The State of The Texas Fan: Three Days After an L in Columbus

Football isn’t played in a vacuum.

Even though fans often want it to be. But at a basic level we understand that it isn’t. Because most fans will admit that playing on the road versus at home matters. We realize that despite scheme, analytics and gambling lines, at the end of the day these are Jimmies and Joes out on the field playing a game, not robots. And they’re not unaffected by crowd noise, pressure, or developmental timelines.

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Still, I fell into an old familiar trap this past weekend with how I wanted the Texas–Ohio State game to play out.

This feeling emerged when Texas was trapped in the dark for years, wandering the desert. I wanted them to reappear in a triumphant, biblical sort of way. A bloodletting, like destroying LSU and Joe Burrow 70–3 at home in such a fashion that it brings the college football world to its collective knees. Or for Steve Sarkisian to ride in on a white horse in 2021 and punish all the scoffers, cleansing the memory of the 2020 football season.

Slowly but surely I learned lessons.

Progress comes from a process. Progress isn’t always linear. And that breaking through the final tier is the hardest.

My old feelings were centered on Arch Manning this past Saturday. In the back of my mind I hoped he’d walk out onto the field and be Vince Young and Joe Montana incarnate, clothed in Icy White. The bodies of the Longhorns’ opponents would tremble and this season would be a reckoning.

However, after Arch skidded his fourth or fifth pass into the grass in Columbus, it was obvious that wasn’t happening. Not on Saturday, at least. I realized I hadn’t considered many season outcomes where Texas didn’t get revenge on Ryan Day and Ohio State. I thought the first part of the season was just destined for 1) Revenge, 2) three cream puffs 3) tough win at the Swamp 4) Red River. I didn’t even know which of the three “cupcakes” (San Jose State) that Texas was playing this coming Saturday and I’m paid to know that.

But back to our quarterback. Arch can have the pedigree of the most decorated show dog, he can have played in big moments for Texas, he can have three years in Sark’s offense. Yet still, Arch Manning isn’t unaffected by his environment. He isn’t immune to the feeling of wanting to throw up your breakfast before a huge game.

I felt like I was always one of the ones banging the drum about Quinn Ewers the character, how people needed to separate their original perception of him (the bleached-blonde, mulleted kid who could throw 80 yards on an Instagram reel) versus who he actually was at Texas: the super game-manager quarterback who missed multiple years of development but still willingly joined a 5–7 program and competed for championships.

I’d do well to remind myself to be patient with Arch Manning. He’s not a finished product.

We remember Vince Young because of his final act. We ignore the fact he was once benched so that Chance Mock could save Texas versus Mike Leach and Texas Tech. By doing so we forget how fulfilling it was to watch his journey to his final form on 4th and 5.

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And as much as I wanted to flatten The Horseshoe under Arch Manning’s fist on Saturday, he wasn’t ready to. The fact he was so juiced up he repeatedly attempted to throw the football like he was Roger Clemens proves that. But Arch Manning started the journey that we fans get to see on Saturday, the one that has him and Sark side by side. My impatience would give anything to know how it will end. But that would deprive me of enjoying how we got there.