Dead Seriously.

This is life for fans from small-time schools like Utah State University without the resources, the tradition, or the sexiness required to obtain the recruits, sponsors, media attention, or in many cases, simply the confidence that enable teams to rise above the haze into that elite class of schools with a legitimate shot at glory.

Every year, I work myself up into a frenzy of anxiety and excitement for this single day–this one, single day–when my beloved Utah State Aggies will be on the national stage, fighting for the right to call themselves that year’s Cinderella story, invariably matched up against a foe bigger, stronger, and more athletic than them. Seemingly every year, I watch in constant angst, with a knot in my stomach for 20, 30, or, like last year, even 40 minutes before realizing that the dream is not to be, and I walk away, turning off the TV or closing the web browser heartbroken and disappointed as the Ags are bounced in the first round by a superior opponent.

Every year, I tell myself that I’m not going to care. I’m not going to get myself emotionally attached this time. I’m not going to watch. I’m not going to scan every box score from November to March. I’m not going to don a USU hoodie in my office on game day. I’m not going to care.

But it’s all a lie, and we mid-major fans know it’s a lie: We care. We tell ourselves that we’re happy with just a conference championship, or just a postseason tournament birth, or just a winning record–but again, it’s a lie. There is no hope of winning the Whole Show, and we know this–we really do. Still, there is another hope and desire, burning in the heart of every true-blooded Aggie:

We want to be giant killers.

We want to be the reason that ESPN, Sports Illustrated, and everyone else displays an enormous picture of players from Georgetown, Duke, Texas, or whatever powerhouse it is, sobbing in shock over an unexpected loss to the “little guy.” When sports writers and pundits discuss next year’s tournament field, we want to hear them say things like, “Who will be this year’s Utah State?” and “We all remember what happened last year with USU.” We want to be Cinderella.

My dear Aggies, I don’t expect that you’ll beat Texas A&M a few hours from now. I didn’t expect that you’d beat Marquette, Washington, Arizona, Kansas, UCLA, or Ohio State, either. Nevertheless, for 40 minutes of game time today, I will ignore that expectation, and annoy the living daylights out of my coworkers with every basket (“USU leads 3-2! Upset brewing, folks!”). Come on Aggies! Slay the dragon, just this one time! After all, if the only team in America that is more white and more Mormon than USU managed to win a game, surely we can do them one better.

Show me a Scotsman,
Who doesn’t love the thistle.
Show me an English man,
Who doesn’t love the rose.
Show me a true blooded
Aggie from Utah,
Who doesn’t love the spot . . .
Where the sagebrush grows!