SEATTLE — I have a six-decade relationship with the Pac-12 — old enough that I lived through its incarnations as the Pac-8 and Pac-10. My affiliation spans from John McKay to Lincoln Riley, from Lew Alcindor to Johnny Juzang, from Ann Meyers to Anna Wilson.
That doesn't make me unique. Every sports fan who grew up on the West Coast has been steeped in the tradition of the "Conference of Champions" (a title Bill Walton — another early idol — won't let anyone forget). My association is no doubt surpassed in longevity and intensity by many who are reading this.
So I'm wondering how many of you are feeling as ... melancholy ... wistful ... sad as I am. Look, there are lots of more important things going on in the world to lament and fret over than the dissolution of an athletic conference. They used to call the sports section "the toy department" for a reason. Yet in the wake of the defection of USC and UCLA last week, leaving the very survival of the Pac-12 very much in limbo, it's impossible not to feel like something intimate and personal has been torn apart. And that's always hits one straight in the heart.
