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Rivalry changes perception of homecoming
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When I first took over as sports editor of the Observer, we were in the midst of homecoming fever. Each week, it seemed like at least two of our schools were hosting their homecoming dances and homecoming games.
And as your faithful sports editor, it was my job to make sure all of the homecoming coverage got its proper place in our fair paper. That meant securing photos, getting the names of the people in the homecoming courts and putting it all together in a neat little package.
I didn’t mind the extra work - it’s not like I was being told to solve the global warming crisis or anything like that - but I was a bit puzzled by the whole thing.
Homecomings never made much sense to me. Maybe it’s just that I’m not one for pageantry. Maybe I played far too many homecoming games in my high school band. Our football teams were terrible, and opposing schools always made sure to schedule us on their homecoming games to ensure an easy win.
I don’t know what it was, but for some reason I never was a big fan of homecomings. I didn’t understand why our paper gave so much coverage to them or, better yet, why people cared so much about them.
After last Saturday, though, I think I may be coming around.
Last Saturday, Rice University, my alma mater, played its final game of the regular season against the University of Houston at Rice Stadium. It wasn’t a homecoming game, but UH-Rice is the most underrated rivalry in the state of Texas. We call them Cougar High. They call us a bunch of nerds.
Sure, it doesn’t get the exposure of Texas-Texas A&M, but it’s still an exciting game no matter what the team’s records are.
Usually, when the Owls and the Cougars go at it, there is nothing more on the line than the Bayou Bucket, a trophy that looks just like its name suggests. But this year things were different. Rice was on pace for its first nine-win season since the Eisenhower administration, and UH was fighting for a spot in the Conference USA title game.
My busy schedule had prevented me from following the Owls’ remarkable season up to that point, but nothing was going to keep me from watching that game, not against our hated rivals, not with so much on the line.
And you know what? I couldn’t be happier for going.
It wasn’t just that the Owls put on an offensive show in defeating the Cougars 56-42 that made me happy. It wasn’t just the excitement in standing with 35,000 other fans in the bitter cold to watch the game. No, my happiness went far beyond that.
What got me was the sheer joy I felt being around fellow Rice alums, talking to perfect strangers about the Owls’ passing game and high-fiving those same strangers after a big play. To walk around Rice Stadium and see a fair share of people decked out in blue and gray, to see the student section full despite the Thanksgiving holiday was a sight to behold.
The entire gameday experience underscored a larger point. For three-and-a-half hours, I felt a connection to something that big, a connection that brings people together from different generations and different walks of life, people who share nothing more than their time at and love for an institution. And that was incredible.
Perhaps that’s why people love homecomings so much. For people who still feel attached to their high schools, they are a time to get together and reconnect, a time to celebrate with hundreds of other people who share that same attachment.
I get it now.
And as your faithful sports editor, it was my job to make sure all of the homecoming coverage got its proper place in our fair paper. That meant securing photos, getting the names of the people in the homecoming courts and putting it all together in a neat little package.
I didn’t mind the extra work - it’s not like I was being told to solve the global warming crisis or anything like that - but I was a bit puzzled by the whole thing.
Homecomings never made much sense to me. Maybe it’s just that I’m not one for pageantry. Maybe I played far too many homecoming games in my high school band. Our football teams were terrible, and opposing schools always made sure to schedule us on their homecoming games to ensure an easy win.
I don’t know what it was, but for some reason I never was a big fan of homecomings. I didn’t understand why our paper gave so much coverage to them or, better yet, why people cared so much about them.
After last Saturday, though, I think I may be coming around.
Last Saturday, Rice University, my alma mater, played its final game of the regular season against the University of Houston at Rice Stadium. It wasn’t a homecoming game, but UH-Rice is the most underrated rivalry in the state of Texas. We call them Cougar High. They call us a bunch of nerds.
Sure, it doesn’t get the exposure of Texas-Texas A&M, but it’s still an exciting game no matter what the team’s records are.
Usually, when the Owls and the Cougars go at it, there is nothing more on the line than the Bayou Bucket, a trophy that looks just like its name suggests. But this year things were different. Rice was on pace for its first nine-win season since the Eisenhower administration, and UH was fighting for a spot in the Conference USA title game.
My busy schedule had prevented me from following the Owls’ remarkable season up to that point, but nothing was going to keep me from watching that game, not against our hated rivals, not with so much on the line.
And you know what? I couldn’t be happier for going.
It wasn’t just that the Owls put on an offensive show in defeating the Cougars 56-42 that made me happy. It wasn’t just the excitement in standing with 35,000 other fans in the bitter cold to watch the game. No, my happiness went far beyond that.
What got me was the sheer joy I felt being around fellow Rice alums, talking to perfect strangers about the Owls’ passing game and high-fiving those same strangers after a big play. To walk around Rice Stadium and see a fair share of people decked out in blue and gray, to see the student section full despite the Thanksgiving holiday was a sight to behold.
The entire gameday experience underscored a larger point. For three-and-a-half hours, I felt a connection to something that big, a connection that brings people together from different generations and different walks of life, people who share nothing more than their time at and love for an institution. And that was incredible.
Perhaps that’s why people love homecomings so much. For people who still feel attached to their high schools, they are a time to get together and reconnect, a time to celebrate with hundreds of other people who share that same attachment.
I get it now.
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