Reason #49: 0

Oregon. I'm actually in Oregon, though I'm not attending the game. Family, friends and I are all wearing our purple prior to the season's opening kickoff. We're not expecting a win as we watch on tv, and our expectations are fulfilled. But that's alright. There's real, honest hope about this season of Washington Huskies football, and there's 11 more games to play. 0-1.

BYU. I'm in the stands, same corner of the west end zone I've been all my life. Same #25 purple jersey with the '01 Rose Bowl logo. The crowd is live for a big-name, highly ranked opponent, and there's the feeling that maybe, just maybe, we have a shot. The Huskies hang tight until the fourth quarter, then, down a TD, Jake Locker leads an improbable and miraculous two-minute drill, racing into the end zone with bare seconds remaining. He is then penalized for a natural reaction, an expression of joy, the life goes out of the team, the 35 yard extra-point is blocked, and the Huskies lose by one. Everyone is furious - rightfully so. But everyone still cares. 0-2.

Oklahoma. We come early, we tailgate. Same seats, same jersey. There's no belief in a win this time, but optimism is in the air. A decent performance will do wonders to boost confidence going in to the winnable games on the schedule. There is no decent performance. Just embarrasment. We're down 42-0 in the third quarter. For the first time I can remember, we exit the game early. Which is still better than the Huskies, who never bothered to show up at all. 0-3.

Notre Dame. Same seats, same jersey. Jake Locker is out for the season, the Huskies are in a tailspin, and the emotion of the BYU game is a distant memory. The fans and players are both going through the motions, and it shows. With the heart and soul of UW football on the sidelines, there's only one team on the field, and they aren't wearing purple. 0-7.

Arizona State. Same seats. Same jersey. Against a weak opponent, UW is surprisingly competant for a half until backup Ronnie Fouch completely loses his confidence, single-handedly throwing away any chance of a comeback. I begin to feel sorry for my dad. 22 years he's been in these seats, and this year - like many years - he's been to every game. How sad is this alleged football team compared to the championship team of '91? We leave early again. Nobody cares. 0-9.

Washington State. On TV. No jersey. Shame. It's the movable force against the resistable object. There's emotion again, but it's different. Bitter. Desperate. Wanting to be better than somebody. In the last few minutes, UW misses a 28 yard kick, WSU makes one from the same distance. Overtime. I note that I can make field goals from 28 yards. UW can't. In the second overtime, UW misses from 37 yards. WSU lines up for an attempt to win, also from 37 yards. I get up to leave. I know what's going to happen before it does. It does. 0-11.

California. Never has it been so certain that a football team has no chance of winning than UW did at Cal, last game of the season. I check the score anyways. Finding the broadcast online, I watch 3rd string Taylor Bean lead UW down the field for a touchdown. It's an impressive drive. I almost smile. The score is now 45 to 7. I turn it off to go do something else, anything else. 0-12.

Tyrone Willingham will not be around in Husky Stadium in 2009. I will. Same seats, same jersey. It's my duty, my obligation. Myself and my dad and thousands like us will be around when the Huskies turn it around, go to a bowl game again. We'll believe it can get better. It has to.

Because this was the worst season ever.