Guest commentary: UW’s Big Ten move has made the Apple Cup less relevant, but killing it would be unforgivable

By Danny Lochridge

It feels almost perverse to be writing about the Apple Cup in September. That’s not how it’s supposed to be. The Apple Cup belonged to late November, to the Friday after Thanksgiving when the turkey leftovers were already stiff as cardboard, when you were tired of hearing the same insurance commercials, and when the state of Washington collectively stopped for three hours to watch crimson and purple collide.

Back then, the Apple Cup wasn’t just a game – it was a state ritual.

I think back to 2016 – my freshman year at Washington State. I was in my aunt’s basement in Spokane, binging on every Apple Cup column I could find.

It felt like destiny.

For the first time in forever, the Pac-12 North was on the line. We had Mike Leach, we had Luke Falk, we had hope. Then, of course, the Cougs laid an egg so large you could’ve fed the entire Palouse with scrambled leftovers. Chris Petersen’s Huskies smoked us, and the dream ended before halftime.

The next three years brought more of the same. Different casts, same ending. But those years are etched into me because of the journeys, because of the way this game connected me to the whole state of Washington.

In 2017, I caught a ride to Seattle just to go to Yakima – only to turn right back around and head back to Seattle for the game. And what did the Cougs do? Laid an even bigger egg. But the miles mattered. The movement across the state was part of the ritual.

In 2018, I drove to Pullman from Missoula on Thanksgiving night, bleary-eyed, fueled by gas station coffee and anticipation. I met up with a buddy, cracked open a Rainier, and we dreamed about what could be with Gardner Minshew. The mustache felt like fate. Then came the snow. To this day, I maintain that if Gardner had not gone shirtless in warmups, we would have won that game. That is science, not opinion.

In 2019, I flew into Seattle and ate Thanksgiving dinner at a Chinese restaurant on N. 45th Avenue. That Apple Cup itself? Forgettable. But the day wasn’t. The mountains were out in full glory, and the November sky over Seattle bled blue, orange and pink like a Pullman sunset. That’s what I remember – the way the game tied city and Palouse, east and west, together in one shared day.

That’s the thing: The Apple Cup was never just about football. It was about the state itself. Spokane and Seattle. Yakima and Tacoma. Colfax and Bellevue. It was the one day a year we were all on the same page – even if we were yelling at each other.

But time has a way of clarifying things. For some, it’s taken longer than others to see it. And sure, there are still a few holdouts – people clinging to the idea that the right coach, the right quarterback, or just one more miracle season is waiting around the corner. But for most of us, the truth has been quietly settling in: WSU isn’t exactly climbing into the light. We’re somewhere between the middle and the bottom, learning how to make peace with the view.

Last Saturday just confirmed it.

Look around the conference landscape. Oregon State thought leaders and fans were basically on their knees this week, practically begging the Ducks for mercy. Which is hilarious, because Dan Lanning is the last coach in America you’d ask for mercy. That man wakes up, eats nails for breakfast, and practices his fake smile in the mirror before going out to bury somebody’s season. Mercy? Forget about it. He’s a killer.

And that’s what makes this whole thing sting. Rivalries used to mean standing tall, spoiling someone else’s dream, believing that one game could change everything. Now? It feels like we’re just fighting for oxygen.

I never meant to become the ‘doomer’ alum. But UW’s decision to leave the Pac-12 made me one. This summer, walking across UW’s campus, I stumbled into a President’s event and – much to my girlfriend’s horror – started loudly announcing that the Huskies killed the tradition of the Apple Cup when they bolted for the Big Ten. People glared. She tugged at my arm. I didn’t care. Because deep down, I knew it was true.

The Apple Cup I grew up with – the one I drove across mountain passes for, the one I left turkey dinners behind for, the one that stitched crimson and purple into the fabric of Washington – is gone. The conference is gone. The shared stakes are gone. The soul is gone.

And yet, here’s the rub: the one reason to keep having this game is the same as it’s always been. To keep the state connected.

Cougs and Huskies may hate each other, but the Apple Cup was proof that we belong to the same story. It was east meeting west, wheat fields meeting Puget Sound, crimson colliding with purple on a field of green. That’s why it mattered. That’s why, even if it feels hollow, I’ll still tune in, still yell, still throw a remote. Because if the Apple Cup dies completely, Washington loses something bigger than football.

Danny Lochridge is a 2020 graduate of Washington State University and current law student at Gonzaga.