how I was not being entertained, and most of all, I thought about The Sounders. The Sounders have created an identity crisis in me. I’m still a coug, but I’m also deeply connected to a team that is expected to win. That expectation has impacted how I see other teams too. I can no longer enjoy watching us fight just to come back. I have to have an expectation that we can win.

Down by thirty at halftime, with no sign of life? That doesn’t do it. I just don’t have the capacity to absorb this much hurt any more.