Don�t hate me because I�m a Badger fan.
I come to that fate honestly.
I grew up in America�s Dairyland and got my first real taste of Wisconsin football by watching the 1963 Rose Bowl � the famous Vander Kelen-to-Richter rally coming up painfully short � on my parents� tiny black-and-white TV. I was 8 years old.
A few years later, our family moved to Beaver Dam, a blue-collar town of 14,000 �Busy Beavers,� roughly 30 miles from the liberal oasis of Madison.
There used to be a billboard proudly proclaiming that as you entered the city, but it had to be taken down after a picture of it appeared in Penthouse magazine.
My fandom of all things Bucky Badger was truly cemented on Oct. 11, 1969. On that day, my parents drove to Madison, dropped me and a buddy off at Camp Randall Stadium, and wished us well.
It only cost a buck to sit in the end zone, and that�s where most of the action was anyway.
They didn�t have nets preventing footballs from reaching the stands after extra-point attempts, and it was a badge of honor among those who populated those seats to wage a furious fight for each loose ball, and then ceremoniously toss it up, over and out of the stadium.
At this game, however, it was the action on the field that warranted our attention. The Badgers somehow stumbled their way back from a 17-point deficit in the fourth quarter to beat Iowa, 23-17, thus ending a 23-game winless streak.
What I remember most about that improbable comeback was standing on the sideline with thousands of other fans, watching the clock tick down in disbelief, and then seeing all of these deranged students storm the field, tear down the goalposts and stampede down State Street in a wild celebration all the way to the capitol steps.
At one point, an empty whiskey bottle came hurtling out of the stands from the Iowa section and grazed one poor fellow on the noggin.
Luckily, he was uninjured, but my wide-eyed friend and I would never be the same.
This was our team. Forever.
The Midwest, of course, is known as the great exporter of people, at least to those who grew weary of being frozen four months out of the year. I moved to Oregon in the summer of 1978, landing in Newport, shortly after earning my journalism degree at the University of Wisconsin.
Duck and Beaver fans may have been grumbling that day, but not only did I relate to the misadventures I had witnessed, in some respects, it represented a step up!
You see, Wisconsin football fans know how to be humble.
At that time, the Badgers had never won a Rose Bowl in three previous trips. We were used to being known as the downtrodden, the woeful, the hapless, annual contenders for the �Bottom Ten� title.
Comedian Jeff Cesario, a former sportswriter, used to do a bit in which a Wisconsin running back is arrested for shoplifting. In the punchline, UW football fans were far more dismayed that he was run down from behind by a middle-aged security cop with slippery, thin-soled shoes and a key ring the size of a hubcap than the actual crime.
This is how we coped with a much beloved but perpetually losing college football franchise.
And then (trumpets blaring) ... Barry Alvarez arrived on the scene in the fall of 1990. He inherited a program that had not had a winning season since 1984 and had won only seven Big Ten games during that span.
In his fourth season as head coach, Saint Barry produced a miracle. Alvarez guided Wisconsin to its first Rose Bowl in 31 years, and the Badgers actually won, defeating UCLA, 21-16.
At the age of 40, I truly believed this would be the one and only chance in my lifetime to go to the Rose Bowl, so I dragged my entire family to the game, purchasing four plane tickets before they had even clinched the berth, and the payoff was priceless.
As I stood to cheer the victory at the end of the game, I knew my life was complete.
So, I understand the plight of Duck fans. Oregon has crawled out of the same murky depths as Wisconsin to emerge as one of the nation�s premier college football programs, but despite all of their recent success, the Ducks haven�t won a Rose Bowl since 1917.
But understand this. Whether you�re in Pasadena on Jan. 2, or watching the game at home, or in a favorite sports bar, embrace the notion of kindred spirits.
This is Wisconsin, not (Boo! Hiss!) Ohio State or Michigan.
We like to hang around after each game, win or lose, and celebrate the �fifth quarter� with the Badger marching band. We�ve been known to imbibe in excess � before, during and after each contest.
We like to �Jump Around� at the end of each third quarter to the sounds of the 1992 song of the same name by the House of Pain, perhaps the coolest tradition in college football.
I would love to love these Ducks.
I like that Oregon goes for two after touchdowns no matter what the flipping chart says; that it treats fourth down like first down, regardless of distance; that its running backs are mere blurs; that its relentless pace on offense is unmatched at any level, and that its fly-around defense is vastly underrated.
Alas, my heart is already taken.
I will root for the most regal of rodents without hesitation, and should the outcome not go our way, I will take solace in knowing that true Duck fans � those who maintain a sense of history � will share the joy I felt nearly 18 years ago.