Texas A&M to SEC: The Aggies Have Made Their Bed, Now They'll Have to Lie in It

It’s finally over in College Station, as Texas A&M will officially be joining the Southeastern Conference, effective July 1, 2012.

The announcement came on Sunday, less than 24 hours after the No. 8 Aggies blew a 20-3 halftime lead to No. 7 Oklahoma State at Kyle Field, a game that ultimately led to a crushing 29-30 Texas A&M defeat.

But now that the dramatic decision is over and the announcement has been made, what happens when the balloons start to deflate, the media drives their vans out of College Station and the ink dries on the agreement?

Well, to start with, the still-highly-ranked Aggies (they were No. 14 in yesterday’s AP poll)—who looked good in their two opening games against SMU and Idaho but blew a huge opportunity against the Cowboys—have to play out the remainder of their Big 12 schedule as a lame duck with a huge target painted on their back.

Texas A&M can blame whomever they deem blame-able, but as the fleeing party, the remaining members of the shrinking conference will be highly motivated to grant the Aggies a discourteous going-away gift on their way out the door (and let’s keep in mind that while A&M screamed of inequality they were taking in more money than most in the multi-tiered Big 12 scheme).

After next week’s battle with future sister Arkansas in Cowboy Stadium in Arlington, the Aggies will be at Lubbock to face Texas Tech, at home against Baylor, at Iowa State, at home against Mizzou, at Oklahoma, at Kansas State and then at home against Kansas and then Texas.

The final game against each in-state rival (especially against Texas) will no doubt heap more media attention on the notice-hungry Aggies, but then what?

What happens after you play Texas Tech for the last time (a series that began in 1927), you welcome Baylor for a final contest (the two first clashed in 1899) and then you face Texas (the team you claim is your biggest rival, the one your fight song is about, yes, the team you have played since 1894)?

Well, once the cameras have been turned off, the cords have been wound back up and the teams who you have shared a field with for many years have turned away to their own concerns—you’re left living with the situation you created for yourself.

Once the confetti is swept up and the maroon-hued SEC shirts stop selling, you have to go forward and face off with the most dominant conference in collegiate football, a league that has a 25-36-1 advantage over you in football, a set of foes that you have not beaten since 1995.

Yes, Texas A&M has a fine collection of other sports, but we all know that a huge portion of this conversation is about football, and A&M is a football-dominated institution (as are the other big schools from Texas).

How long will the glow from the satisfaction of “showing the big boys in Austin” last and how long will it take for Texas A&M (a team that hasn’t been relevant in the Big 12 from a football perspective in a well over a decade) to be able to compete with any measure of success in the stacked SEC?

You can say you won’t miss the rivalries and the passion and camaraderie of the discussions regarding in-state adversaries at the office, a baby shower, a family reunion or in your own neighborhood, but what are you really sacrificing to “be somebody?”

Texas A&M may not have had all the money, the stroke or prestige they desired, but as a member of the Big 12 and as a history-rich, supremely proud and always loyal program and fanbase, they were a part of something bigger than themselves or any other conference home they might find.

They were Texas A&M University Fighting Aggie Football, and they were a valued rival, a respected foe and a member of the biggest football conference in the greatest state in the union.

What are the Aggies without the state of Texas, and what is the state like now that Texas A&M has turned in their Lone Star credentials due to a perceived sense of inferiority?

You can’t fulfill your glorious gridiron mission (the one you sing about with pride) if you choose to abandon the task rather than fight on.

But, now that the deal is done and the Big 12 logos (and the memory of their Southwest Conference ancestors) are erased from memory in College Station, the banners of old rivals are removed from Kyle Field and the words to the fight song are changed (because you’re not playing Texas again anytime soon) you’re left with an odd, twisted reality.

First you’ve sold away your identity for money, “ah ha value” and perceived power and then on top of that you will have to suffer through an unknown number of years as a team that has underperformed recently but will now have to compete in arguably the most difficult division of the most dominant conference in college football.

The new sheets are on the bed Texas A&M, now you’ve got to lie down and try to live with the decision you’ve made.

It was a choice.

Can you sleep through the night?