Reading about all these quarterback projectiosn and portal competitions just makes me shake my head. They’re talking about Fernando Mendoza and Ty Simpson and their NFL ceilings, and it just reminds me of what we’ve lost. Not the players, but the stories. You used to know a quarterback’s entire journey. You watched him grow from a shaky freshman in a game against Missouri S&T to a leader who could command a two-minute drill against Southeast Missouri State. Now, you blink and the face under center is a rental from some Power Four school who couldn’t win the job there. There’s no narrative anymore, just transactions.
This whole era, with Oklahoma State bringing in fifty transfers and Colorado assembling a forty-three man mercenary class, it’s the exact opposite of what a rivalry is built on. I remember the buildup to the game against Quincy. You’d see the same kids on the other sideline for three, four years. You hated number 75 because he’d held your defensive end on a crucial third down the year before, and you knew he’d try it again. You respected their quarterback because he’d taken that hellacious hit from our safety in ‘98 and got up and threw a touchdown on the next play. That was a rivalry. It was personal, and it was built over time.
Now? The portal has turned every offseason into a free-agent frenzy. How are you supposed to cultivate contempt for a logo when the entire roster behind it changes every winter? They talk about the NC State game this fall like it means something. It doesn’t. It’s a scheduled opponent, a line item. A real rivalry isn’t manufactured by a television contract. It’s born in bus rides to Kirksville in November, fighting for a conference title that meant you got to host a playoff game. It was knowing that the guy across from you had been grinding in the same weight room all summer, for the same stakes, and only one of you was walking off that field with the Miner’s Cup or whatever trophy they’d carved out of wood fifty years prior.
They’ve gutted the soul of the sport with this constant churn. A kid plays one season, hits the portal for a better NIL deal, and you’re supposed to care that he’s gone? The loyalty is gone. We used to build men, not brands. The game was better when you had to earn your snaps, not buy them on the open market. Watching these spring competitions where half the roster are new transfers, it feels sterile. It’s not our team anymore. It’s just a collection of jerseys for a year. And you can’t build a legacy, or a real hatred for your opponent, on a one-year lease.