My dad had already braved five football games' worth of inebriated fans, hostile drivers and stadium food that guaranteed indigestion, but prior to last Saturday, one task remained before he could label himself a true-blue Bruin fan: he had to attend a USCUCLA football game.

Despite the fact that he had purchased season tickets and a wardrobe full of Bruin gear, I was still hesitant to grant my dad the title of "fan."

Whether you're rooting for the Trojans or the Bruins, watching a crosstown rivalry game in person is the pinnacle of Los Angeles college football fandom.

Witnessing 90,000 raving fans root on their home team as they stand on the brink of chaos is a spectacle to behold. Voices become hoarse, egos are deflated, stadiums shake and fists fly as fights erupt, but within the nexus of this anarchy, poetry finds motion as 22 players perform a bone-bashing ballet.

Yes, football is art, and when you watch Picasso paint a masterpiece in person, it isn't something you merely glance at. Deep down, I knew my dad understood this, and as we set out for the Rose Bowl five hours prior to kickoff I could see a happy glint in his eye.

Unlike my dad, I had actually been introduced to the crosstown rivalry spectacle at a young age. Prior to hitting my teens I had attended a USC-UCLA game at the Coliseum, but my lack of understanding and appreciation for the sport was revealed when I asked why the players didn't get snacks after the game.

I was reintroduced to the yearly ritual during my undergraduate studies at UCLA, but the three games I attended (I studied in London for one year) were pathetic. If I learned anything from those three humiliating defeats, it would have to be that losing doesn't hurt quite as much when you've had a few beverages.

As my dad and I pulled up to the Rose Bowl last week, I was honestly expecting another loss, and even though I wouldn't have enough alcohol in my system this time to help numb the pain, I knew it would still be a great experience because I'd be watching the game with my father.

Once we got out of the car, my dad was like a kid in a candy store. He jetted across the parking lot from one pre-game attraction to the next.

He listened to the alumni band, shook hands with Jeff the Cheerleader, gave Joe Bruin a hug and introduced himself to Joe McDonnell and the AM 570 staff, all the while demanding I capture the excitement on my digital camera.

I was finally beginning to understand how parents feel when they take their kids to Disneyland for the first time.

After the initial excitement had worn off, my dad and I headed for our seats inside the stadium and grabbed a quick bite to eat while we discussed our thoughts about how the game would unfold.

There's no need to discuss the details of the game-I'm sure we're all familiar with how it ended. But as the last seconds ticked off the clock and all the Bruin fans began jumping up and down like a turbulent ocean, my dad leaned over and said, "This is the greatest day of my life!" (I hope my mom isn't reading this.)

I nodded in agreement and as I looked at my father's face, I noticed something had changed: he had become a true-blue Bruin fan. He had witnessed the battle of all battles.

My dad and I learned three important lessons that day: When you believe hard enough, miracles do happen; winning is always better than losing; and you can't spell suck without USC.