Ever since I first heard the Fightin’ Texas Aggie Band blare that glorious “ Aggie War Hymn” we all know and love when I was in elementary school, I was hooked on everything Texas A&M. But above all else, I looked upon the largest student section in the country with awe, dreaming of the day I could don my own overalls and “Whoop”  my heart away — well, so long as I was a junior.

When those dreams became a reality, and I painted my maroon-clad passion into a pair of old denim suspenders, I knew I belonged among a student body of legend, the one my dad talked about in the late 80s and early 90s that had every single Aggie standing tall and proud for those battles being waged on the gridiron.

But imagine my redass shock when I saw the very action that I had known to be a cardinal sin my whole life: booing an opposing team or a bad call on the field. Or worse than that, not staying until the end of a game and leaving early. Or even — God help me — sitting during a football game.

Now I get it, watching the boys who show the “real old fight” get belted is an unsettling scene — trust me, I remember that 2017 game versus UCLA. Even so, ever since 1922, we Aggies have spread our university’s name worldwide by our willingness to step into the fray should need be. Why else would we stand the whole game if not to uphold the traditions of old?

While I understand the possible eye-rolling and dismissal of these sentiments, at the same time, how else do we set ourselves apart from other universities besides perpetuating the practices that generations of A&M students have done before in the confines of Kyle Field?

Every stadium I have ever been to pales in comparison to what we have in Aggieland. Sure, we have one of the largest non-racing stadiums in the world sitting right outside from where we grab our after-class Chick-fil-A and hear the piano play in the MSC Flag Room, but it goes further than that.

There’s a reason why A&M’s winningest head coach R.C. Slocum lost just 11 times at home in his 13 years as the boss of Aggie football, and it wasn’t just the Wrecking Crew’s defense. Students gathered in the maroon and white coliseum that seated just 82,000 people at the time and screamed their throats raw as visitors were left dazed and confused, wildcats and yells echoing throughout the horseshoe-esque arena. 

I’ve seen the detrimental effects of the two-percenter plague firsthand, and the worst symptom is enough to scare anyone into staying put no matter what: regret. 

For example, the LSU Tigers were so sure of their victory in 2018 that former head coach Ed Orgeron was already soaked in Gatorade before quarterback Kellen Mond had seemingly thrown the game away with an interception in the final seconds, prompting A&M fans to take up anchor and leave their sports sanctuary.

And many did leave, and that many would have that aforementioned regret in their hearts after the miracle that occurred upon that fateful November day. 

Mond, as it turned out, had his knee down before “ending” the contest, opening the door for an insane, seven-overtime 74-72 thriller in which the Aggies emerged victorious from the highest-scoring game in FBS history and deserters weren’t allowed back in the stadium.

This phenomena is not restricted to just the football field, but all throughout our athletic venues. 

Take last year, for example: Baseball was in the worst slump I had ever witnessed in my then-21 years of life, after starting off as preseason No. 1 and eventually dropping out of the rankings entirely and missing the postseason.

This was a more reasonable time to jump ship, I suppose, especially on April 12, 2025, when A&M trailed 12-2 at the bottom of the sixth inning to South Carolina, on the precipice of a run-rule defeat at home. My family was in town for this game, and just like he told me at that LSU game all those years ago, my dad reminded me that Aggies stay until the end.

So imagine my joy when head coach Michael Earley and his Maroon and White band pulled out their secret sheet music and orchestrated the greatest comeback in school history, scoring 13 unanswered runs against the Gamecocks — including a mind-boggling two grand slams at the bottom of the ninth, my family among the maybe 1,000 people that stayed till the end of this thriller.

It’s a shame how one can miss out on such amazing feats of Aggie history, but luckily there’s a cure. It’s a principle that has been in practice for generations, one that was set by thousands of others before us, standing in our same shoes in the many maroon and white coliseums we call home from August to May every year.

Be an Aggie. It’s actually very simple in theory, but clearly not in practice. 

We don’t live with the guarantee of greatness. Yes, we funnel millions of dollars into our teams to help us get closer to it, but there’s always a possibility that we don’t achieve it.

However, it’s the hope that good will come that is the faith every Aggie should have. We stand not only because tradition dictates us to, but because our belief compels us, because we can’t contain ourselves sitting down to support the team we love. We chant not because yell leaders tell us to, but because that’s what it means to be part of the 12th Man. 

Don’t be the one who regrets, but the one who remembers. Don’t be the one who leaves the game early only to check your phone near Lot 100 to find the Aggies have hit a game-winning field goal. Learn to be redass, to be the farmer who fights.

All you have to do is stay to the end, do some — if not all — the yells and maybe something fantastic could happen. It’s happened before, in fact, and it can happen again. As long as the Aggies aren’t down by 28 points, we can still beat South Carolina!

So, I ask you, do you believe? Or, I guess, a better question must be asked: Will you choose to believe?  

Noah Ruiz is a sport management senior and associate sports editor for The Battalion.