Its 5 pm on January 1, 1975. Despite the dawning of a brand new year, the skies are gray and the wind, bone chilling, shrouding the dairy farm in rural, northeast Ohio in wintry gloom. Inside the barn, three lean, lanky, adolescent brothers are choring, absorbing warmth from the bovine bodies, lined up in the stanchions. The familiar scent of manure and cattle feed hangs ripe in the air. Cows must be milked 365 days a year; no holiday permitted.
The oldest of the three boys rigs up a small radio inside the milking parlor, and tunes it to the live broadcast of the Rose Bowl, the granddaddy of all the college football bowl games. Played in Pasadena, CA, the game is just beginning. For the fifth time in the past seven years, the brothers’ beloved college team, Ohio State University, is competing on New Year’s Day in the Rose Bowl. Hoping that Woody Hayes can coach his team to victory today, the choring teenagers hang onto the announcers’ utterances, while suctioned, pumping cups get slapped on the cows’ udders. With a sixth sense alertness, the boys keep an ear out for Dad’s arrival, since he might not approve of their multitasking.
I can picture the middle one, the 17 year old: lean and thin, but scrappy strong from farm tasks. As he ushers in the next group of cows, I can see his thoughts, behind his luminous brown eyes with their long fringe of lashes: “If only I wasn’t stuck choring in this milking parlor on this cold New Year’s Day. Imagine if I was sitting in the Rose Bowl Stadium with 100,000 other fans, cheering for OSU, as the California sunshine envelopes me with warmth!”
Forty-four years later, that dream came true.
That boyish dreamer is my husband of three and a half decades. By the time he had left teen years behind, he had exchanged farming for academia and medicine. He has worked hard and we have enjoyed a wonderful life together. Many times, when January 1st rolls around, we have watched the Rose Bowl from the comfort of our home.
Over dinner one evening, late last fall, after the college football playoff schedule was announced, Larry hesitantly floated a travel idea for the two of us: since we would already be in Montana (which is practically the west coast!) for the holidays, why don’t we go to the Rose Bowl, assuming that we can get tickets?! And oh by the way, OSU just happens to be one of the two competing teams. I looked at my husband’s face, and saw not a distinguished, middle-aged oncologist, but rather, a boy with a buried dream to experience this granddaddy of college bowl games live and in person. Of course I said yes, and immediately commenced with the planning.
On December 31st, as our commuter plane bounced over the San Gabriels on our way into Burbank, our eyes met and we grinned like goofy kids. Adventure awaited.
Having just left a blizzard in Montana, we blinked at the contrast as we stepped into the sunshine outside the Burbank Airport. Kuddos to our niece, Lizzy Sommers, for her timely advice to circumvent the hassles of LAX and fly into Burbank, north of the city! We made our way to our hotel, where the staff was most helpful with our plan for January 1st: we wanted to watch the Tournament of Roses Parade in downtown Pasadena in the morning, and then make our way to the stadium for the game in the afternoon. Navigating with all the crowds would be a bit tricky.
Ravenous from excitement and our early morning flight, our first priority was an Uber ride to In-N-Out Burger. Yes, it lives up to all the hype. Of course we ordered our burgers, animal style, from the secret menu. Someone may have gone back for a second sandwich, but we won’t talk about that.
We shared a strawberry milkshake, which was made with real ice cream! Then we shamelessly ordered a vanilla one to share. It seems incomplete that we never tasted the chocolate shake. Or the Neapolitan from the secret menu. Next time. For the record, I adore eating ice cream so much that I never get a milkshake. Might have to be flexible with that rule.
Early New Year’s morn, we climbed into our Uber just as the sun was warming the sky in pastels of baby blue and peachy-pink, silhouetting the palm trees as if in a painting. Our driver, Babak, would drop us a few blocks from the parade route in downtown Pasadena, and we would finish on foot, given the traffic. 40 year old Babak had immigrated to California six months earlier from Tehran, Iran. In his old life, he was a criminal attorney and his wife was an engineer. Now, he is an Uber driver who struggles to speak English and his wife is a university student. Of course one of the things he misses most is Iranian food. I’ve always believed that our food of origin defines us, deep in our souls. One whiff of a childhood food and you are home again!
People lined up on Colorado St. for the Tournament of Roses Parade. Many camped out overnight so they could have front row, curbside viewing.
The two hour parade was spectacular in person, filled with creative, eye-popping floats and marching bands. This was the only float that really matter to us though. :)
After the parade, we hoofed it the five miles through Pasadena streets and neighborhoods to the famous Rose Bowl Stadium. Nestled down in a valley and encircled by mountains, it is one of the most beautiful stadiums we have even visited.
And there we were, in a sea of red and purple. Despite Washington’s closer proximity to the event, there seemed to be more red than purple; oh those loyal OSU fans!
Speaking of fans, would you believe that the guy sitting next to us was an OSU optometry alum, who happened to be a classmate and friend of Larry’s nephew-in-law, James Miller?! Jeff Wine practices outside Pheonix, but still attends many OSU games. What a crazy small world!
At halftime, OSU was up 21-3. As twilight fell, Washington started closing the gap, making the last few minutes of the game quite exciting.
Larry’s beloved team prevailed, finishing with a score of 28-23. A final win for Urban Meyer, coaching his last game with OSU, and his only Rose Bowl. Larry’s face must have been sore because he never stopped smiling the whole day.
The crush of bodies leaving the game afterwards was quite an experience. Larry smartly had us walk a mile or so away from the stadium and just beyond the freeway entrance, before we called for a Lyft. Our ride was there within minutes and swiftly returned us to our hotel. We celebrated the fulfillment of a childhood dream by eating delivery pizza and wine in bed, dizzy with happiness and exhaustion. Our Rose Bowl memories are seared on our hearts, never to be forgotten, and made even sweeter for Larry by the forty-four year wait.