The Humanity of the Texas Longhorns’ 2025 Junior Day

As a recovering recruiting sicko, I was hesitant when Eric Nahlin asked me to cover Texas’ 2025 Junior Day on Saturday.

Following recruiting religiously will test your stomach like few other things, especially in this era of college football. A fan either has the guts to consume it whole or puts on blinders and trudges forward. But blinders are harder to keep on these days. Before unlimited transfers and NIL, I likened college football to an arms race between superpowers. Back then, the underbelly of recruiting mostly played out in the shadows, making it easier to ignore. Now, the rock has been overturned, and on my most cynical days, I’d call the sport guerrilla warfare fought by mercenaries, funded by suits.

Fans of successful programs are spared from some of the angst. When a team like Texas is rolling, a lot of it still takes care of itself. I lived and died by recruiting much more during the Strong, Herman, and early Sarkisian eras when recruiting was the only source of hope.

Now that I’m in recovery, did I really want to step back into the belly of the beast? My relationship with this sport feels like an endless seesaw ride—one side sentimentality, the other cynicism. I didn’t want to tip too hard into the latter.

But after covering Junior Day, I’d recommend it to any writer or fan struggling to hold onto sentiment. It was a reminder that this sport is ultimately about people, family, and community.

As someone who used to work with high school kids, I was reminded that the four- or five-star recruits on the verge of NIL deals are no different from the zero-star kids. Sure, they’re more athletic and slightly better media trained, but like any 16- or 17-year-old, they’re just trying to figure out where they belong. Some of those kids will become five-star recruits and, eventually, the polished athletes millions watched in yesterday’s NFL conference championships.

An ex-professional athlete once told me that fans don’t always realize athletes are just normal people. That’s what separates them from many other filthy-rich celebrities: athletes know what the inside of a Wendy’s looks like. The children of a pro athlete who receives multiple contracts might inherit generational wealth, but we forget many are one step removed from abject poverty. That thought should humanize any criticism of a player’s desire for NIL.

Forget six-figure deals from collectives for a moment. Many families at Texas’ Junior Day were simply hoping for an offer—whether a scholarship or preferred walk-on. Some got that offer; others didn’t. On the family side, I can’t imagine how nerve-wracking that process must be. I mean, I have to pace the left-field fence line every time my son bats in T-ball.

We call this sport mercenary now, but no kid boards a bus for Junior Day thinking, “I can’t wait to go to three colleges in four or five years.” The unifying theme among every kid and parent is that they want a place that feels like “home.” They want a coaching staff and teammates who will treat them like “family.” The reasons recruits and their families make college decisions are the same reasons fans stay loyal to their teams.