Ah, football season. That magical time of year when the air gets crisper, the leaves start to turn, and suddenly everyone you know morphs into a fanatic and starts speaking fluent “gridiron.” It’s also the special 1/3 of the year when some of us pretend to care about a sport that consumes conversation and our near-daily entertainment options.
Every fall, the nation divides into two groups: those who genuinely love football and those who have learned just enough to fake it. This year the latter group can be spotted discussing the useless new onside kick rules, which they read about on Facebook because they wouldn’t be caught dead watching ESPN. You might even catch them hosting game day parties, where the only thing they really care about is Insta-worthy snacks.
For regular readers, Poppy’s mockery may seem wildly displaced given she was an NFL cheerleader for five years. Yes, it was super fun, but perhaps nothing causes greater football burnout than spending 30 hours a week — all 12 months — outside a full-time job, performing for the NFL, without a bloated NFL salary. For me, football was always about family time anyway and mine all live in other states now, so being a fan means little more than three hours I don’t have to think about politics.
But time marches on and game days in America remain national holidays, with hosts of rituals. And let’s be honest — it’s not just me who’s in it for the food and camaraderie. For many, the game is just the backdrop for true passions: wings, beer, and that one friend who always brings cake balls.
Of course, living in Texas ups the ante and we have to pretend even harder. Here, it’s not just a seasonal hobby — it’s a survival skill in a culture where football is king. It starts as early as high school, where football is a whole different ball game, literally, because the entire town turns out as if it were the Super Bowl. There are marching bands, cheerleaders, and fans who know the stats of every player whether they are related or not (and a lot of times they are). Even if you don’t have a kid on the field, you show up in your school colors and talk about the game-winning touchdown as if it’s the most important event of the week. Because in Texas, it kind of is.
Then there’s college football, where the tailgate is as much a competition as the game itself. If you’re not grilling, drinking, or passionately ranting about the need to Hook or Gig someone, you might as well be from California. It’s a high-pressure environment where you’re expected to know your team’s history, players, and every bad call in recent memory. For non-die-hards, it means cramming football trivia like we’re studying for finals, because not knowing the difference between the Big 12 and SEC could mean social exile.
Cowboys or Texans? Even if you’re not a huge football fan, you’re expected to pick a side. Are you still bemoaning the good old days of the Aikman-Smith-Irvin “triplets,” or are you rooting for the Texans to return to the near-glory of the 2010s and hoping for a breakout season? Either way, declaring your allegiance is a must if you want to survive the water cooler at work or trash talk over brisket.
So, you can’t just nod along; you must engage. You need to know things like which schools are scouting the local quarterbacks, and that Aggies vs. Longhorns is a certainty because they are back in the same conference. And, for we who aren’t naturally inclined towards football, this means putting in extra effort. You might even find yourself searching for highlight reels on YouTube so you can hold your own in conversation.
The truth is that football in Texas is as much about community as the sport itself. It’s a charcoal-scented bond that binds neighborhoods, families, and friends. Whether under the bright lights of a high school stadium or sitting in a noisy bar on a Sunday afternoon, football is the common thread. So, even if you’re faking it, you’re doing it for the sake of fellowship — and that’s as Texan as it gets.
So here’s to football season in the Lone Star State, where the stakes are high, the games are intense, and the pressure to be excited — or at least convincingly pretend to — reaches a fever pitch. Whether you’re in it for the love of the game or just along for the ride, there’s no escaping football’s reign. And honestly, would Texans want it any other way?