I realize it comes across as naïve to say that the reservoir of stupidity, greed, labor exploitation, and brain trauma that is college football has a genuine, intrinsic beauty. The rituals passed down to us and that we form with our friends, the historic rivalries with neighbors, the glow of a college campus on Saturday, the idea of an affordable pastime, all have been and will continue to be watered down and slowly drowned out by the organizations whose colors we wear or to whom we pay a streaming subscription. Every criticism of the sport's culture is valid. Major college football is an all-consuming machine of a business that will continue to be corporatized and "Who's In?"-ed to death until all that is left is a soulless, exclusionary enterprise for the richest fans and most popular programs, with a sportsbook logo branded on everyone's shoulder.
And it probably comes off as pretentious to get so nihilistic, to act like these things weigh on me, but they do. My alma mater's football team plays in a stadium named for a bank. A decade ago, playing traditional rivals and preserving the sport's larger, regionalized ecosystem was less important to the school and its conference mates than expanding into new television markets. Its administration correctly backed out of playing sports during a pandemic a year ago, only to change their minds when they saw how much money everyone else was making. (Unless I'm being harsh, that is — the group who made sure their discussions were exempt from public records requests clearly was not trying to hide their motives.) It buys out basketball coaches, orders new football uniforms, and gets enough boosters on the line to build $166-million facilities but claims it has to cut a few non-revenue sports to make ends meet. Where is the beauty or altruism?
You and I both know that altruism wasn't ever there. The sport has been this way since practically the beginning. I just didn't know any better when it entranced me at 9 years old. Supporting college football has always been an ongoing moral compromise, and that was arguably never truer than in 2020.
But would I be writing this if I could quit?
For now, at least, I can still be blinded by the beauty. This week, I felt called to watch the Prayer at Jordan-Hare again. I watch some perspective of its sequel, the Kick Six, every couple months. My mind sometimes drifts to Quinton Flowers, a man who deserved as much as anyone to be fairly compensated for his labor, and who did everything he could except win in one of the most perfectly loony football games ever. This summer, I was on the field at Jones Stadium in Lubbock and gleefully recited to my football-agnostic friend every detail of November 1, 2008. I consider Minnesota's 2019 victory over Penn State one of the best memories of my life.
I long to make more of those memories. Between Minnesota's last home game with fans and their opening game of the 2021 season, it will have been 642 days. Twenty-one months without tailgates, without "Battle Hymn of the Republic," without "Who hates Iowa?" chants in the concourse. My brain tells me there's ample reason to make our wait longer, considering the recent spike in COVID-19 cases, but every part of me feels that it's been too long. God, do I want to be back.
While I'm fully vaccinated (and dearly hope you are as well), it will take a moment for me to feel home again. The most crowded place I've been since last March might be the grocery store; a crowd of potentially 50,000 people may be too much for me. I might spend the next 3-and-a-half hours fearing what happens when all of us go home, or to work, or to school. My conscience won't be clear this season, and it won't in any season to come.
Yet when I find my seating companions and can finally catch up, that apprehension will fade a little. At 6:38 p.m., when the Pride of Minnesota spills out of the tunnels, it'll fade a little more. And just before 7:00 p.m., I'll see this...
...and at least for a moment, I'll feel that rush: the genuine happiness that college football gives us, that the capitalists who run it can commoditize but not quell, and that so completely detaches us from reality. For a little while, what happens on that field will be the most important thing in the world.
Is this good for me? For anyone? I cannot say yes. But it feels too good for me to walk away.