Death to Sentimentality

College football fans aren't prepared for the ruthlessness that's coming.

I’ve been chewing on this idea for a few months now, and I didn’t know how to write it without coming across like a 1990s sports columnist in your local newspaper, yelling from atop my soapbox. So, here’s an offseason article where I write like a 1990s sports columnist in your local newspaper, yelling from atop my soapbox.

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College sports have always been the most sentimental form of fandom in America. If you’re a fan of a college team, it’s usually because you’re rooted to it in some way—you attended the university, you grew up or moved near the college town where your team played, or you were introduced to the team by someone you loved. The relationships with the players who donned your favorite college’s colors have always been different as well. Pro athletes can feel like untouchable deities whom us mere mortals can’t relate to, but with college athletes, even godlike ones like Vince Young or Earl Campbell, there was always a sliver of commonality between them and the fan. Like us, they attended school; they had to mature, grow up, and make mistakes. It was through their imperfections that they became the figures we revere.

I’m not sure that’s the case anymore. Maybe you haven’t noticed, but college athletics are gradually losing many things that made them so sentimental. There’s the new playoff that feels like a church potluck dinner, there’s the fact that players can wear three different jerseys in their careers, and then there are new conferences stretched past any semblance of sensibility.¹ These are just the toppings sprinkled on top of a system that is scrambled, unregulated, and completely lawless. Where the structure of college athletics once resembled something archaic and punishing, it’s now a goulash of mayhem. It’s all the worst parts of pro sports without the rules that make the professional leagues work.

I’m here to tell you, dear reader, the sport has lost its cuddliness, the parts of it that felt like a warm blanket, and the fans are the last to realize it. Fans of this sport, like me, want to be sentimental. We still want the relationships with the players to look how they’ve always looked, but not so fast, my friend. Those days are over. If college football is going to mirror the NFL, you’ll see more and more instances of the ruthless throat-cutting that defines pro sports. We’ve seen a few examples in the past few years in football: Tua replacing Jalen Hurts in the national championship, Caleb Williams replacing Spencer Rattler in Red River. The sport and its coaches are prepared to cut ties with players who the fans wanted to make idols out of, more so than ever before. And I’m not sure the fans are ready for that.

Like many zealous Longhorn fans, I frequent fan message boards and after the Texas Spring game a few months ago, this idea became clear to me. Longhorn fans are clinging to sentiment and an uproar ensued, towards the media and to fellow fans who merely asked questions about the quarterback position. Why? Because Quinn Ewers barely played and his backup, Arch Manning looked unstoppable. This is a sports column after all, so let’s be even more hyperbolic: Manning looked more comfortable than Ewers has ever looked (even if it was a scrimmage) and like a quarterback prodigy from a family of legends.

In a perfect world, Arch Manning and Quinn Ewers are the perfect problem to have, the best insurance policy one could ask for and an even greater succession plan, but college sports is very rarely a perfect world. Granted, quarterback is still the position where you want to give seniority its due as experience matters. Quinn Ewers has started two Red Rivers, a college football playoff, a conference championship, and won on the road at Tuscaloosa. There’s a lot to like there. Steve Sarkisian can win with Quinn Ewers; that much is obvious. But it was evident through the Sugar Bowl that Ewers still struggles with a few things. He’s very risk-averse, he doesn’t possess the improvisational nature that many great college quarterbacks have, and he struggles to throw the right ball at the right moment. Oftentimes, Ewers feathers the ball when it requires zip or vice versa. Look at the last pass of the Sugar Bowl—a fastball to AD Mitchell probably wins the game, but Ewers lofted it. I’m not into First Take segments and I’m not calling for Ewers' job; I’m a sentimental softy fan, after all. I want the storybook ending for Quinn—the quarterback who grew up a Texas fan, came home, and then became a hero. Follow that poetry with a beautiful bridge to Arch Manning, please. I’ve also been a fan of Texas long enough to know that Spring Games don’t matter much. But, this is a 1990s sports column, and what I saw from Arch Manning in the Spring Game was unbelievable awareness, playmaking ability, and the skill to throw the right ball in almost every situation.

College football fans bleed with nostalgia; we want the bridge from one quarterback to the next, but what if Manning is just better now? If he is, I don’t think sentiment will hold Steve Sarkisian back from making the hard choice, even though Ewers will improve again as he did last offseason. The job will clearly be Quinn’s to start the season, but an early road trip to Michigan and a brutal start to the SEC will lay reality bare very quickly if things are clunky. Maybe the Longhorns will be so deep and so talented that none of this matters, maybe the choppy waters never come. But, if they do and Sarkisian looks at the two quarterbacks and thinks, “I can win with Quinn, but I can dominate with Arch,” which one will he choose? Sappy and sentimental fans like me better prepare themselves for his answer.

1. Before you shoot me, I’m not talking about the SEC.