Musings from Arledge: It's rivalry week

In a season that had become completely predictable – all in a bad way – I didn’t expect this: two teams full of young people, virtually all of whom are vaccinated, cannot play an inherently dangerous game because of the exceedingly remote possibility that one of them will get seriously ill from COVID. I’d rail against the foolishness of it, but it’s probably a gift for Trojan fans. So, thanks, Berkeley, I guess. Getting shut out by Cal would have dropped us well below what I previously thought was our low point. I’m okay pushing off that possibility for a few more weeks. 

And you know what that means: it’s rivalry week. Not Rivalry Week; not the Notre Dame game. It’s little brother rivalry week.

Every geographic rivalry has it. You have the big brother and the little brother. Michigan, Alabama, Oklahoma, Washington are the big brothers. Michigan State, Auburn, Oklahoma State, and Washington State are the little brothers. We all know. Everybody can tell. And there’s no question about UCLA’s little brother status in this rivalry. 

Playing little brother is a nuisance in many ways. You’re expected to win, and any loss is humiliating. You know that beating big brother is the only thing that matters to little brother. That means big brother bears all the pressure, the weight of all expectations. When little brother loses, he crosses his arms, kicks a rock, and says he doesn’t really care anyway. And if he wins – oh boy, if he wins – the gloating and all-around jackassery is something to behold. You can’t let little brother win.

But not all little brothers are alike. Oklahoma State is, historically, garbage. OU leads that series 90-18-7. That’s not a rivalry. That’s the Generals against the Globetrotters. It’s Mondale versus Reagan. It’s Glass Joe versus everybody. It’s Clay Helton against the local spelling bee champion. 

Some little brothers, by contrast, are an actual threat. Alabama may be big brother, but they only lead the Iron Bowl series 47-37-1, and Auburn is a program with national titles and Heisman winners. Auburn isn’t Alabama; it’s a second-tier program. But it’s a legitimate program, and it’s going to win its share of games.

UCLA is somewhere in the middle, because UCLA is a chronic underachiever. Yes, they have won a couple of Rose Bowls in my lifetime. Yes, they have half a national title and one Heisman winner. (The worst Heisman winner in history, of course. Nope, you’re wrong, the worst Heisman winner isn’t Gino Toretta. Gary Beban won the Heisman after completing just over 50% of his passes for 1,359 yards, 8 touchdowns, and 7 picks. Those aren’t Heisman stats. Those are numbers that get you benched after game five.) 

But their legacy is one of shame, not triumph. And it shouldn’t be that way. The truth is there really isn’t any reason why UCLA shouldn’t be good in football. You should be able to recruit players to UCLA. So why are they clownish? (That’s not an insult: UCLA has literally hosted Clown School.) The answer seems to be that, much like USC of recent years, they just don’t care all that much. 

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not sticking up for the Bruins. I know there’s something wimpy about them; obviously, I know that. They wear baby blue, they think punting is winning, their mascot is a teddy bear in a dress, they wear their surrender white uniforms to get bludgeoned 50-0, their fans empty the stadium at halftime to get pizza … or maybe to deliver it, their most-famous tradition is jumping over a wall so they don’t have to practice, they were once quarterbacked by and later coached by an Ellen Degeneres look-alike who shares sweaters with Ellen. It’s embarrassing … or it would be embarrassing if Bruins were capable of embarrassment.

But that’s part of what makes this rivalry so frustrating. UCLA doesn’t put forth any effort. They look and play soft. They routinely embarrass themselves. They have no national standing. They can’t be taken seriously. 

Yet they’re dangerous. They’re dangerous because it’s their apathy, their laziness, their softness that makes them weak. When they care, they’re capable of doing harm. 

And they only care once a year. 

If you started watching USC football in the Pete Carroll years, this column might not make sense to you. And, yes, when USC is USC, UCLA is usually in big trouble. In the immortal words of John McKay, “Look at those [guys]. They actually think they have a chance.” Yet even St. Pete lost to the Bruins, in the most gut-wrenching way imaginable, with a national title on the line. 

The truth is that even good USC teams can lose to the Bruins. I’ve seen it too many times. This is a rivalry full of crazy upsets and wild back-and-forth games that come down to huge plays by unlikely heroes. It’s unpredictable. It’s weird. Even when the Trojans are good, it’s frightening, because the possibility of an upset always looms. And that’s when USC is USC.

This USC team is not USC. It’s Arizona in stolen uniforms, Cal in cardinal and gold. The program is sick. It’s been beaten down by the Clay Variant, a strain so virulent, so deadly, that no vaccine can possibly help. This team can barely stand up and walk to the fridge. That’s trouble, because there’s nothing more exciting for a Bruin than a sick USC team. They can hardly contain themselves. This is what they live for. They’ll drive their Priuses over to the Coliseum, fill up all of the handicap spaces, and for 60 minutes, they will play like men. 

I hate what I’m about to say. But unless USC really shows up – and I mean shows up in a way they haven’t shown up in a very long time – this Drake London-less USC team is going to get embarrassed. UCLA can run the ball. USC can’t stop the run. USC no longer has any idea what it wants to accomplish on offense. Scoring against anybody is a challenge these days. I’m deeply concerned. I’m afraid for what might happen.

So please, guys, please show up. Please play hard. Please remember that while there is nothing better than beating Notre Dame (you’ll just have to trust us on this, I guess), there’s nothing worse than losing to UCLA.  

Beating your little brother might not be the stuff of folk songs and poems, but it’s still your duty. It’s important. Because, yes, UCLA sucks.

Beat the Bruins.