Death of a Rivalry?

Somehow this blog has become a place for notes on sports.

The issue of the week is, of course, the Rivalry. Those peddlers of pointless speculation known as sports writers and their attendant fan comment sections are engaging in the usual hand-wringing--the Rivalry is too hateful, people need to calm down, bring back civility, etc. In an of itself, this has a familiar flavor, and having attended games at both stadiums, I can somewhat agree. I was never subject to projectiles or assaults, but a fair number of taunts, jeers, and gestures have come my way. On the other hand, last year all the people trying to go out of their way to be friendly was a little bizarre.

Ironically, at the same time the new fad of this year's competition is the mantra of "the Rivalry is dying." They list several reasons for this: "We're not in the same conference, no championship is on the line; it just isn't the same in the third week; there are no national rankings or bowl projections riding on this; nobody cares." Local news did a spot interviewing random mall goers who seemed specially selected for a fine mix of ignorance, apathy, and scruffiness (seriously, some people should not grow facial hair). Even coaches and players are being guarded about that they think, but generally indicate the separation is "strange". Soon we'll have street-side mourners rending their clothes and wailing, proclaiming the Doom of the Rivalry, and then going back home and writing articles to that effect in the Herald and the Tribune.

And we haven't even played the game yet.

I think we're a little too early in the process to start the funeral pyre for the Red vs Blue. The good squire may have taken the arrow bearing the message of independence and conference affiliation in the gut ("Message for you, sir"), but I think we should take care not to jump to soon to assault the castle and take vengeance in his name.

For me, it was never about the national ranking, or the conference title. It was the compounded memory of wins an losses, 4 and 18s and blocked field goals, hard hits and penalty after penalty, for calls that send one crowd howling in outrage and the other in glee. It was the game itself. The day. The last play.

So don't tell me the Rivalry is dying. I'm tired of hearing "it just won't be the same". Those kinds of things are determined on the field, in the stadium, in the crowd. Then, with game over flashing in our eyes, if you feel so inclined, bring in the coroner and the M.E.s, give in to your urge to head-wag and hand-wring. But don't be too surprised when the dust has cleared that though wounded, Concorde stands up and says "I'm not quite dead, sir."