The Go 2 Guy remembers the ’92 Apple Cup

This year’s Apple Cup in Pullman is the first to ever be played in December. So the weather is naturally among the many story lines in the game – last I checked, it’s supposed to be 25 degrees at kickoff with a 20 percent chance of snow.

Cougar fans always hope for chilly temperatures and snow in the Apple Cup because we feel like it plays to our advantage. We say this because we all think back to the ’92 game, fondly remembered as the Snow Bowl, when we rallied to beat the Huskies with a flurry of passes from Drew Bledsoe to Philip Bobo.

If you’re a Husky fan who attended that game and sat in the west end zone, you had a front-row seat to Bobo’s third-quarter touchdowns, and you were also peppered with persistent snow in your face because the wind was blowing from the east. There are still Husky fans who were at Martin Stadium that day who refuse to return because of their dreadful experience in the ’92 game.

I was there too. And that’s what this story’s about. I’ve never publicly revealed what happened to me that weekend, but I’ll do it now because it was 18 years ago, and I’m not that person anymore – I believe that I’ve matured and become a better husband and more responsible drinker, but boy oh boy, that day in November of ’92, I was none of the above…

I woke up that morning on the Sammamish plateau and was a little disappointed that I wasn’t going to the game. I had tickets, but my neighbor, fellow Coug and all-around great guy Brian McGinnis, was having an Apple Cup party that I was going to attend.

So my plan was to go to Sea-Tac Airport and sell my tickets to fans who were flying to the game on Coug Air, chartered planes that Horizon had in those days for WSU home games.

When I got there, I had a couple of Bloody Marys with another Coug, Mark Magnussen, and was preparing to sell my tickets to anyone who wanted them when Magnussen said: “Hey, someone didn’t show for the flight, they’ve got an extra seat, you should go!”

I should’ve known better, but I never did in those days, so I called my then-wife (the rest of this story might help explain why then-wife is now ex-wife because I would’ve grown tired of my antics too) to see what she thought. She told me to do it and that she’d see me tomorrow.

So I got on the plane, flew to Pullman, and as I recall, the snow was falling like mad, nearly causing the pilot to detour somewhere else. But he got us on the ground, and off I went to Martin Stadium.

At the Fieldhouse, I’m not sure who I should blame for this – certainly not myself – but I ran into someone who had some 151 rum. I didn’t have to drink it, but I did – it must have been forced onto me, that’s all I can say about that.

I ended up having a little too much of that 151 rum apparently. And I must have mixed it with something else from someone else’s flask during the game. I wasn’t dressed properly for the conditions because I had thought I was just going to the airport to sell the tickets and had worn a light coat.

At any rate, I thoroughly enjoyed the game and the snow and celebrated in the Fieldhouse afterward, and then everything became a fuzzy blur. I made it to the Moscow-Pullman International Airport but was too out of it to get on the plane.

I ended up in a crumpled, pathetic mess in a bathroom stall, where I remained for an hour or two until I looked up and thought: “Uh-oh, I’ve really done it this time.”

A Pullman police officer was looking down at me, and I thought he was going to cuff me and haul me off and cite me for whatever I deserved to be cited for, and instead he said: “Hey, there’s a room at the Quality Inn that was reserved for one of the pilots. But the pilot couldn’t make it in because of the weather, would you like his room?”

Would I like his room? Gosh yes, thank you officer, thank you, thank you, thank you! He helped me up and gave me a ride to the hotel.

The next day, morning turned into afternoon, and I was still terribly hung over and in need of a flight home. I couldn’t get one until early Sunday evening, and I needed to take a bus to Lewiston to fly home from there because planes couldn’t get out of the Moscow-Pullman Airport.

I got back to my home late Sunday night and then-wife was justifiably upset with my juvenile behavior, sending me to the guest bedroom to sleep off my stupidity.

End of the story? Not quite. Back then I covered the Sonics, and they had a Monday night game in Sacramento. I had to get up the next morning in a still-queasy state, head back to the airport to catch a flight to Sacramento, and then I tried to function as a professional journalist that night at head-pounding loud Arco Arena.

I’ll never forget how bad I felt that night, how bad I felt the day before, how bad I felt about worrying then-wife, but I also remember something else – at least the Cougs won.

You can reach Jim Moore at jimmoorethego2guy@yahoo.com.

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