What We Gave for the Game: A Love Letter to College Football
That spirit once pulsed through every locker room, echoed through fall Saturdays, and stitched itself into the very fabric of college football. It was never just a game — it was a way of life. A brotherhood. A bond forged in early morning practices, in bloodied knuckles and grass-stained jerseys, in sold-out stadiums and half-empty film rooms. It was a place where young men gave everything for something bigger than themselves.
And they gave it all for free.
There were decades when athletes sweated, sacrificed, and gave the best years of their lives to a sport — and a school — that gave them no paycheck in return. They suited up out of pride. Out of honor. Because that name on the front of the jersey meant something. Because the game gave them purpose, and in return, they gave it their heart.
That doesn’t mean the system was fair. Far from it. Players should be paid — and today, they are finally beginning to receive a share of the value they’ve long created. That seat at the table? They earned it with every hit they absorbed, every class they balanced, every ounce of themselves they left on that field. It was overdue.
But somewhere along the way, the pendulum swung too far.
What used to be passion is now transaction. What was once loyalty is now leverage. “We” became “me.” The game that used to demand sacrifice has been overtaken by negotiation. And in that shift — understandable as it may be — something beautiful is being lost.
It used to be about the walk-ons who gave four years to wear the uniform one time. About the local kid who stayed home to make his city proud. About the late-night film study. The quiet leaders. The guys who went pro in something other than sports. It was about team, grit, and belief — in yourself and in each other.
You didn’t play for money. You played for the guy next to you. For your coaches. Your family. Your fans. You played for the alma mater that took a chance on you, for the town that raised you, and the stadium that made you feel like anything was possible. It was community without condition. Pride without price. Heart without hesitation.
Today, we see headlines — players entering the portal mid-season, choosing schools based on NIL offers, signing deals worth hundreds of thousands before they’ve taken a collegiate snap. And while the athletes are not to blame — they’re just navigating the system built for them — we’d be lying if we said something hasn’t changed.
Take Nico, for example. A talented quarterback with a future brighter than Neyland Stadium on a Saturday night. He’s doing what anyone would do in his position — trying to make the best of a confusing, competitive landscape. But behind him stands a line of agents and middlemen, people who see potential not in yards or leadership, but in dollar signs. Some will walk away with more from his journey than he ever will.
And that’s the tragedy. Not the player. Not the paycheck. But the purpose that’s being rewritten — from love of the game to love of the gain.
It’s not nostalgia that drives this — it’s reverence. College football has always been about more than talent. It’s been about tradition. The generations who stood before, the ones who will come next. The rivalries that divide states and unite families. The band, the pageantry, the pride. The first time you run through the T. The last time you walk off the field, knowing you left it all there.
For the University of Tennessee, for the Vols, it’s about that Power T. It’s about orange Saturdays, Rocky Top ringing across the hills, and fans who wear their hearts on their sleeves — win or lose. It’s about showing up. Staying loyal. Carrying the weight of history on your shoulders and daring to add to it.
And that’s what’s slipping away. Not entirely. Not everywhere. But slowly, like a jersey fading in the wash after too many seasons. You can still feel the fire — but it flickers now, caught between legacy and leverage.
College football was never supposed to be perfect. But it was supposed to be pure.
A place where effort outweighed ego. Where every freshman walked into the locker room understanding that greatness wasn’t given, it was earned. Where seniors left a legacy that wasn’t measured in cash, but in character. Where fans didn’t cheer because of who was paid — but because of who played.
Yes, times change. Progress is necessary. And athletes deserve to be empowered.
But let us not forget what built this game. The grind in the shadows. The sacrifice without spotlight. The love — the real love — for your school, your brothers, your team.
Let us not forget the walk-ons, the glue guys, the lifers. The ones who bled for this game without a guarantee. The coaches who mentored more than they recruited. The fans who painted their faces and their homes, who drove 10 hours for a 3-hour game, who cried with joy and cried with heartbreak — and came back the next week anyway.
Let us not forget the moms in the stands with buttons bearing their son’s face. The dads holding back tears during Senior Day. The teammates who never gave up on each other. The little kids who saw someone in that uniform and said, “That’ll be me one day.”
Let us not forget the love.
Because if college football loses that — if it becomes just another business, another transaction, another marketplace — then we’ve lost something more than a game. We’ve lost one of the last great American traditions that still felt like it was ours.
So to every player who still plays with heart — thank you. To every fan who still stands through every fourth quarter — thank you. To every coach who still believes in the power of team — thank you.
And to the game itself — we’re still here. Still loyal. Still proud.
Still hoping we find our way back.
