THE FRED COLUMN -- fred martin

* EDITOR’S NOTE: The following is a special installment of The Fred

Column as part of a friendly bet he made with fellow columnist and USC

fan Steve Smith.

It is late Sunday morning. The northern Colorado sky is royal blue and

cloudless, the sun blazingly bright.

It is a magnificent day for sailing, but the golf course has taken so

much water out of the lake behind our house, we run aground constantly,

even in just 13 feet of sailboat. The conditions are perfect for

kayaking, too, but I am stuck here at the word machine.

You see, in a weak moment last week, I agreed to write a special column

praising USC should UCLA lose Saturday’s football game.

Never happen, I figured. USC’s best player is named Chad and teams with

guys named Chad don’t win football games. Teams with Spikes and Turks and

Brunos win. So I said, sure -- if UCLA loses, I’ll write a column

praising USC.

That’s as unthinkable as Mrs. Clinton praising Mrs. Arafat. (What’s that?

She did? Oh, dear.)

Saturday I put on my UCLA regalia to watch the game; I even wrapped

myself in a blue blanket with a gold “UCLA” on it, a going away gift from

my Trojan friend Reg Hasbach.

But the game was not to be seen east of Barstow. When two football teams

stink up the stadia as often as this year’s Bruins and Trojans have, not

many people outside Southern California care about them playing one

another.

So I watched Purdue-Indiana, followed by Brigham Young-Utah. By all

accounts, they were far better games played by far better teams.

All afternoon I squinted at those little score strips at the bottom of

the TV screen, searching for some inkling of what was going on at the

Coliseum. Nothing.

Sunday morning I checked the sports sections. There was a front-page

story about the state championship for six-man football and next

weekend’s Colorado-Nebraska battle. Finally, I found this one line on

page 22: “USC 17, UCLA 7.”

So now I have to be nice about USC’s victory. Hmmmm. Well, how about,

“It’s been a long nine years?” Or, “The worst team lost?” (Perhaps more

accurately, “The worst official helped the better team win?”)

Actually, it’s about time USC won. It was becoming embarrassing talking

to my USC pals (yes, I do have them -- plenty of them, including my

wife).

In recent years, I actually came to feel sympathy for these misled

friends. My traditional anti-Trojan columns became kinder and gentler; I

secretly began to hope they would beat us, but just a little.

Two years ago, a fellow UCLA fan accused me of excess compassion: “Do you

realize how many years those snots have sneered at us?”

What I didn’t tell him -- what I have not told a soul until now -- is

that maybe I eased up on the Trojans because I almost was one of those

snots.

You see, when I was in the Army, I decided I wanted to be a documentary

filmmaker. In 1953, just after Uncle Sam didn’t want me anymore, I

applied to the film schools at both USC and UCLA. Westwood said yes

immediately; Figueroa Street said they were thinking about it.

So I became a Bruin for life. And since a deal’s a deal, I have to write

this sweetness column today. But don’t forget: Several years back, I

predicted unequivocally, and in print, that Fresno State would beat USC

in the Freedom Bowl in Anaheim.

To the complete embarrassment of most of the lawyers, bankers, dentists,

tycoons, movie directors and other big shots in the state, the Bulldogs

chewed them up badly.

So who’s USC playing next? The dreaded Ragin’ Cajuns from Louisiana Tech,

that’s who. And I predict ...

No, I mustn’t go there. I need to stay in warm and fuzzy mode today.

* FRED MARTIN is a former Newport Beach resident who now writes from his

home in Fort Collins, Colo.