By Lauren Beasley
This week marked the end of summer for everyone, and as I talked to my friends about the first day of school, I found myself referring to the school year as the school “season”. Ahh, football is on the brain. College football is on the horizon. We’ve waited months for this, passing the time by catching an ESPN rerun of a game from 2010 and reading articles about spring practice, depth charts, and way too early polls. But alas, football hath arriveth!
As I feverishly checked my calendar of upcoming games, and mulled over the list of tasks that have to be completed every Saturday morning so I can sit in front of ESPN uninterrupted, I started wondering exactly what it was that I was so eager about. The first official game of the college football season wasn’t even my team. I wasn’t going to the game nor was there any kick off party to attend. Hell, I wasn’t even sure who would win. However, every time I thought about the first game, the hair on my arms stood up and my heart began to pound. Here’s why.
Obviously we know that football is an American sport, but what it actually emcompasses is the foundation of the American dream. Hard work, teamwork, sacrifice, perseverance, respect, pride, glory. ‘Merica. Yes, the NFL may have more viewers, but college football engulfs more passion, more heart, more pride. Fans use possessive pronouns when referring to their favorite team such as “my team” and “our school”. The pride of a true fan is second to none, we believe in our team, we support our team through the 11-1 seasons as well as the 1-11 seasons. Nothing can shake our faith.
Being raised in the South, it’s always been a joke that football is a religion. But it is no laughing matter here. We do take our football seriously. Football traditions are rich, from preparing on Friday to recovering on Sunday. We buy clothes that bear our school pride, the team colors are our favorite colors and we wouldn’t be caught dead in rival team colors even in the off-season. The school mascot becomes our personal spirit animal. The team schedule is our seasonal calendar, we plan for games and around games. We know the uniform details better than the paint colors on the walls of our own homes.
Tailgating is a well-planned event, from mega grills and cold beer to team logo tents and corn hole. We wait in line at the player’s entrance to get a glimpse of the coaches and players that we have practically worshiped into celebrities. We go through pregame events like religious rituals. We know every player’s name, every note the band plays, every word to the fight song, every cheer and chant, every voice heard over the PA system. We sit on bleachers or plastic seats in the unbearable heat or sub zero temperatures, next to strangers who become our best friends for the subsequent hours of the game as we all slowly lose our hearing from the deafening decibels of the stadium crowd. We gloat for the following 365 days when we win rivalry games and we lick our wounds and say “there’s always next year” when we come up short. We turn into couch coaches as we yell play calls at the TV screen as well as Heisman voters as the season progresses. We know who’s injured, who’s redshirted, who’s playing their senior season, and who has committed to play for the team. We become bandwagon fans when our players are drafted to the pros. When they take the field, we take the field. We relish in their victories. We feel the pain of the losses. Their rivals are our rivals. It’s our state against your team. Our city against your city. We are part of the team. There are two times of the year for people like us, football season and waiting for football season. Game on!
