TWILIGHT ZONE
Columnist Berry Tramel reflects on the OU-Texas game during time of pandemic
The burnt orange migration began late in the game.
We've seen it before.
In certain years on the second Saturday of October, an exodus begins on the north end of the Cotton Bowl. Texas fans, weary of a whipping by the Sooners, leave their seats and head for the sanctuary of the State Fair Midway or their Lincoln Navigators.
But this was different. As the 2020 OU-Texas game reached the second overtime and moved to the south end of the ancient coliseum, Longhorn fans left their seats and drifted south, seeking a better view. Some even crossed the 38th parallel, the 50-yard line seats that for three quarters of a century have separated crimson from burnt orange.
On a day of sobering reminders of the pandemic's effect on sport, this was the most stunning. Fans walking freely through the empty seats to get a better view in a stadium that normally would be packed and pounding.
The Sooners' 53-45 victory in four overtimes was historic for its length and notable for its drama. But for the 24,000 or so in attendance, the game was memorable for its setting.
A quarter of the usual number of fans in the stadium. None of the usual tens of thousands of fans milling outside the Cotton Bowl. No marching bands. No pep bands.
No State Fair. No traffic. No ticket scalpers. No electricity. No anticipation. No apprehension. Just a resignation that one more grand thing, maybe the grandest thing we know in sports, had been reduced to a shell of its grandeur.
No masses waiting for the team buses that came in unimpeded, led by police escort that was not the least bit needed.
No media hordes, with radio-station trailers broadcasting shows or television live shots.
The pressbox, usually a beehive of dignitaries and old friends, had all the
buzz of a dying mall.
You kept waiting for the whole scene to freeze, with the voice of Rod Serling.
We indeed were “traveling through another dimension, not only of sight and sound but of mind, the middle middle ground between light and shadow, the pit of man's fears and the summit of his knowledge.”
That was how it felt. It looked like an OU-Texas game. Some of the trappings were there. Bevo stood beyond the north end zone doing nothing. The Sooner Schooner stood beyond the south end zone, but without the ponies. The horses made a post-game appearance and took the wagon for a ride, only after the entire field had been cleared.
The State Fair of Texas opened a few concessions outside the stadium, including three Fletcher's Corny Dog stands, which drew huge lines. Some things never change.
But the mood was subdued. Jollity was in short supply.
“It's sad,” an OU fan said to no one in particular.
Lincoln Riley admitted it was different.
“Almost eerie,” Riley said. “It was almost like driving into a ghost town. It was very strange.
“I say strange in that it's just different. Everything is just different right now. Those of us who have been in it, we're so used to it being so epic.”
During the pandemic, we've found solace in the reopening of churches and schools and ballgames. But some of those returns brought various degrees of disillusionment. Nothing seems the same with less than half the people in a sanctuary or a classroom or a stadium.
Television offered respite on sports. The NBA games in the Orlando bubble eventually seemed like televised games in Chesapeake Arena. The NFL games are as entertaining as ever.
If you watched from your barcalounger, OU-Texas 2020 might have seemed as tense and crazy as those tight fits from 2018 and 2017 and, well, we could go on forever.
And to the Sooners, the thrill of victory made up for the voids.
Redshirt freshman cornerback Woodi Washington called the atmosphere “electric.” Quarterback Spencer Rattler said it was loud; “the fans are into it, trust me. It was a good time out there.”
And Riley said that “at the end, it felt like there was 90,000 people in there. Despite all the stuff against the game and people not being in here and all that, the game still found a way to be pretty special.”
Special, yes. Anything close to normal, no.
When you walk through a deserted fairgrounds, and you have room to roam through empty sections of Cotton Bowl seats as the ancient rivals play multiple overtimes, you're reminded again of the power of the pandemic.