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Mike Price is walking again, pacing back and forth and wearing a rut in the FieldTurf at Martin Stadium. The Washington State offense is dragging, the sun is setting, and it's turning bitter cold in the Palouse. And the damn back judge just missed another pass interference call.
"Hasn't made one yet," Price snaps, turning toward me. Yes, I am standing on a sideline in eastern Washington, my feet so cold I barely can feel my toes. So close to Price, Washington State's folksy and fierce head coach, I smell his cologne. So close I hear every play call--I know what is supposed to happen before it happens--and every reaction.
So close you can follow in my ...