Son, let me tell you something about being a Hokie. You don’t just play football here—you go to war. And those wars? They were called rivalries.
I still remember my first Commonwealth Clash like it was yesterday. Virginia Tech vs. UVA. You could feel the tension in the air days before kickoff. It wasn’t just a game—it was a state divided. And when you stepped on that field, you weren’t just representing Blacksburg—you were carrying every Hokie heart on your shoulders. I lined up across from Tiki Barber—yeah, that Tiki Barber. He was fast, smart, and tough. But we weren’t backing down. We weren’t built to bend. For 15 straight years after that, we didn’t just win—we ruled Virginia.
But our hunger didn’t stop there. When it came to the Black Diamond Trophy, it was personal. West Virginia brought heat every time, and we met them at the line with fists of fire. Those border brawls were the stuff of legend—coal dust in your lungs, mud on your jersey, and a trophy that meant bragging rights from the hollers to the hills. Every game against the Mountaineers was a fight to the finish.
Then came the battles with Miami. When we joined the ACC, they were the ones everyone feared. But we didn’t play scared—we played Hokie football. Hard-hitting, fast-paced, no apologies. The rivalry with Miami made us tougher. I still hear the roar from Lane Stadium when we blocked that kick, swung momentum, and never looked back. That was Beamerball at its finest.
North Carolina, Georgia Tech, Duke—they all brought challenges too. We faced them with the same fire. But those true rivalries? They carved a permanent place in your soul. Every year, you remembered the pain of a loss or the pride of a win—and you carried it into battle. That’s what made it different. That’s what made it matter.
But rivalries weren’t just about us players. They belonged to the people. The fans, the families, the alumni. I remember seeing little boys with painted faces, grandmas wrapped in Hokie blankets, and fathers standing tall with pride in their eyes. Every rivalry game was a tradition, a celebration, and a showdown all rolled into one.
Even now, years later, I feel it in my chest when I see the maroon and orange. I hear the crowd in my dreams. I watch the highlights with my kids and tell them, “That was your dad, fighting for every inch.” Some rivalries fade with time—but not ours. Not Virginia Tech’s.
So yeah, college football’s changing—new conferences, new schedules. But you can’t replace the blood, sweat, and memory poured into those rivalry games. You can’t erase the echoes of Lane Stadium or the roar when we beat UVA—again.
When people ask me what it meant to be a Hokie, I tell them this: it meant going to battle every Saturday, for your brothers, your school, and your state. It meant looking a legend like Tiki Barber in the eye—and believing, deep down, that he wasn’t going to beat you that day.
