Let me tell you a story about a Mizzou freshman.
It’s Halloween evening during my freshman year at Mizzou, and I’m sitting in my Schurz Hall dorm room, completely alone. No plans. No friends. Just me. And I know what you’re thinking: “The aggressive, moody, confused Evangelical kid who accosted people about their beliefs had a hard time making friends as a college freshman?” I know, I know. Tragic.
But it’s true. I was looking for something (anything) to do that lonely autumn night. I wasn’t quite
into horror movies at that point in my life, but I knew I was in the mood for a film. And one popped into my head that I hadn’t seen during the entirety of my childhood: Henry Selick’s The Nightmare Before Christmas. So what do you do in that scenario? You drive to Walmart, buy a BluRay copy, and watch it by yourself as the sun sets and a cacophony of drunken undergrads streams through your dormitory window.
And what do you do when it ends after a tight 76 minute run time? Well, you still don’t have any friends. Or plans. So just start it again, I guess. And that’s how tradition starts. After almost two decades, I still make sure to cue up The Nightmare Before Christmas every Halloween evening.
As humans, it’s good for us to have tradition. Regardless of whether it is social or deeply personal, tradition cultivates a sense of security in an ever-changing world. It provides us with stability, shapes our personal identity and, when you’re watching a movie with a friend, partner, or child, it can develop strong bonds of community. Traditions are important. Everyone should have them.
And in these chaotic days of college football — where players are constantly flexing additional years of eligibility, where the number of teams in the playoff fluctuates by the month, where teenagers are making more money than you or I will ever see to ride the bench – it’s good for us as Mizzou fans to lean back on a tradition that feels as old as time at this point: Beating the pants off of Arkansas.
Questioning the integrity of the Shelter Insurance Battle Line rivalry is old hat at this point. I get it, no one on either side is really all that invested in a rivalry that can’t yet get a learner’s permit. The size of the trophy that Mizzou has brought home 10 of the 12 times is comical. It’s not quite “participation trophy” worthy, but it does sort of remind me of the time my co-workers bought me a cake when my child was born. Thanks, guys, but I didn’t really do anything that impressive.
Instead, the concept of the Mizzou vs. Arkansas blood feud has settled into a comfortable little rhythm that gives us all a sense of security while we worry about the resurgence of Kentucky or whether or not Ahmad Hardy will ever go back to the player he was in 2025. As we start to fret, Arkansas beats up on an FCS opponent. While Mizzou settles into an early season rhythm, the Razorbacks get spanked by some mid-tier SEC opponent. While Mizzou claws its way into the CFP bubble picture, Arkansas starts to get competitive, losing by single digits to some other bubble opponent. Then the two sides meet, Mizzou gives the piggies a hearty slap on the ass, and everyone gets to go home feeling better about the world around them.
Everyone once in a while things will be a bit different, kind of like when you go to a family reunion for Thanksgiving instead of hosting at your place for the 10th straight year. But are traditions all that special if you can’t ever experience the feeling of losing them temporarily? Arkansas will get the better of Mizzou occasionally, but that’s only so we Mizzou fans don’t have to take this fruitful relationship for granted. In a way, I commend Arkansas for that. They choose to not invest in their football program so that we can have that little extra sense of security. That’s pretty special, if you ask me.
So as we roll into autumn, and holiday traditions approach on the calendar, think back to all the ways that your traditions give you a sense of peace in the world. Be grateful for them. Call your grandma and tell her you’re grateful for every Thanksgiving dinner and Christmas cookie. And spare a thought for all of those Arkansas football players who selflessly give of themselves each fall when they play Mizzou. Because of their sacrifice, we get to sleep a little easier at night. At least until the next Saturday rolls around and we actually have to worry about winning again.
For lightly punting the Hogs to the side, as they do every year, Mizzou gets 5 of 5 pumpkin door knockers. Kind of spooky, kind of silly. As a good tradition should be.
