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College football is like your wild cousin who shows up to family reunions in a neon jumpsuit and starts breakdancing—confusing, chaotic, but undeniably entertaining. It’s the sport where grown adults willingly chant for a nut (looking at you, Buckeyes) and paint their faces to root for a bird that’s not even anatomically correct (what even is a Jayhawk?). But as we settle into this season, it’s clear that college football is in a weird place—and that’s saying something for a sport that’s always been proudly bonkers.
If you thought conferences were about geography, bless your heart. The Pac-12 now includes teams in New Jersey, the Big Ten has 18 teams, and the Big 12… well, they’re doing math differently, too. It’s like the sport collectively forgot what maps are and instead decided, “Let’s just grab the biggest brands and hope no one notices Boise State crying in the corner.”
This realignment is like watching a bad rom-com: everyone’s switching partners, nobody knows who’s happy, and you’re just here for the drama. The only constant? That Notre Dame is still playing hard to get with conference membership. Classic.
For decades, college football players were paid in Gatorade and vague promises of “networking opportunities.” Now? NIL (Name, Image, Likeness) has changed the game. Players are signing endorsement deals for everything from local car dealerships to national brands. Some quarterbacks are raking in more cash than their coaches, which is objectively hilarious when you remember these same coaches spent years lecturing about “the sanctity of amateurism.”
The best part? The small-town sponsorships. Nothing says “I’ve made it,” like being the face of Big Al’s Used Tractor Emporium.
The college football playoff is expanding! Only four fanbases will no longer get to argue about whether their team deserved a spot—now, only 12 can join the chaos! Of course, this means more games, more TV revenue, and more arguments about whether Alabama should’ve gotten that 13th seed over everyone else.
But let’s be honest: this gives us more chances to watch teams like Georgia bulldoze some Cinderella story while we collectively yell, “It’s the thought that counts!”
Amid all the change, the rivalries remain sacred. Michigan-Ohio State, Auburn-Alabama, and Texas-Oklahoma have fewer football games and more national holidays. These matchups are where legends are made, friendships are tested, and sometimes, couches are burned. (We’re looking at you, West Virginia.)
The pettiness of college football fans is unmatched. They’ll spend an entire week building a trophy out of trash to roast their rival on Twitter. And we love them for it.
Looking ahead, college football’s trajectory feels like a fever dream. Will we end up with two super-conferences playing a 74-week season? Will the NCAA get replaced by an AI algorithm? Who knows? We know that college football will remain a beautiful, chaotic mess where Appalachian State can ruin Michigan’s day, and everyone outside the SEC can agree on one thing: they hate the SEC. So here’s to college football—an American tradition of madness, passion, and a lot questionable mascots. May the chaos never end.