Nothing to Lose: an Afternoon with Oberlin Football

by Lily Nobel

Illustration by Rishi

We were experiencing a brief reprise of summer. We were loudly dreaming of a brief reprieve from the torrent of loss. The Oberlin football team, our noble Yeomen, were down 0-38 near the end of the fourth quarter, but standing at the Goal line. I wouldn’t say everyone there was happy, but, y’know, we were there, it was good.

I came in at halftime, and we were down 0-17. I invented ways the Wooster guys could make fun of our guys: nonbinary Yeobie, other artifacts of Oberlin’s ultra-wokeness. Plus I’d just learned the football field’s full name was Dick Bailey Field, and at the time that felt really unfortunate. When the third quarter started, the main way someone could make fun of the Oberlin team became clear, which is that we’re really bad. The Wooster Fighting Scots (God, at least their mascot is dumb too) scored three unanswered touchdowns in the third quarter alone. 

There were probably more people in the Wooster stands than the Oberlin stands, but there were Oberlin people in the Oberlin stands, some of them decked out head to toe in Oberlin athletics gear. One woman had these really great crimson and gold football leggings. All the camp chairs people were sitting in were red. Maybe that’s the only color they make those chairs in, or maybe it’s Obie patriotic. 

I recognized a two people in the stands: Councilwoman Eboni Johnson, who is also a reference librarian at the Science Library, and the girl who helped me out at the bike co-op a couple weeks ago huge shout out to you, sorry I can’t remember your name, who was doing something involving a camera and microphone for student sports media. 

The announcer had a fantastic voice. A real football announcer voice. He redistributed the enthusiasm — a first down for Oberlin got the same emphasis as a touchdown for Wooster. For one very normal catch, he called: “A razzle-dazzle play for Oberlin!”

The game was played out in fits and starts, like all football is. It was often unclear what was going on out on the field, but we were definitely losing. The Oberlin crowd’s response for a minor penalty called against Wooster was over-emotive, a little cruel. And it was eighty fucking degrees. Those metal bleachers were terrible. 

My dad is really into the fact that Oberlin is the last Ohio school to beat Ohio State. The specifics: this was in 1921. This was after, in 1916, the Buckeyes beat the Yeomen 128-0. And maybe the best part — the final score of Oberlin’s winning game was 7-6. 

I met Jacob Day (#21)’s kind-of aunt and uncle. They said Day came here from Belgium to play for the team. They live a few hours away, but try to make the drive whenever they can. They were looking for a good place to eat in town. They were here for that magical last game of last year’s season, where Oberlin finally won. On campus the day after that game, everyone was rapt with the minor miracle, especially the non-believers.

I met Lance Sloan (#33)’s parents, who say they haven’t missed a game since Sloan started playing for the Yeomen last year. Their journey is six hours each way. They said they couldn’t be happier or more proud of Sloan’s decision to play for Oberlin. They said they came to the games because they liked the environment, and because Oberlin feels like a second home. 

We lost, lost, lost. The game wandered through the afternoon and the afternoon wandered through us. 

And it was a pretty good time. I wouldn’t say the crowd was riveted, but they definitely weren’t bored. I wasn’t bored. The announcer did not have to beg the crowd — the crowd cared. They were loud-ish, loud in proportion to their size, in proportion to the amount of things there were to be loud about. A woman cried: “You gotta want it, boys, you gotta want it!” A little kid in an Oberlin shirt rubbed a purple lollipop on her knee. An older man and woman in identical sunglasses near me grumbled about the ref in low voices meant just for each other. 

I think, because of this, an Oberlin football game is as good of a football game as any. Hell, I think D1 sports — not to mention the fucking NFL, and the ever-expanding pro-football sports-betting enterprise — have way overdone it. They somehow made football a big deal. Which made it less good. Watch a professional football game and step back from your loyalty, your history, the masculine glamor, the money. Strip back the context, watch football, and ask — is this supposed to feel like this? 

Then go to an Oberlin football game and realize, definitely not. 

How did going to an Oberlin football game make me feel? It made me want to drink a Coke and take a cold shower. It made me want fall to come on fully, for time to keep moving, since it’s felt like a bit of a whirlpool lately. More than anything, it made me want to go to another Oberlin football game. It made me want to see Oberlin win.

There’s a few more left in the season. You aren’t doing anything more important with your evening by chain-smoking and reading Baudrillard in Tappan than if you went to an Oberlin football game. 

So we were 1st down on the Goal line. And then we were 2nd down on Goal. Then 3rd. Then we were fourth. The crowd was not going wild, not making a huge amount of noise, because it was a small crowd, and we were all a little tired. But were thinking, this feels possible. Like you do at every stupid, good precipice. 

What would’ve been the touchdown pass was incomplete. The ball turned over to Wooster and they let the clock run out, celebrating. We didn’t put a single point on the board the whole game. But that doesn’t say anything about the future.