by Chris Zebo
In July of 2012, Texas A&M will leave the Big 12 and become the 13th member of the Southeastern Conference. The Aggies have been members of the Big 12 from 1996-2012, and before they joined the Big 12, they were members of the Southwest Conference from 1915-96. Next year, all of the University’s sports teams will be ushered onto the national stage when they play in the SEC, achieving a level of exposure the University never before seen. But with the tremendous visibility the school will achieve, a significant part of the Aggie identity will also be lost. This year’s Thanksgiving Day Lonestar Showdown marks the last annual match between the Aggies and Longhorns, ending over a century of rivalry between the two universities.
More than a rivalry will end Thanksgiving Day. For over 100 years, Texas A&M, a school famous for its deeply-rooted traditions, has made the University of Texas, by association, a part of its DNA. Everything from the rituals performed before the big game—like the Aggie Bonfire—to the school’s War Hymn—originally based solely on whooping TU—has been woven into the fabric of the Aggie identity. The city of College Station has made similar allegiances. Visual references to the rivalry decorate the interiors and exteriors of many local—and even international—businesses in the region.
But what happens now that the rivalry is over? What does it mean for Aggies? What of the game day traditions now? And most importantly, will Whataburger paint burnt orange over the maroon stripes they added to their roof as a concession to Aggieland?
The anatomy of a sports rivalry has less to do with sports than it does with the ideology—the intricate values and beliefs system—the school stands for. Buried deep below the playing field are layers of unconscious motives for winning; and sometimes, the motivations are clearly on the surface.
For example, in some countries, rivalries on the playing field can elevate political tensions into real war situations. During the 1970 FIFA World Cup, Honduras and El Salvador were in direct opposition to each other not because of their sports programs but because of a heated land dispute. During the games, massive riots fueled by intense nationalism led to deaths and heated up the political dialogue between the neighboring countries. A month later, they were embroiled in war, now known in the history books as the Football War.
Our country has its own share of internal ideological conflicts, many of which are played out in the stadium. The playing field has always been a kind of theater for various sore spots of our society to be acted out. For example, The Border Showdown, the rivalry game between the University of Missouri and the University of Kansas, takes its history from real-life disputes pertaining to slavery before and after the Civil War. The two bordering states had differing opinions about whether Kansas would enter the Union as a free or slave state. And although the dispute is now in the past, the history of the rivalry was recently resurrected in 2007, when a Missouri alumnus created a shirt which depicted the burning of Lawrence, Kansas—a direct allusion to the Border War. Kansas fans interpreted the shirt as supporting slavery, which obviously fueled controversy and added significance of the rivalry.
Nowadays, collegiate sports rivalries are fueled less by history and more by good old-fashioned money. Rivalry games are easy ways to draw attention both to the schools playing each other and to the corporate sponsors hosting each game. Sponsored by State Farm, The Lonestar Showdown is a money-raker. The branding of the annual game has put a lot of people in business. From t-shirts to coffee mugs, the advertising and consumer element of the game not only generates revenue but it also adds currency to the value of the rivalry.
Today, far more is at stake in college sports today than winning the game. As we learned recently via the Nittany Lion scandal, students rioted against Coach Paterno’s dismissal because Paterno—a coach of a sports team, not a professor—was a symbol of the school more than the sum of its academics. We learned something we all really already knew: that the value of an institution of higher learning these days is greatly influenced by the draw of its sports programs. Students at Penn State were vehement about losing Paterno, since losing him meant losing status. The value of their “education” was quickly and embarrassingly depreciated. But before the scandal, Paterno’s legacy and football record cast the nation’s eyes upon the institution reverently, even though most in the nation had no idea whether the school’s academics were on par with its football program.
The Lonestar Showdown has always been a great opportunity for both schools to get national exposure. It’s been a great promotional tool for attracting students to each school. But aside from the actual game happening on the field, what contest of beliefs and values are being waged against one another? What’s at stake? What does each school represent? What are the underlying tensions that Aggies and Longhorns are contesting unconsciously on the playing field?
College Station has always been poked at for being tucked away in the middle of nowhere. And because of its isolation, Aggieland has historically been a dart board for stereotypes. “A&M is a bunch of backwards farmers and oil rig roughnecks,” or “A&M is a hotbed of insularity and xenophobia,” or “Aggieland is uncultured and unsophisticated.”
The contest between A&M and TU is just as much about these stereotypes as it is about the game on the field. Old-fashioned, hidebound Aggieland vs. forward-looking, liberal Austin. The country vs. the city. The humble vs. the elite. Truck vs. Prius. Church vs. secularism. Normal vs. weird. And the list goes on and on. But what’s worse is that both schools have allowed these stereotypes to persist. As much as the Lonestar Showdown attracts attention to the University in positive ways, it also reinforces fallacies about Aggieland.
Texas A&M doesn’t need a rivalry with any school to put flesh on its cultural identity. The Aggie spirit has always been here, regardless of whether it wins the game or loses. On most campuses around the country, it’s common to find words like integrity, commitment, community service, and loyalty chiseled into the walls of academic buildings, hanging from banners on light posts, published proudly in student handbooks distributed to freshmen. But there are few universities that actually abide by them. As any coach at Texas A&M will tell you, first and foremost, before their sports program, there is something deeper to their sense of purpose here. It’s their commitment to the values and the legacy of the Aggie spirit. Those values take the field in the soul of each player. And whether the Aggies win or lose, the Aggie spirit doesn’t win or suffer a loss. It’s always here, never for the taking.
About Chris Zebo