Fans at Texas A&M wear one of two jerseys to Aggie football games.
The first is No. 12. This represents the “12th Man,” the trademarked nickname for the team’s rabid fans. It’s the ultimate statement of school over self.
The other jersey is No. 2. That uniform embodies the exact opposite: It’s the story of how one sublime player outshone his teammates, the coach and the entire university. This is the number that belonged to Johnny Manziel.
The different uniforms are a window into the identity crisis that has threatened the success of a program that just a few years ago was the sexiest in all of college football. Manziel became such a hero that after he left, some at the school even suggested they rename the stadium “Kyle Field: The House that Johnny Built.”
“You can never take away what he did here,” said Clay Coleman, a 46-year-old alumnus in a Manziel jersey at a recent game.
But it makes sense why Texas A&M fans might want to. In the two seasons after Manziel left, the Aggies’ swagger vanished. His departure created a vacuum in College Station and, according to some concerned fans, resulted in a me-first culture that continued to infect the program.
Now, in the third year of the post-Manziel era, it’s becoming clear that the future of Texas A&M football boils down to answering this question: Have the Aggies finally escaped the outsize shadow of Johnny Football?
Settling this internal conflict has never been so critical. The Aggies are 6-0 and ranked No. 6 in the country. They control their own destiny in the Southeastern Conference. And their road to the College Football Playoff begins with their game against No. 1 Alabama in Tuscaloosa on Saturday—the exact same game that launched Manziel’s stardom.
“It’s not all about one person,” said Jim Schwertner, a former Texas A&M regent who in 2014 had publicly suggested Kyle Field’s name change. But he added: “It helped put A&M on the map.”
At no point was Manziel mania at more of a fever pitch than Texas A&M’s 2013 game against then-No. 1 Alabama. More than 100,000 fans packed Kyle Field to see if Manziel could do the one thing more unthinkable than beating the Crimson Tide: beating the Crimson Tide twice. And the matchup wasn’t so much Texas A&M vs. Alabama. It was all about Manziel. Before the game, announcer Verne Lundquist declared him “the most polarizing figure in college sports.” His partner in the booth, Gary Danielson, added that the Aggies “followed his ultra ego to their great season last year.”
The Aggies lost the game despite jumping out to a 14-0 lead, bringing a degree of closure to mad era that began in 2012—Manziel’s freshman season, coach Kevin Sumlin’s first year, and Texas A&M’s first year in the SEC after moving from the Big 12. It was a jump that not everyone supported. But it suddenly presented the program with an opportunity: It wasn’t just another football team in Texas, it was the only SEC team in the state.
For all the traditional riches of Texas A&M’s football team, including claimed national championships and a Heisman Trophy winner, the Aggies had never seen anything like this, and moving into college football’s toughest conference with something to prove created an almost desperate need for a star. What they found was Manziel.
He destroyed conference records set by the likes of Tim Tebow and Cam Newton while leading the Aggies to an 11-2 record, including that stunning win over Alabama, the Crimson Tide’s only loss in their title season. But more transcendent than his long passes or dazzling runs was his personality. It showed in the way he played, with a reckless, schoolyard bravado that defied football logic. Even when problems arose—he was suspended for the first half of a game in 2013 after reports surfaced he violated NCAA rules by signing autographs for money—this was part of the bargain Texas A&M made when it rooted its newly branded football culture in a 19-year-old who became the first freshman to win a Heisman Trophy winner.
It’s difficult to overstate how much the Aggies got out of this deal. They won 20 games in two seasons. During Manziel’s first year, the school raised $740 million in donations—$300 million more than any year-long period in the school’s history. The school poured $450 million into a comprehensive renovation of Kyle Field.
But in the two seasons following his departure, Texas A&M reverted to an 8-5 record while Manziel’s personal troubles spiraled out of control in the NFL. Manziel, who declined to comment for this article, is now out of the league and working to finish his degree.
There were troubling signals that Manziel’s brash nonchalance remained even after he left. His replacement at quarterback in 2014, Kenny Hill, slumped and was benched before getting suspended by the team. “Kenny Hill thought he could party like Manziel and perform—and he couldn’t,” said Michael Wesson, an Aggie fan and associate professor at Texas A&M’s Mays Business School.
Then, after last season, two five-star quarterbacks both left the school. “The culture was a big part of it, and I think that stems from Johnny’s era there,” Kyle Allen, the highly regarded quarterback who transferred to Houston, told CBS sports. “A lot of people were riding off that, ‘I can do whatever the hell I want and win on Saturday.”
Texas A&M went 5-0 to start each of the past two seasons, only to fall apart in the harder part of SEC play and develop what fans have termed “Battered Aggie Syndrome.” They lost to Alabama in both seasons by a combined 77 points.
That path seemed inevitable again this season when, in their last game, Texas A&M blew a late 28-14 lead to Tennessee. Then, strangely enough, the Aggies won in double-overtime to finally reach 6-0, a mark they never reached even with Manziel. It felt as if a curse had been lifted.
The person responsible is another quarterback but a very different one: Trevor Knight. A graduate transfer from Oklahoma, Knight had lost his job with the Sooners and left because he knew he was good enough to start at a major program.
This quiet self-assuredness—he had already thrown 500 career passes and beaten Alabama—made him the perfect person to replace the Manziel culture because he didn’t feel the need to prove he was the second coming of Johnny Football. Instead, he’s Texas A&M’s very own anti-Manziel. “I just came and tried to work as hard as I could,” Knight said. “It means a lot that I had played before because I’m able to speak to the younger guys.”
Now the most remarkable part about the Aggies’ hunt for a bid to the College Football Playoff is their relative anonymity. They may have the best player in the country once again—defensive end Myles Garrett—and off the field he’s best known for writing poetry. In other words, according to Sumlin, he’s “low maintenance.”
This is suddenly a Texas A&M team that, in the world of college football chest pounding, oddly enough prides itself on its unassuming nature. “This team goes about its business,” Sumlin says. “Not really interested in drama. Not really interested in talking a bunch. But interested in winning games.”
The first is No. 12. This represents the “12th Man,” the trademarked nickname for the team’s rabid fans. It’s the ultimate statement of school over self.
The other jersey is No. 2. That uniform embodies the exact opposite: It’s the story of how one sublime player outshone his teammates, the coach and the entire university. This is the number that belonged to Johnny Manziel.
The different uniforms are a window into the identity crisis that has threatened the success of a program that just a few years ago was the sexiest in all of college football. Manziel became such a hero that after he left, some at the school even suggested they rename the stadium “Kyle Field: The House that Johnny Built.”
“You can never take away what he did here,” said Clay Coleman, a 46-year-old alumnus in a Manziel jersey at a recent game.
But it makes sense why Texas A&M fans might want to. In the two seasons after Manziel left, the Aggies’ swagger vanished. His departure created a vacuum in College Station and, according to some concerned fans, resulted in a me-first culture that continued to infect the program.
Now, in the third year of the post-Manziel era, it’s becoming clear that the future of Texas A&M football boils down to answering this question: Have the Aggies finally escaped the outsize shadow of Johnny Football?
Settling this internal conflict has never been so critical. The Aggies are 6-0 and ranked No. 6 in the country. They control their own destiny in the Southeastern Conference. And their road to the College Football Playoff begins with their game against No. 1 Alabama in Tuscaloosa on Saturday—the exact same game that launched Manziel’s stardom.
“It’s not all about one person,” said Jim Schwertner, a former Texas A&M regent who in 2014 had publicly suggested Kyle Field’s name change. But he added: “It helped put A&M on the map.”
At no point was Manziel mania at more of a fever pitch than Texas A&M’s 2013 game against then-No. 1 Alabama. More than 100,000 fans packed Kyle Field to see if Manziel could do the one thing more unthinkable than beating the Crimson Tide: beating the Crimson Tide twice. And the matchup wasn’t so much Texas A&M vs. Alabama. It was all about Manziel. Before the game, announcer Verne Lundquist declared him “the most polarizing figure in college sports.” His partner in the booth, Gary Danielson, added that the Aggies “followed his ultra ego to their great season last year.”
The Aggies lost the game despite jumping out to a 14-0 lead, bringing a degree of closure to mad era that began in 2012—Manziel’s freshman season, coach Kevin Sumlin’s first year, and Texas A&M’s first year in the SEC after moving from the Big 12. It was a jump that not everyone supported. But it suddenly presented the program with an opportunity: It wasn’t just another football team in Texas, it was the only SEC team in the state.
For all the traditional riches of Texas A&M’s football team, including claimed national championships and a Heisman Trophy winner, the Aggies had never seen anything like this, and moving into college football’s toughest conference with something to prove created an almost desperate need for a star. What they found was Manziel.
He destroyed conference records set by the likes of Tim Tebow and Cam Newton while leading the Aggies to an 11-2 record, including that stunning win over Alabama, the Crimson Tide’s only loss in their title season. But more transcendent than his long passes or dazzling runs was his personality. It showed in the way he played, with a reckless, schoolyard bravado that defied football logic. Even when problems arose—he was suspended for the first half of a game in 2013 after reports surfaced he violated NCAA rules by signing autographs for money—this was part of the bargain Texas A&M made when it rooted its newly branded football culture in a 19-year-old who became the first freshman to win a Heisman Trophy winner.
It’s difficult to overstate how much the Aggies got out of this deal. They won 20 games in two seasons. During Manziel’s first year, the school raised $740 million in donations—$300 million more than any year-long period in the school’s history. The school poured $450 million into a comprehensive renovation of Kyle Field.
But in the two seasons following his departure, Texas A&M reverted to an 8-5 record while Manziel’s personal troubles spiraled out of control in the NFL. Manziel, who declined to comment for this article, is now out of the league and working to finish his degree.
There were troubling signals that Manziel’s brash nonchalance remained even after he left. His replacement at quarterback in 2014, Kenny Hill, slumped and was benched before getting suspended by the team. “Kenny Hill thought he could party like Manziel and perform—and he couldn’t,” said Michael Wesson, an Aggie fan and associate professor at Texas A&M’s Mays Business School.
Then, after last season, two five-star quarterbacks both left the school. “The culture was a big part of it, and I think that stems from Johnny’s era there,” Kyle Allen, the highly regarded quarterback who transferred to Houston, told CBS sports. “A lot of people were riding off that, ‘I can do whatever the hell I want and win on Saturday.”
Texas A&M went 5-0 to start each of the past two seasons, only to fall apart in the harder part of SEC play and develop what fans have termed “Battered Aggie Syndrome.” They lost to Alabama in both seasons by a combined 77 points.
That path seemed inevitable again this season when, in their last game, Texas A&M blew a late 28-14 lead to Tennessee. Then, strangely enough, the Aggies won in double-overtime to finally reach 6-0, a mark they never reached even with Manziel. It felt as if a curse had been lifted.
The person responsible is another quarterback but a very different one: Trevor Knight. A graduate transfer from Oklahoma, Knight had lost his job with the Sooners and left because he knew he was good enough to start at a major program.
This quiet self-assuredness—he had already thrown 500 career passes and beaten Alabama—made him the perfect person to replace the Manziel culture because he didn’t feel the need to prove he was the second coming of Johnny Football. Instead, he’s Texas A&M’s very own anti-Manziel. “I just came and tried to work as hard as I could,” Knight said. “It means a lot that I had played before because I’m able to speak to the younger guys.”
Now the most remarkable part about the Aggies’ hunt for a bid to the College Football Playoff is their relative anonymity. They may have the best player in the country once again—defensive end Myles Garrett—and off the field he’s best known for writing poetry. In other words, according to Sumlin, he’s “low maintenance.”
This is suddenly a Texas A&M team that, in the world of college football chest pounding, oddly enough prides itself on its unassuming nature. “This team goes about its business,” Sumlin says. “Not really interested in drama. Not really interested in talking a bunch. But interested in winning games.”
