My View From the cheap seats

I love college football. You know this.

I love the bands, the tailgates, the smell of charcoal in the fall air. I love traditions that make no sense to outsiders but perfect sense to those of us who refuse to schedule weddings in the fall.

Saturday began my 39th year as a Georgia season-ticket holder.

Thirty-nine years.

I was 5 years old the first time I walked into Sanford Stadium, when college football was still, well, college football. I didn’t understand much about the game. I understood the red and black. I understood that Saturdays were different. And somewhere along the way, I fell hopelessly in love with everything about it.

Which is why it pains me to say this. It isn’t the same game anymore.

Don’t misunderstand me. I’ll be at Sanford Stadium for all seven home games this season. I’ll be there when Oklahoma makes its first-ever trip to Athens, and I can’t wait to see that. I’ll yell. I’ll bark. I’ll stand up when I’m supposed to stand up and complain about the referees when I’m supposed to complain about the referees.

Yet.

There is a part of me that looks at modern college football and wonders what happened to the game I fell in love with.

Let’s start with NIL — Name, Image and Likeness. In principle, I don’t hate it. For decades, college football was a billion-dollar enterprise powered largely by young men who received scholarships, cafeteria food and the occasional commemorative bowl windbreaker while everybody else was making serious money.

So yes, players deserve a piece of the pie. The problem is that the pie is now being delivered by armored truck.

What began as, “Hey, the quarterback can do a local car dealership commercial,” has evolved into something that looks suspiciously like free agency with homework. Recruiting used to involve campus visits, coaches selling a program and promises about playing time.

Now it involves collectives, NIL deals and enough financial maneuvering to make you wonder whether the recruiting director needs an accounting degree.

Then there’s the transfer portal.

The portal was supposed to give players freedom. If a player wasn’t happy, he could find a better situation. Again, reasonable.

Every December and January, rosters get shaken like a Yahtzee cup. A player you watched score a touchdown Saturday may be wearing somebody else’s uniform by spring.

And then there is the increasingly bizarre business of players leaving college, playing pro football, and then coming back to college. I’m sorry, but once you’ve cashed a professional paycheck and put on an NFL uniform, I’m not sure how you suddenly become a college football player again.

At that point, you’ve crossed the bridge. You can’t take the diploma, the paycheck and the professional experience and then walk back through the dormitory door like nothing happened.

And yet, here I am. Thirty-nine years into this thing.

I still get excited when the season approaches. I still get chills walking into Sanford Stadium. I still love the sound of the Redcoats. I still believe there is nothing quite like a Saturday in Athens.

Maybe that’s the part that hasn’t changed.

The game around it has changed. The money has changed. The rosters have changed. The conferences have changed.

But the feeling of being in that stadium hasn’t. Because after 39 years, I’m still in love with college football.

I’m just not sure I recognize it anymore.