Make a play in Red River: Be Legendary

Derrick Johnson said something so candid and powerful it sounded like it came straight out of the Roman Colosseum or a scene from Gladiator, rather than from a locker room.

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“I always tell younger Longhorns this: when you make a play at the Texas-OU game, that’s something that people will remember forever. They’ll remember that play you made in the Texas-OU. If you want to be legendary, make a play.”

So much of sports is wrapped up in platitudes that often give little insight into the actual wants and desires of the players and coaches playing an evolved version of a children’s game. Writers and fans like me try to assign roles, making them heroes or villains, characters in a story.

But most of the time, that’s not the case. Players and coaches are simply thinking about the next game or the next snap, often dismissing the larger narratives that fans obsess over. Nick Saban and Bill Belichick built dynasties by focusing on “doing your job” rather than on lofty goals or aspirations. Then there’s the Red River Rivalry. One of the great things about Red River is how it peels back the layers of clichés, revealing the consuming desperation, the maniacal desire to win, to hold the Golden Hat, and to be legendary.

And it’s true: those who make a play are immortal in Longhorn lore. Even if that play might seem routine in another game, Texas-OU isn’t a regular game. I never saw Peter Gardere play, yet I know so much about him because of 4-0. From what I’ve witnessed, I can picture Billy Pittman’s long touchdown catch, Quan Cosby’s crushing block on Lendy Holmes, Aaron Williams‘ sack of Sam Bradford, Chris Whaley rumbling for a big man touchdown, Malik Jefferson driving Baker Mayfield to the turf, and the entire offensive line pushing Lil’Jordan Humphrey down the field for a first down.

How fans can view players’ legacies are altered because of Red River. Because of Red River, the Texas fan doesn’t think of Case McCoy as a player who was not his brother, but they picture him dropping dimes to Mike Davis, and that’s just for this rivalry! Some of these moments are routine plays which don’t stand out in most games, but this isn’t most games and the images inside the Cotton Bowl are seared into my brain.

I talked to Jackson Jeffcoat earlier this week about his victory in the 2013 Red River game and how his desperation to not leave Texas and his hometown of Dallas without ever beating the Sooners drove he and his teammates to victory: “Even when we were up, I was remembering when we were down, and I was playing like that. I wasn’t leaving that game without a win, and my teammates said the same thing. We weren’t leaving till we won. If we had to add more quarters to the game, and they wanted to keep going, we’d add more quarters and keep beating the brakes off of them.”

What’s also true is how unfair it can seem for the players who make “would-be” legendary plays in games where the hat travels to Norman. The moments aren’t forgotten, they’re just tinged with a feeling of sadness. Bert Auburn’s clutch kick last year, there’s Bijan Robinson’s majestic 50 yard run in 2021 before everything fell apart, D’Onta Foreman running wild, or Rod Babers‘ pick-six.

Then there are the two No. 11’s, two Longhorn legends who paved the way for better games against the Sooners but, like gladiators, truly left it all on the Cotton Bowl grass. Derrick Johnson and Sam Ehlinger, two of the most beloved Texas players of all time, went a combined 1-7 against Oklahoma in the Red River Rivalry.

Yet, DJ was always unbelievable against the Sooners, and his trademark punch forced a fumble by Jason White in 2004 in one of the wildest momentum shifts the Cotton Bowl has ever seen. Ehlinger always challenged the Sooners, and no Longhorn player has ever generated more crimson vitriol than him. In the 2017 loss, when Ehlinger jeered the Sooner fans as he left the field, it was the moment I knew Texas truly wasn’t afraid of Oklahoma, despite what any prematurely printed T-shirts might say.

Despite a temporary talent gap and coaching deficiencies with Tom Herman at the helm, the Longhorns would bring it behind Ehlinger in Dallas, and they did. I remember Joel Klatt commenting during the COVID Red River game of 2020 when overtime started that Texas hadn’t played particularly well, “but Sam Ehlinger’s will” brought the Longhorns back to a place where they’d have a chance. The fact that these two and others didn’t have more success in the form of wins against the Sooners brings a pit to Longhorn fans’ stomachs, but it’s their awareness of the game’s magnitude that’s so special.

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Despite not winning it himself, Johnson can tell a room full of current players to “make a play.” Despite walking off the field back to the tunnel in a loss, Ehlinger can hold his horns high against the taunts from the crimson and cream side of the stands, because he knows the tide will turn. They know this is Red River, and there will be more chances to be legendary, both this Saturday and forever.