Sooner born and Sooner bred.

The core of our university’s chant describes me well. I was born to a crimson-bleeding, Aggie-hating, Hang-‘em Horns family. I was raised to hate orange, praise OU’s great coaches and exhibit extreme emotional swings based on the team’s performance. So, naturally, as a kid I dreamed about becoming the next great Sooner legend.

To sum up my football experience in high school, let’s just say I was an average player on an average team.

I was an offensive lineman who certainly saw his share of the gridiron and, in my junior year, had an injury to my knee that nearly crumbled my hopes of ever becoming a Sooner. After returning my senior season, it was deemed that I would not move on to Division I football for my favorite team.

Oh, well. Sometimes dreams don’t come true.

Flash-forward to today. I’m in the best shape of my life, but in terms of playing football, let’s say I’m, well, washed up. I’ve put my dreams of Owen Field in the past. That is, until last Thursday morning when I decided to become a walk-on.

Yes, a walk-on: the guys who either have talent and didn’t get noticed or — in my case — the guys who are hopelessly in love with the team and want to be a part of it in any way.

Our sports editor jokingly suggested I try it while we were working late the night before the tryout. As infinitesimally small the chance I’d have success was, I filed it away in my mind.

The following morning, I woke up, opened my laptop and submitted my application in a flash of impulsive decision-making.

Thursday was spent printing and signing documents with titles like “Head Injuries” and “Waivers.” I was too excited to really read them; I mean, I scanned them, but I had limited time to prepare.

The requirements were simple: Bring workout-appropriate clothing, a pair of tennis shoes and cleats. Luckily, my roommate had some cleats, even though they may have been a size too small.

After receiving a battery of health tests, I arrived at the Barry Switzer Center that afternoon and settled among the more than 25 other young men.

The question, “Are you trying out for kicker?” was frequently asked and was often followed by a comically surprised look from a lineman-hopeful or potential running back, physically unbelievable candidates for kicker.

We were greeted by the coaches and staff who gave us a minor pep talk peppered with phrases to keep us from getting our hopes up too high. They already needed to cut their roster down without the addition of us football-hopefuls.

We got on the field and warmed up, then split off into different groups.

They slapped a strip of cream-colored athletic tape name tag on our chests and sent us out to demonstrate our ability. Naturally, since I played on the offensive line in high school, you think I’d try out with the linemen. But having lost the majority (read: all) of my defensive tackle-dominating bulk, I wasn’t sure where to go. (Damn this collegiate “get healthy” craze.)

I stuck with my line brothers, but at a different position: deep snapper.

I’ll be honest, I’m no deep snapper. Dad always told me, “You should get experience deep-snapping the ball. Everyone needs good special teams members.” He probably started saying this once I stopped growing at age 16 when I was 6-feet tall and weighed 225 pounds, too small for the big leagues.

My audition wasn’t the caliber they were looking for. In fact, I stunk. I didn’t get the call to come back Friday to practice with the team.

Did I really expect for some Sooner Magic to assist me in my quest to be a walk-on? Not really. It was just an experience I had always wanted to have. Now I’ve finally received a little closure. But for those two hours, I was back in my childhood dreams.

I’m Sooner born and Sooner bred, and I’ll be a Sooner when I’m dead.