Offense, defense and marriage

MY MOTHER, a UCLA graduate, switched allegiances on a dime when I enrolled at USC. Maternal blood may run thicker than alumni water, but spousal blood does not. In order for my husband to say “I do,” he had to overlook the fact that I hailed from USC. Seems I was destined to be loved by Bruins.

Our courtship had been a short one -- two 50-year-old adults know a good thing when they see it. So there was no long “dating” period to include a December Saturday wherein we could test the cross-town rivalry waters to see if, in fact, we were blissfully matched.

The USC/UCLA football rivalry is the only one between two major universities within the same city. Because the campuses are less than 12 miles apart, Southern Californians are frequently dealing in nothing less than civil war. As former UCLA football coach Red Sanders sums it up, playing USC is not a matter of life or death, “it’s more important than that.”

But it’s been years since either my husband or I were immersed in the annual battle of the fans, including the attacks on the Bruin bear or the placards calling my side the University of Spoiled Children, and worse.

Brad had to rake that all up again. It began innocently with a clever prank shortly after we were married. He had sneaked into the garage and removed the “Go Bruins!” license-plate frame from his car and attached it to mine -- hiding my Trojan frame. I then blithely drove off to Trader Joe’s to buy football food so we could snuggle up together in front of the TV and gently tease about our gridiron differences while watching the biggest game in all sports contests.

When I emerged from Trader Joe’s to discover that I had been driving the now-enemy vehicle, my retaliation juices started flowing. How dare he sabotage my car!

I screeched out of the parking lot and sped up the freeway to South Coast Plaza and the USC store. Yes, Virginia, there is such a retail store for us spoiled children, and I had Brad’s Visa card in my wallet. Perfect.

Hundreds of dollars later, I walked out with armloads of cardinal and gold -- the big flag for the pole over our front door, a “USC PARKING ONLY” metal sign I could quickly nail on the wooden garage door, king-size blanket, cocktail napkins, socks, T-shirts and (my personal favorite) refrigerator magnets that play the Trojan fight song. I hurried home invigorated, eager to do my dirty work.

But my illusions of a romantic afternoon in front of the TV watching our first alumni football game together were shattered. Between my decorations and the fact that USC was favored by many points, Brad opted to “clean out the garage.” He listened to the game there as I sat lonely on the sofa, eating all the snacks, my hopes for a happy union in shards. I had no doubt asked for it but still maintain he started it.

But sometime after the game he came in, congratulated me on USC’s victory and even made a peace offering, ordering a toy football touting the Trojans’ national championship. Next weekend’s big game will test us again, but yes, this marriage can be saved. And when Brad flaunts the number of UCLA basketball championships, I casually remind him that even girls play basketball.