A night at LaVell Edwards Stadium — from a path only recently taken

Game Day. I’m going to the Kansas State-BYU game, as a civilian. No press pass. No press box. No parking pass. No post-game interviews. I’m going to the game because I want to see it through a fan’s eyes (but really because my neighbor and water-skiing partner, Andy Boyce, had a spare ticket).
Andy picks me up almost two hours before kickoff for the 40-minute drive to the stadium. It’s clearly a late start. Or that’s what I thought before Andy took charge.
Andy is a former BYU receiver — he was Ty Detmer’s favorite target decades ago, if you can remember that far back — and drives like he’s beating the Cover 2, making sharp cuts through the defense via back roads, splitting the safeties, trying to find a hole in the coverage. He runs a brilliant route and we are wide open, skirting most of the traffic (I’d tell you the route, but then you’d use it, and, you know … ).
We find a parking spot somewhere in a neighborhood north of the stadium, but south of Point of the Mountain. I don’t know exactly how far out we are, but I know we can’t see the stadium. I think we are in a different ZIP code. We pack snacks and water for the hike and leave crumbs on the road to follow back to the car.
During the hike it occurs to me that the people who built LaVell Edwards Stadium might be the same people who built Rice-Eccles Stadium. They did a good job, but with one huge oversight. THEY FORGOT TO MAKE ROOM FOR PARKING. My theory is that when they drew up plans for the stadium, people rode horses to the game. They never thought those whatchamacallits — automobiles — would catch on.
Or maybe they didn’t think anyone would come to watch.
We stop at a food tent across the street from the stadium. I suspect we don’t really belong there, but we act like we do, so … I exchange pleasantries with Ed Eyestone, the Olympian who raises Olympians. I see Robbie Bosco, the 1984 national championship hero. I say hi, he looks at me blankly. It’s possible I look older.
We find our seat in the stands. It’s a half-hour before kickoff and the faithful are already in their seats (what happened to Mormon Standard Time?). We have to tiptoe past them as if we’re walking through a minefield, careful not to step on feet and bags and small children and the other accoutrements of game day. Excuse me. Sorry. Coming through. Sorry. Sorry.
Everyone is in high anticipation and ready for the kickoff against the 13th-ranked Wildcats. Except the offense. For most of the first half, the offense can do nothing. At one point, Andy says, “Look, the linebacker has moved out to cover a wide receiver.” Quarterback Jake Retzlaff sees it too and throws deep to the receiver, who gets behind said linebacker. The pass sails out of bounds. Another swing and a miss.
Nearly half the game has passed and BYU has no points. KSU leads 6-0. The natives are growing restless. Fans — male fans — are standing in front of their seats, 100 yards from the field, yelling helpful advice. Apparently, they believe the coaches will hear them and take this into consideration. Hey, the guy up there in Section 102 said we need to run the ball.
Then the roof falls in on the visitors. In the final two minutes of the first half, BYU scores 17 unanswered points. The Cougars return a fumble for a touchdown and intercept a pass to set up another. It’s 17-6. The crowd sounds like a 747 on takeoff. Ten of them.
It’s halftime. Oh, good, another break in the action. Hope you picked up on the sarcasm. Football games consist of 11 minutes of actual action spread over 3½ hours, and the rest is like watching CSPAN. The MVP of the game is the guy who walks onto the field with the sign that counts off the minutes while we wait for the TV audience to return from commercial break.
Live fans are extras on the set. It’s all about TV. During the many lulls in the action, the host school tries to distract the extras from the tedium with various award ceremonies and prize contests designed by advertisers, so in a sense everybody is getting commercials, live fans and TV fans.
The NCAA has made several rule changes over the years to shorten games by reducing the number of plays, but they’ve got it all backward. Fans pay to see, you know, football, not more timeouts and commercials. This game, which started at 8:30 p.m., will end at 11:49.
On the other hand, there are worse places to be. It’s a mild, clear evening, with a yellow moon rising over the east mountains in the second half. On internet lists of the most scenic stadiums, LaVell Edwards Stadium is often ranked No. 1 in the nation (Utah and Utah State are usually high on the list, too). It’s packed with people, but everyone is pleasant and polite.
The second half isn’t two minutes old when BYU intercepts a pass to set up another quick touchdown. A short time later, BYU’s Parker Kingston runs 150 yards to return a punt 90 yards for a touchdown and then throws up on the sideline. Maybe he just ate a CougarTail.
BYU has scored 31 unanswered points in about six minutes, all neatly gift wrapped. The BYU offensive scoring drives are 29, 27 and 38 yards. In the future, coaches will use this six minutes as a case study in How to Give Away a Game.
Kingston’s punt return was impressive, but not as impressive as what I see in the stands — a middle-aged fellow in BYU gear does his best Joey Chestnut imitation by eating almost an entire CougarTail. For those who don’t know, a CougarTail is a 16-inch donut in the shape of a tail, made up of sugar and fat and more sugar. They come with stents. To quote “Tommy Boy,” I can hear people getting fatter.
(An ESPN broadcaster, after taking a bite of a CougarTail, said, “That’s about 300 calories right there. I just gave back my workout.”)
The onslaught continues. The one on the field, I mean. The Cougars score again to cap a 38-yard drive, the longest of the game. That makes it 38-9 with 12 minutes left. Not that I saw it. Check, please!
“Wanna go?” Andy asked me near the end of the third quarter. We followed the crumbs back to the car and beat the post-game rush.