A Case for Monogamy in College Football from a Texas Tech Red Raider Fan

Until we loaded up the minivan to full capacity and moved northward from Texas to Ohio, we did not and could not fully understand the call of the Buckeyes football fan.

For us, the very realness of THE Ohio State football obsession was revealed relatively early on in our relocation and was solidified one hazy evening at a spousal work function.

I was approached at the event by a Buckeyes enthusiast who challenged me by claiming she would bet anyone $100 that she could either 1) facilitate my conversion to a full-fledged Buckeyes fan or 2) entice me to claim Ohio State as my second-favorite team whom I would agree to root for if my squad wasn’t finding its own gridiron glory. 

Her dastardly scheme was apparently to conduct some type of secret ceremony wherein I would be exposed to back reels of Buckeyes championship seasons continuously played until they became bound with my soul.

I would be introduced to and subsequently seduced by holograms of OSU royalty such as Woody Hayes and I would have the Buckeyes fight song permanently piped into my subconscious.

Finally, I would become so frightened by the vicious and poisonous buckeye nut that—realizing the error of my ways—I would be driven by a strange combination of fear and ecstasy to flee wildly into Ohio Stadium clad in scarlet and gray, proclaiming with great yearning, “Let me dot the 'i' please, God, let me dot the 'i'!” 

I would be penalized and alone in a Columbus jail cell, but at least I could call myself a Buckeye, my destiny reached at long last.

Very rightly, the onlooking throng informed the Brutus lover that she was living in fantasy land and might be well advised to seek another less daunting endeavor, such as convincing the folks in South Bend to amend the arms upward on the “Touchdown Jesus” mural until the hands come together, turning the figure into “Safety Jesus.” 

You see, friends, I am a member of that elite football group known as the “Red Raider Nation,” and my gridiron fantasies are all colored in vivid scarlet and black. 

Yes, I am a Texas Tech college football fanatic and I therefore live, eat and breathe Red Raiders football.

Indeed, it is a relationship that has seen its fair share of ups and downs. Yes, we have struggled along together and I have turned my head in shame and disgust when negative punt yards were registered in the statistics book and muffed kicks outnumbered points scored. 

Alternatively, though, every touchdown, every victory, every long first down, every defensive stop brings me more joy than I should admit outside of therapy.

In the heat of passion I have kicked baby gates and thrown various and sometimes dangerous items. In anticipation of significant matchups, I have taped my ankles and picked out special outfits.

I’ve danced, I’ve pranced, I’ve gnashed my teeth, I’ve worn sackcloth and I’ve lit up sparklers and danced in the neighbors’ yard. And I’ve done it all in the name of love.

The above-mentioned zealous Ohio State colleague is not alone in taking the stance that living in Ohio will somehow convert me to devout Buckeyes fanhood.

A throng of various Ohioans, including neighbors, whom we have become acquainted with have also commented, “Before long, you will be a Buckeye, it just magically happens to people when they live here!” 

Somehow, these Ohioans are under the illusion that a few well-placed “O’s” interlaced with nut-bearing foliage are enough to turn any otherwise sensible and seemingly commitment-minded college football fan into an unfaithful harlot.  

Now, friend, you can call me old-fashioned and you can label me a traditional family values-type gal, but I don’t care because the truth is I’m a staunch believer in the concept of “one fan, one team and one glorious commitment at a time.”

Indeed, I support monogamy in college football.    

Though I will always take great interest in the provocative matchups that occur each week (and you will find me every Saturday night in my recliner with drool threatening to make an appearance as I try to hold on to see the end of the West Coast game), and while I might support one team or the other in these contests, my heart of hearts remains true to my adoration, my Red Raiders. 

Raider Red won’t be driving through town looking for me one day only to find my minivan parked in front of a sleazy motel with Ohio State’s Brutus and me inside whispering sweet nothings to each other upon a sanitarily questionable magic fingers vibrating bed.  

I am a monogamous football lover.

Yes, I might look around at the rest of the field and observe closely, but, when I go home to bed each night, I’ll be with the Red Raiders. 

Even if I partake in one too many margaritas or Miller High Life tall boys and begin a seemingly harmless conversation with a fan of a team with a better record—perhaps with a more realistic chance of reaching the faulty BCS—I’ll be getting into the taxicab clad in the same jersey that I initially left the house in, and it will have a double-T on it.  

Without a doubt, a snazzy sweater-vest and a snug pair of old-style, double-button coach’s shorts aren’t going to suddenly and shockingly bedazzle me, causing me to take my eye off of the prize.

Football polygamy just doesn’t interest me. 

“Hell, I am only human!” you might argue. And, I might pose the following rebuttal to you, “Just how committed are you?”

Yes, what kind of true devotion rules your heart if you are willing to wake up each morning with a different-colored jersey on, with an assorted-logo cap hanging on your bedpost, with a random, substandard pennant on your wall and with a second-rate, officially licensed, mini helmet replica digital alarm clock on your night stand?

Indeed, how will you ever really feel the ultimate sense of satisfaction and ecstasy when finally, late one January evening, you watch the head coach of your one and only college football team hold aloft the Waterford crystal pigskin at the center of some sacred piece of tundra? 

I am a responsible, sensitive and morally grounded fanatic, and I’m not afraid to boldly exclaim with conviction and deep-vested emotion to a great nation of fellow enthusiasts, “One fan...one team...monogamy in college football!”

Yes, friends, in a world on the brink of ethical disaster, these are morals worth standing up for.