True Story: August, 2009. I was watching pre-season practice directly after mowing my lawn. Like so many in this state, I did so wearing an old, beat-up, dirty Buckeyes cap that was barely even intact. You know, the kind of hat with the ring of salt deposits from all the sweat. Nice. Anyway. As the Zips were leaving the practice field, I shouted encouragement, something generic like “Championship this year, boys!”. CP looked directly at me through the twilight. Stopped. He walked deliberately over to me. He recognized me even if he could not identify me by name. Within five feet of me, he pointed his finger in my face, those crazy intense eyes staring unflinchingly into mine. CP: From where did you graduate? Me: Here, coach. From Akron. You know that. CP: Ever attend Ohio State? Me: Never. CP: That’s right. Why do you have that on your head? Me: Just mowing the lawn in it. CP: Are you all in with what we are doing here? Are you one of us? Me: Uh, of course I am. CP: Younger fans, students, watch you older folks. I do not want you to wear anything Buckeyes again. They are our rivals. Me: OK, coach. (Stunned, I removed my filthy cap.) CP: Give me that. I sheepishly gave him the hat. Without a word, he took it, pivoted, and stalked off to join the team. He never smiled. He did not turn around to see what I was doing. He just left. I looked around for witnesses; there were none. I have not worn anything Ohio State since that day. I have been systematically trading in all that Buckeye gear for Zips stuff every time we host them.