My love for BYU began at a very young age and turned into an unhealthy obsession very quickly.  I still remember my 9 year old self driving around in our car with my dad honking the horn and singing the fight song around town when Harline came out of nowhere and caught the uncatchable.  I remember my 13 year old self writing poetry and songs in middle school about Jimmer Fredette.  And I remember the pure and genuine excitement I felt when I checked the rankings after BYU beat San Diego State and saw that we were the number three team in the nation.  I remember the hollow pit in my stomach I felt after the infamous 54-10 Utah game, or the sadness and despair I would feel every time an athlete broke the honor code.  I remember and I felt it all.   I will never not get excited butterfly’s when I run into an athlete around Provo, or hear the slightest mention of BYU on ESPN.  I was born and raised in a small farming town in Idaho and my family was the “crazy cougar family”.  From getting our house toilet papered on game days, to having Ute swag left on our doorstep, to the humiliation of going out in public after a loss, we all experienced it all.  It’s no secret that being a BYU fan is tough, but when I hear Greg Wrubell’s voice crack when BYU pulls off the impossible, or when I see an otherwise emotionless coach crowd surf through the locker room after a win, or see the alumni flag bearer at football games raise that Y that he wore on his back for four years, or see the smiles on Spencer and Jarom’s face the morning after a great win, or see Lavell sitting on the sideline at a football game cheering for the program that he dedicated his life to building I’m reminded why its worth it, and why all my hero’s are Cougars.