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There’s a small passage of Willie Morris’ The Courting Of Marcus Dupree – which I’ve been reading on and off over the summer months whenever I can steal away for an hour or two – that I’ve been thinking about a lot recently.
The book itself is filled with settings only a sportswriter could love, of dingy hotel rooms and long conversations with nervous football coaches, but Morris offers a sort of effortless Southern romanticism that can brighten any scene. When he lands on a place deserving of the prose, he shifts almost to the poetic, channeling a gleeful ennui inspired by the great tradition of Mississippian writers. In opening the 21st chapter, Morris looks upon his alma mater.
“I had been as neutral as the Swiss Red Cross, but secretly, if (Marcus Dupree) did not remain in our native Mississippi, I wished him to choose my alma mater, the University of Texas,” Morris writes. “There was a touch of selfishness to this, involving what I supposed might be a mutual sense of belonging. I had gone to Austin at his age, and although the university had frightened me at first (its student population was sixteen thousand, or twice as large as Yazoo City), it eventually gave me a deep and liberating sense of values and, in curious ways, of loyalty. It had educated me.
“Austin had been a lovely town then, with its rolling green hills descending to the banks of the Colorado River, and the muted blue ridges of the Great Balcones Divide in the distance which had led O. Henry to call it the City of the Violet Crown. It was a blend of the South and the West; it was both and it was neither. The close proximity of the campus and the state capitol with its circumference of government buildings endowed it with a pointed urgency from time to time – its cyclic political controversies from which it always seemed somehow to recover.”
This section (along with many others from the book) has stuck with me in equal part because I desperately wish I could write like that – a skill I fear can come only from living more than I have – and because of where and when I first read it. It was late July, and I was on a short flight to Salt Lake City from Las Vegas, where I had spent two days for the sake of Mountain West media days.
I’m not particularly fond of Sin City, given its foundation of two things I hate (large social gatherings and gambling), but my move westward from Columbus and my transition from the Ohio State media beat to Utah State’s has taken me to all sorts of places I never really expected to go. Some, like Fort Collins, Laramie or Provo have been bizarre and eye-openingly lovely. Others have been Boise and Las Vegas.
My third trip to Vegas in the last calendar year was marked by its proximity to the end of college athletics as we know it. That process will be all but completed when Oregon, UCLA, USC and Washington depart the Pac-12 for the Big Ten and Arizona, Arizona State, Colorado and Utah join the Big 12 next fall – and it was started long before I shared several hours with a friend at Las Vegas’ longest bar reminiscing about everything we love in these games – but late July 2023 still deserves its place on the timeline. Rumors of an exodus from the Pac-12 to the Big 12 began in earnest during those days I spent in a Las Vegas hotel, and came to fruition within a week’s time.
I’m choosing to blame the then-still-forthcoming collapse of one of the oldest conferences in college athletics for my being brought nearly to tears that night at the long bar as I recalled the 2020 meeting of Coastal Carolina and BYU, a bright spot in an otherwise miserable season and a football game I will cherish for the rest of my life. I could put it on a trio of Truly’s, too, but I don’t have that excuse for feeling that same tug in my stomach as I thumbed through my book and tried to ignore an ill-functioning air conditioning unit on my flight home the next night.
I haven’t been to Austin and have no love for the University of Texas, but Morris’ words aren’t exclusive to his experience. The late, great writer successfully described one of life’s finest feelings in a sentence about getting drunk and talking to your dog. God, I wish I could write like that.
“To this day the university filled me with the tenderness a man has when he gets a little drunk late at night and starts telling his dog how much he loves him.”
Everyone feels this sort of tenderness over something (at least, I hope they do), and I feel it for college football (and increasingly for college basketball, but that’s a different article). I’m far from the only one – look no further than the existence of this website and thousands of others dedicated to recording, arguing about, remembering, watching and enjoying college football. If you’re here, I’d wager the thought of a crisp fall morning spent in anticipation for the game(s) of the coming day sends the same shock of dopamine through your spine and puts that same perfect mixture of dull anxiety and excitement in your gut that it does mine.
Unlike Morris, and I’d guess almost all of you, this feeling for me isn’t tethered to a place or a team. At least, not anymore.
I was once a child of Columbus like any other who lived and died with Ohio State, and I suppose that foundation will stick with me forever – which I’ve struggled, often publicly, to come to terms with. I’ve lashed out plenty at the team I once loved more than just about anything in the world, frustrated and disillusioned with a program I no longer recognized when I moved across the country from my hometown. I needed the distance to appreciate that Ohio State’s status as the antithesis of what I now love about the sport doesn’t have to erase what I once loved about it, which my oft-cynical-but-still-Buckeye-loving dad put to me better than I could to you.
“The playoffs, NIL, expansion, all that other stuff is just a mechanism to get me to the games. Whatever game it is, I’m here for it. The other stuff is just a distraction. Conferences have been changing forever. It doesn’t matter. The actual games are what matters to me. And what I enjoy. The real tradition to me is you and I sitting sitting down and watching the games, before you were jaded. And the pure joy of watching our team play well, in the moment. When I am actually watching a game, I can still feel the little kid in me. I can feel the little Patrick there. I have to. Otherwise, there’s no reason to watch.
“When I was a kid, there were very few games on TV. I had to watch the game at 11 p.m. on WOSU. I listened to the games on the radio in the 70s. There was one game in particular that I always remember during the season. Ohio State vs. Iowa, 1970-something. I just remember being at my grandparents, in that old house on the farm. Listening in the kitchen for a while, then going outside and practicing punting and kicking, since no other kids were there to pass to. And going back in to listen to more. Eating a bologna sandwich.
“It’s the kid in me that comes out during the game. The person who cared deeply about the results. And now, I have the memories of you as a kid watching the games. And caring deeply. How upset you were when you thought we were about to lose to Wisconsin, me telling you we still have a chance, and then that pass. That beautiful pass. It’s the individual games. Win or lose. Not the other stuff. The real tradition is in my head.”
I had to take a different path to find my way to the same answer. I spent my time covering Ohio State – which was for all the years prior a dream that dictated my life – jaded and contemptuous; a kid (I didn’t even turn 20 until well into my first season at Buckeye Sports Bulletin) on a beat filled with adults who loved the team far more than I could after the Urban Meyer era and did very little to hide it. I was frustrated with them, and with a subject matter that felt more to me like a corporation than a football program. After three years on the beat (and another two as a blogger at LGHL), I had to find something I could love about the sports I covered, and I knew I would never again find it there.
In Logan, the Mountain West, the Group of Five and college football’s underdogs writ large, I have. The crowds are smaller, but the passion is the same. These teams don’t have the opportunity to command national broadcasts and compete for national titles, yet the stakes of a conference title race or the fight for a bowl berth are just as high. New Mexico State’s sixth win in 2017 meant just as much to the people who cared about it as Ohio State’s 14th win in 2014 did to me and my dad. The real tradition is in your head.
I’ve also come to understand that what I truly love about this sport, at its core, is that my way is only one of a million. As long as it’s your way, and as long as you really do it, there’s no incorrect way to love this sport.
For some (most), if the Meet at Midfield message board is any sort of sample, that love is wedded to one place. It’s an upset win.
“The equal opportunity access for joy. I root for a perennially terrible team, and what I felt in this moment could only be topped by the fan of a team winning an unlikely natty.”
hammyiu
It’s a connection to the other people who care.
“My gf and I tutored a lot of the athletes at UCF in our time there from 2017-2020. We didn’t work with any of the giant names like McKenzie Milton or Tacko Fall (although I did help Tacko one time for a half hour) but we formed a really close relationship with Darriel Mack. You might remember him as the QB on the losing end of the LSU bowl game. We never really thought we’d see him play other than in garbage time but he had spoken to us at length about how much he loved the game and his personal life. When Milton went down in 2018 against USF, Mack was fairly bad in relief and we won the game with the defense.
“The next week was against Memphis at home for the AAC championship and we were anxious for Darriel. We sent him a text two days before the game and told him good luck and that we knew he could do it. We were down early because we couldn’t defend Darrell Henderson out of the wildcat, but DJ had six TD’s and won us the game. While we went on to lose to LSU, that Memphis game and the jubilation in watching our friend succeed at his dream will live in my brain forever. This might sound corny but I really believe that game made me a more positive person for life.”
Chasekr8
“Junior year 2019. Notre Dame is in town (at Georgia) and it is the first night game with the new fourth-quarter strobe lights. The game was obviously awesome, easily the best non-playoff game I’ve been to. But what I remember most was this random freshman I was standing next to.
“We got to talking about the team and recruiting and he says he’s been coming to Georgia games since he was four. Many of you know that I’m hometown friends with @imrealangry, he was the one who introduced me to FTF and like he said, college football was just not a thing, so much so that we didn’t play our HS games on Friday nights, they were on Saturdays. I had been to UGA games before I started classes and already had two years of games under my belt, but this was the moment it all came together.”
DawgInHim
“The story of Cardale Jones’ Buckeye career up to the 2014-15 championship game really resonated with me. I went to high school in the Cleveland area so I had seen him play in high school a few times. To see him go from basically just being known for and mocked over the “play school” tweet to being the championship-winning QB was some really uplifting stuff for me. I never knew the guy personally, but I felt a real personal connection to that journey.”
PurpleHayes15
And yes, sometimes for the sport’s power brokers, it’s that dream season that ends on top of the college football world.
“I was the world’s foremost BCS hater. For its last few years, I refused to watch it, even if Ohio State was involved (I didn’t watch the 2010 Rose Bowl or 2011 Sugar Bowl). I was overjoyed when the Playoff was announced. And then MY TEAM went on the best three-game run I’ve ever seen a sports team have to win the first-ever College Football Playoff. I said I would never get mad about sports after that and I haven’t yet.”
kwebmd
“I think I’ll go with 2002. My mom and sisters all go down to Florida in January. So for the Buckeyes against Miami, it was me, my dad and my uncle watching. My dad and uncle are perpetual doomers. Every success was sure to lead to collapse. Every Miami gain was the beginning of the end.
“Then Clarett stripped that ball. And man, things really changed. I’ll never forget running out onto the porch to scream with the entire neighborhood when they got Dorsey spun around there at the end. I loved football before the 2002 season. But that season meant nothing really compares to it for me, forever.”
Stannerman51
But, it’s a million other things, too, no matter how big or small your school. It’s rivalry games.
“MJ Devonshire’s pick-six to seal the WVU game. I’ve been to Pitt rivalry games before that – I went to the 2019 Pitt-PSU game in State College but that didn’t feel like much of a rivalry to me at the time, I was just a college kid having fun visiting a friend. That whole summer I was chirping WVU fans constantly to re-ignite a rivalry that I really had no connection to (other than my sister “attending” WVU for two years when I was in middle school), but I knew it felt different. I was getting chirped tailgating. Chirped walking into the stadium. The atmosphere there was unlike anything I have ever experienced. You could feel the energy in that stadium on every play, good or bad.
“To get to the play, me and one of my good friends from college are sitting in the lower bowl, right above the north end zone (the student section). We see JT Daniels throw to Ford-Wheaton, the pass bounces off his hands and hangs in the air for what feels like a lifetime before landing gently in the waiting arms of Devonshire. We start going nuts as he starts running down the sideline to our end zone. There’s a crowd of players, until Devonshire runs past all of them and into the open center of the field. We can see MJ clear as day, running towards us, nothing but green grass between him and the end zone. And it clicks for me. He’s going to score.
“If I was going nuts before, I was absolutely losing my mind at this point. Once he crossed the goal line, I bear hug my friend and lift him off the ground in excitement because I just don’t know what else to do. I was screaming so loud that I lost my voice the next day. I have never heard a sports crowd that loud in my entire life and if I had to bet on it, I don’t think I’ll ever hear something as loud as that again. Just an absolutely special moment to be in person for.”
imrealangry
“I cried in the Shoe last November, as a grown-ass man, not because of the loss, but because that loss made me understand how much this rivalry meant and continues to mean to me. The other 11-14 games on the schedule mean a lot, to be sure, but in the end my entire fandom boils down to the one day in late November when everything I have ever believed in gets put to the test.”
ninetydegrees
“That 2021 win over Ohio State. That was a game where, all season, there was a quiet rumbling that Michigan is going to win. The offensive line was phenomenal, the running backs were peerless, and the defense made just enough happen every time.
“The vibes inside Michigan Stadium before that game were phenomenal. There was simply no way Michigan was losing that game. Even in warmups, Michigan simply had a hard edge, uniformly, from the field to the stands, that Ohio State could not match. That entire game was Michigan slowly breaking Ohio State’s spirit, pushing back for the first half and breaking through for the second half. Just an incredible tug-of-war that ended in the greatest victory.”
Gordon
“I remember the 2021 Game, not because of how excited I was, but because there was a man and his son sitting in front of us, just the two of them. We have seasons so we know most of the people around us, but I think someone sold their seats to this father and son. It was his first football game at the Big House, possibly his first game ever.
“As it was clear Michigan was going to win, the father mentioned to someone that he wished he could get a picture, but his phone was dead. I overheard him, added his number to my contacts, and took a picture of the two of them to send over to him. The looks on both their faces were infectious. Dad just as giddy as his kid son.”
seltzermom
Even more than just those games, it’s the feeling around them.
“I remember the Friday night before the 2006 Michigan game, just how still it was. You could feel the anticipation in the air. Since I was in the band, I would have to report to the stadium at 6 a.m., but there was nothing like starting to feel the campus come alive. Walking over when it was still dark out and smelling the smoked sausages start to get fired up for tailgates.
“And after that game was over, walking back to my apartment or my dorm in my band uniform, and the campus just still being abuzz. Getting to walk through the crisp autumn air on campus with tons of other people just walking around or seeing the sights. Heading to a friend’s apartment to watch some of the afternoon or late games before going out to a party in the evening, everyone still wearing what they had worn to the game that day. I parked at the Gateway garage for the Akron game last year, just so I could experience that walk back with my kids – it still felt the same.”
tbdbitlbuck
“My stepdad (Michigan grad) and my mom got married in late 2002; we started watching some of the games together in fall 2003. I grew up a combo fan of Tennessee via my grandfather/friends and Michigan via my dad because it was the only thing we could see eye-to-eye on for years.
“Fast forward to fall 2021. I’ve been married for two years and moved out of my hometown/parents’ house for 10. I’ve watched, at this point, 11 full The Games with my dad; Michigan has lost all 11. We are not together on this day, but we generally text back and forth every Saturday during the games. As the game progresses we start texting less and the line goes silent for basically the entire second half; he is laser-focused and I put my phone in another room so no one can distract me.
“My wife starts asking me with regularity, “Are you okay” early in the fourth quarter and it only grows worse as it becomes clear Michigan is going to win the fucking football game. I am not a terribly emotional person one way or the other but I start crying, and crying, and crying. When Michigan stuffs OSU to end the game firmly I’m a puddle. I start croaking out, “They haven’t done this in so long” because my sweet wife doesn’t entirely get the rivalry but tries to understand it and is supportive.
“I wait a couple minutes, then I FaceTime my dad, see we’ve both been crying, and a week later we went to Indianapolis. For all the troubles we’ve had together, I will cherish that eight-day stretch for my entire life. This stupid sport of nitwits, morons, and screw-ups takes and takes and takes, but on the very rare occasion it gives, it is one of the best feelings imaginable.”
statsbywill
It’s the feeling around every game.
“When I was at Ohio State I was in a service organization that had the exclusive responsibility of ringing the victory bell in the stadium tower after each home win. So with a few min left in the fourth quarter we would all leave our seats and get brought up via service elevator through some parts of the Shoe that most people never get to see. And then we’d take turns ringing the shit out of that huge bell for 15 min (30 for a win over Michigan). Really made me feel a special connection to OSU football and gave me an appreciation for how many moving parts are involved in executing a single home game.”
crowcialist
“One of my favorite moments personally was the Purdue/Minnesota game in October 2017. It was the first game after Joe Tiller passed away, so the team was wearing throwback helmets to the Tiller era (to this day I think they are my favorite helmets Purdue has worn). The game itself was tight up until a huge storm line hit West Lafayette and everyone was evacuated from Ross-Ade Stadium into Mackey Arena for about an hour and a half (luckily they put the TCU-WVU game on the scoreboard for everyone to watch).
“When the game finally restarted under the lights, the few that came back in were treated to a great finish. Markell Jones scored the go-ahead touchdown with just over a minute to go and it seemed like everything was going to be alright. However, Minnesota started driving down the field and got all the way inside the 30 with ~20~ seconds to go before Ja’Whaun Bentley returned an interception 78 yards to the house which sent the remaining crowd into a frenzy. It was an extremely cathartic finish for someone who had fallen out of love with Purdue football during the Hazell era.”
rosso
“I think for me, it was being able to work in event operations during the 2021 season. Being able to see what college football means to so many people and being able to facilitate those experiences at Purdue was unmatched. So many memories I facilitated for people are memories they will never forget. The following season I attended as a fan, and after experiencing what I had experienced the year prior, I just loved the traditions and routines of gameday. Showing up to tailgates, losing our shit late into the night with friends, reminiscing of the times our lives changed as fields were stormed and plays were made, its incredible. I dont think there’s anything quite like the first time you stood in the student section with thousands upon thousands of other fans.”
JamesKnowsBall
“When I was a kid, my grandparents had season tickets to the Big House, but would give the tickets to family for a couple of games a year. My family lived in Illinois and when we would go to games, my dad would pick me up early from school Friday afternoon and we would drive five hours to my grandparents’ house in Chelsea to stay overnight before waking up early and tailgating for the game the next day.
“I went to a bunch of great games, but what really stands out in my mind is getting up Saturday and going to the grocery store with my dad to get donuts for breakfast and supplies for the tailgate. It was the feeling of anticipation of spending a full day at the stadium that I remember.”
Hart Of Maize
Others find it with adopted teams and players.
“For me, it was probably going to UTSA-Army last year at West Point. It’s a beautiful setting to watch a game for starters, so that’s always a plus. But beyond that, the clashes of styles between Frank Harris and co. and what Army does, it was genuinely trippy and an outstanding viewing experience. And I’m a huge Frank Harris simp, so getting to him in person was electrifying.”
J_Aferiet
“I went to OSU for undergrad starting in 2005 and have basically never seen a non-self-imposed “bad” season. I got hooked on college football by rooting for Maryland and Notre Dame. Born and raised in Maryland with a Terp alum uncle, Irish Catholic with a different uncle alum from Notre Dame. I was watching Mark Duffner and Ron Vanderlinden Maryland teams play on Saturday afternoons as a child.
“Our neighbor growing up was a Maryland alum and he had season tickets for his business. The 2001 season hits, my younger brother and the neighbor’s kid are both on the same youth football team so the neighbor offers my dad two of the tickets for Clemson-Maryland that year. The four of them are going, but my dad tells me if I can find tickets I can get a ride with them.
“This is 2001, and somehow I, as a high school freshman living two hours from the stadium, manage to finagle some seats. They’re not in the same section as the other four so me and a friend depart from tailgating to find them. It turns out that I have bought first-row home-side end zone seats. Maryland wins 37-20 and my dad still remembers pointing me out to my little brother as I stormed the field to celebrate the first non-FSU ACC title since the Noles joined the conference.”
Uptown Buckeye
“Boise State beating Oklahoma in the Fiesta Bowl on a bunch of trick play bullshit was the peak of the sport for me. I was going nuts for a team I have no reason to care about. That’s the moment I fell in love with college football.”
BigDaddyDrix
Or even just moments of connection with another team and fanbase.
“As an Ohio State fan, the moment of loudness at the Rose Bowl in 2022 was probably the most striking, if painful, example of loving those who make the game what it is. The Rose Bowl was the only time I’d witnessed it in person. It was a unique moment in this sport – you can have roars of the crowd where you have a stadium of elated people, but the flipside of that is equal discouragement of a team and fanbase on the other side. You can have moments that aren’t zero-sum, but they’re rare and generally exist only on the periphery of the sport, outside of the fans’ passion and of the sport and of the moment.
“This was a non-zero-sum moment, an expression of love that could only exist with that much intensity because of the number of people, the passion of the participants, and the physical intensity of the moment. If fans and players had not been emotionally invested in the spectacle of football, it would have been very hard to have that moment as intense as it was. It was college football – with sorrow – expressing love to those who made the sport what it was in a way that only college football can.”
RSKrauss
But, the thing that holds it all together is the same: It means something to you. The real tradition is in your head. At the end of the day, the only wrong answer is detachment, ironic or otherwise. College football deserves better than to be reduced to a joke, and you deserve better than a college football life spent jaded and miserable. You’re supposed to care about it. To feel that pit in your stomach.
Will the sport be different in 10 years? Five years? One year? Yes, yes and yes. And I’m certainly not going to be the person to tell you that the changes will always be for the best, because history says otherwise. Nothing is off the table if there’s money to be made.
There’s always something to love in college football, though. This season, maybe it’s the chance at one last hurrah for those left behind. Maybe it’s a breakout star you can’t take your eyes off. Maybe it’s that last piece clicking into place, and your team taking its rightful place on the national throne… or the conference throne… or the rivalry throne. Maybe it isn’t tied to a result at all. Maybe it’s just that damn fall air.
All that matters is that it matters to you. The real tradition is in your head.