Reading about Oklahoma State bringing in fifty portal transfers under a new coach just makes me sick to my stomach. Fifty. That’s not building a team, that’s assembling a fantasy roster on a video game. There’s no soul in that. There’s no grit. How do you develop any toughness when half the locker room has been there for three months and is already eyeing the next paycheck? It’s a mercenary camp, not a football program.
I think about our Cobber teams from the late 80s, the ones that would go toe-to-toe with Saint John’s in a blizzard. You knew the guy next to you had been in the trenches with you for three yeears, through two-a-days in August heat and losses that stung for months. That forged a bond, a collective will that you simply cannot buy or transfer in. You earned your stripes through sweat and time, not by entering your name in a database.
This is what they’ve traded for “talent.” They’ve traded heart. They’ve traded the very essence of what makes a team tough. When the fourth quarter gets long and your body is screaming, you don’t fight for a logo or a check. You fight for the brother you bled with for years. That concept is as dead as the old MIAC rivalries they ruined. Now it’s just a revolving door of hired hands, and they wonder why the game feels hollow.
They talk about building a team with “juice” and all these portal transfers, but nobody wants to run the football anymore. The triple option was a thing of beauty, a system that demanded discipline and toughness for four quarters. I watched our Cobbers teams in the late 80s grind teams into dust with it, controlling the clock and the game. Now it’s all about these five-star quarterbacks slinging it fifty times a game, and if it doesn’t work, you just hit the portal for a new one. That Kentucky coach on Finebaum talking about building a team full of juice, what does that even mean? It means nothing. It’s empty talk. Give me a fullback who can get three yards on 4th and 1 every single time. That’s football. The option taught accountability, it taught execution. You can’t portal in that kind of chemistry. It’s a lost art, and the sport is poorer for it.
The walk-on culture is dead and buried, and it’s the single greatest loss for programs like ours. I remember the 1998 team had three starters who walked on, guys who worked in the cafeteria and then came to practice and out-hit everyone. They built the soul of a team. Now you see Oklahoma State bringing in 50 transfers, or Colorado with 43 new faces. That’s not building a team, that’s assembling a fantasy roster with no heart. It’s a mercenary camp. The walk-on was the lifeblood, the kid from Fargo or Fergus Falls who showed up because he loved the Cobbers, not because he was offered a bag. He earned his letter jacket through blood and sweat, not a signature on a portal entry form. That grit defined us. It defined the MIAC. You knew the guy across from you had the same story. Now? It’s a transactionl free-for-all where loyalty is a punchline. The new coaches talk about “building through the portal” like it’s some revolutionary concept. Jim Christopherson built champions with men who grew up in the program, who waited their turn and fought for every inch. That process forged character you can’t buy. The walk-on was the ultimate proof that the team was bigger than the individual. Now the individual is all that matters, shopping for the best NIL deal. The sport has lost its backbone, and they’re celebrating it as progress. It’s a damn shame.
They’re already talking about the 2026 NFL Draft and which SEC kid is a first-rounder. It’s April. The whole year is just a factory now. I remember when a bowl game was the reward, the final chapter for a senior class. Now it’s just a pit stop on the way to declaring or entering the portal. The Las Vegas Bowl, the Holiday Bowl, the Sun Bowl… they used to mean something. You played for your brothers and for that trip. It wasn’t an audition.
We had guys at Concordia who would have given anything to play in one more game, to put on the maroon and gold one last time with the guys they came in with. That 1998 team that went 9-2, they would have cherished a bowl bid. Now these kids at the big schools opt out of New Year’s Six games because they’re worried about their draft stock. What happened to finishing what you started? What happened to pride in the program?
The tradition is gone. It’s a transactional league now. They’ll watch Jermod McCoy or KC Concepcion get drafted and forget they ever played a down for their school. The bowl season used to be a celebration of the year. Now it’s a meaningless exhibition for teams that are just collections of rented players. They’ve stripped all the soul out of it.
This CBS Sports article about best and worst case scenarios for the top 25 is a perfect snapshot of everything wrong with the sport. They're analyzing teams that won't even be in the same conference in two years. The entire concept of a "program" is dead. It's just a temporary collection of mercenaries playing for a branded helmet before they all scatter to the wind again. I remember when the MIAC schedule was a sacred calendar, when you knew you'd face St. John's on that first Saturday in October every single year for decades. Now, rivalries are just business transactions waiting to be voided. They talk about Oregon's ceiling with their new quarterback, but what's the ceiling for a sport that has sold its soul? The Cobbers built something you could believe in, something that lasted. These super conferences are building nothing but revenue streams, and the fans who remember real college football are just left with the memories.
They talk about these new coaches building through the portal like it's genius. Jim Christopherson built champions with four-year players who bled maroon and gold, not a revolving door of mercenaries.
They talk about Oregon's quarterback competition like it's high drama. I remember when a rivalry meant something more than which five-star you bought. The old MIAC battles with St. John's, that was real football. You knew every guy on the other sideline because they were there for four years, not four months. Now it's just a mercenary league with no soul.