A Trip I Never Forgot
Some memories stay with you because they were exciting. Others stay because they quietly changed the direction of your life.
For me, it happened on an autumn afternoon when I was eight years old.
I had never been to a college football game before. My parents arranged for me to ride with friends to Pullman to watch Washington State play Oregon. I didn’t know much about football, but I wasn’t about to pass up the chance to see a real game.
Long before kickoff, everything felt different. There were people everywhere. The marching band filled the stadium with music, cheerleaders moved from one sideline to the other, and students held up colored cards that stretched across an entire section of the stands. Then came something I never expected.
A live cougar named Butch was wheeled onto the field.
For a kid who had grown up on a ranch near Edwall, it was unlike anything I had ever seen. I tried to take it all in because I had a feeling I was seeing something special.
Watching Someone Everyone Admired
The game itself moved faster than I could understand.
Players crashed into one another. The crowd reacted before I even knew what had happened. Every few seconds the public-address announcer called another name.
One player kept coming up over and over again.
He wore number 22.
I leaned over and asked who he was.
My friend smiled and said, “That’s Keith Lincoln. The Moose of the Palouse.”
From that point on, I couldn’t stop watching him.
He seemed to do everything. He ran with power, caught passes with ease, and carried himself with a confidence that caught the attention of everyone in the stadium. Even though Washington State lost the game by a single point, I left thinking about that one player more than the final score.
One Small Moment After the Game
Most fans headed straight for the parking lot once the game ended.
I wasn’t in much of a hurry.
As we waited outside Bohler Gym for our parents, players started coming out one by one.
Then I saw Keith Lincoln again.
This time he wasn’t carrying a football.
He stopped to greet a young woman who had been waiting for him. They hugged, shared a quiet moment together, and walked away hand in hand.
I don’t know why that scene stayed with me.
Maybe it reminded me that the players I’d been cheering for were ordinary people once the game was over. Maybe it simply made the whole experience feel real.
Whatever the reason, I watched until they disappeared from sight.
The Ride Home
Sometimes a dream doesn’t arrive with fireworks.
Sometimes it begins with a quiet thought.
As we drove away from Pullman, I kept looking out the back window, trying to hold onto everything I had seen that day.
Then a thought crossed my mind that has never really left me.
“This is it! I will do whatever it takes to have a chance to live this myself.”
At eight years old, I couldn’t have explained why I felt that way.
I only knew I wanted to come back.
Not as a spectator.
As someone on the field.
Monday Morning Looked Different
When school started the following week, I couldn’t stop talking about the trip.
My friends probably heard more about that football game than they wanted to.
During recess, I decided we should play football ourselves.
There was only one problem.
We didn’t have a football.
So we made do with what we had.
A winter hat became the football, and the playground became our stadium.
I appointed myself quarterback, coach, and announcer all at once. Looking back, I probably gave myself more than a few favorable calls.
Eventually someone found an old football tucked away in a closet at school, and our games became a regular part of recess. Every Saturday I watched the college game on television. Every Monday I came back with a new play I wanted everyone to try.
Looking Back
It’s interesting how clearly I remember that day all these years later.
I don’t remember every score or every play from my career.
I don’t remember every speech I gave or every meeting I attended.
But I remember that first afternoon in Pullman.
I remember the band.
I remember Butch the Cougar.
I remember Keith Lincoln.
Most of all, I remember leaving the stadium with a dream I hadn’t carried into it.
That’s the funny thing about life.
You rarely know which day will change everything while you’re living it.
You only understand its importance years later.
That Saturday gave me something far more valuable than a ticket to a football game.
It gave an eight-year-old boy a direction.
The rest of the journey is the story I tell in Crab Creek Chronicles.
Frequently Asked Questions
Is this story included in Crab Creek Chronicles?
Yes. Bill shares the full story of attending his first Washington State football game as a young boy and explains why it became such an important memory.
Who was Keith Lincoln?
Keith Lincoln was one of Washington State’s greatest football players and was known as “The Moose of the Palouse.” Bill remembers watching him during his very first college football game.
Why was this game so important?
Although Bill didn’t realize it at the time, that afternoon sparked a dream that eventually led him to a lifetime in college athletics.
What is Crab Creek Chronicles about?
Crab Creek Chronicles follows Bill Moos from his childhood on a wheat and cattle ranch in eastern Washington through his experiences in college athletics, sharing the people, places, and moments that shaped his life.