It’s finally time for the best part of the college football season — Rivalry Week. No matter where the teams stand heading into the end of the regular season, years of history between bitter enemies guarantees compelling storylines and thrilling finishes.
There’s the battle for famous trophies — the Jeweled Shillelagh (USC vs. Notre Dame) and the Governor’s Cup (Florida vs. Florida State). You’ve got the Iron Bowl (Auburn vs. Alabama), the Egg Bowl (Ole Miss vs. Mississippi State), The Game (Michigan vs. Ohio State) and the Civil War (Oregon vs. Oregon State).
But the best of the bunch, in my opinion, is a game with 118 meetings, fifth-most all-time. It started in 1894 and is so entrenched in the DNA of each university that the schools sing about each in their official fight songs. The Lonestar Showdown is one of the most important rivalries in all of college football and it has been stripped away.
I grew up an Aggie. I bleed maroon. I watched in anguish as the Longhorns beat my Aggies six straight years from 2000-2006. I reveled with Reveille when A&M pulled off two straight upsets over top-15 Texas teams the next two years. I didn’t apply to a single school except A&M — dreaming of sawing ’em off with 83,000 of my closest friends.
Sure, we still saw ’em off, but the words feel empty now. Bonfire doesn’t burn as bright. Singing “goodbye to Texas University” feels more ominous than joyful.
I was lucky enough to get to see the last Lonestar Showdown as a freshman in 2011. I was devastated when that kick sailed through the uprights as time expired, giving the Longhorns the win, and with it, indefinite bragging rights.
But I am lucky. Three of the four undergraduate classes have never been a part of the rivalry that has defined our school since its inception. What happens when the seniors graduate and no one is left? What happens in 10 years? This rivalry is far too important and far too ingrained in our state’s culture to simply fade away.
The Lonestar Showdown deserves to be played.
I don’t care what it takes. Sure, the higher-ups at both schools probably have legitimate gripes. A&M felt forever relegated to Texas’ shadow, while Texas felt betrayed by A&M’s sudden departure.
None of that matters anymore. You’ve had your time to pout and show who is the bigger school. Now it’s time for both sides to learn to be the bigger man and get this fixed.
To those in charge, this is about so much more than you. This is about the thousands of men who have carried the torch of this rivalry on the sacred grounds of Kyle Field and DKR-Texas Memorial Stadium. It’s about the millions and millions of people who have supported the schools you represent for more than a century. It’s about the kids who dreamed their whole life of standing with the 12th Man going red in the face yelling at their school’s burnt orange nemesis.
To students, take ownership of your school. If you want this game to have a 119th meeting, say something. These schools are here to serve you. Remind them of that. Let’s start another 97 years of uninterrupted play.
For as long as these institutions have been around, it’s been “It’s goodbye to A&M” and “So long to the Orange and the White.” It’s time to say hello again.
Tyler Stafford is an interdisciplinary studies senior and sports editor for The Battalion.
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