The 2024 college football season kicked off on Saturday, and Georgia Tech’s upset victory over Florida State served as a fitting opener to what will be a season unlike any other: The playoffs are making their long-anticipated expansion to twelve teams, and a new round of frenetic conference realignments becomes official, bringing an influx of Western schools to traditionally Southern football conferences.
A pre-Dabo Clemson fan, I was a college sophomore (and Swinney still a young wide receiver’s coach) when the ACC ventured outside the South for the first time, adding (gasp) Boston College to the mix in 2005. By the time Pitt and Syracuse joined the ranks in 2011, there was considerably less pearl clutching. But last year, when it was announced that Texas and Oklahoma were headed to the SEC and that ACC had opted for a bicoastal future with the addition of Stanford and Cal, the family and college group texts popped off—everyone had a take.
A handful took the silver lining approach, though: “Excited about the potential road games,” wrote one friend. No matter what happens on the field, Southern fans are historically up for a party. Just ask a longtime Ole Miss fan, a beleaguered but ever-optimistic Gamecock, or an eighties-baby Clemson fan like me, who grew up on a steady diet of excellent tailgating if mediocre football. In other words, we’ll still pour newcomers two fingers of our best bourbon and ply them with ham biscuits, fried chicken, and pimento cheese sandwiches—right up ’til kickoff, then all bets are off.
With powerhouse programs, serious tailgating scenes, and baked-in heat tolerance, Texas and Oklahoma are already fluent in the language of Southern football. But in the ACC, Stanford and Cal are visitors in a foreign land. Here, we break down the basics for our new Western brethren:
Gameday attire: Think Sunday school, not Sunday Night Football.
Joking—but only just. Exhibit A: In an early family photo taken at my grandparents’ tailgate, I’m wearing an orange dress over a starched white blouse with a massive eighties-era collar and an even bigger hair bow. Thirty-three years later, you can bet there’s an orange-and-white smocked dress and matching jon jon hanging in my twins’ closets. But lest you think nothing has changed in three decades, some concessions have been made to contemporary fashion. Except among a handful of old-timers, the tradition of wearing blazers and ties to games has gone the way of the triple option, but slacks and collared shirts are still common. For ladies, dresses (no, not the sporty athleisure kind) are still the prevailing game-day attire—well into fall.
A college friend, who’s an Oregon native and lifelong Ducks fan, recently recalled the culture shock she experienced upon arriving at Clemson as a freshman and swapping her requisite jerseys for sundresses. Although she’d spot a few more folks in jerseys today, to look like a lifer, aim for overdressed rather than under.
Tailgating: It’s a marathon, not a sprint—but eat anything mayo-based early.
If you show up to the tailgate an hour before kickoff, you’re already late. Arrive three hours ahead and you still risk missing out on the best bites, though your Southern host would never be so gauche as to actually run out of food. Regardless, count on the pimento cheese, deviled eggs, and potato salad being cashed or at least tucked back into the cooler, preserved for a post-game snack. (The Southern heat is no friend to the mayo-based side, yet we persist.) Are those personalized tailgate cups and branded koozies at the full bar? Naturally. Floral centerpieces? You bet. Actual silver flatware? Not that uncommon. You get it, tailgating here is an over-the-top, all-day affair—and parking lots open as early as 6:00 a.m. before noon games, depending on the university.
Pro tip: If visiting Clemson or NC State, you can leave the stadium at halftime to tailgate and return to the game later—just don’t forget your ticket and handstamp.
The heat: No matter the official story, trust us, there’s a reason two Southern stadiums are dubbed Death Valley.
Sitting in the upper reaches of the upper deck at a noon game in the still-blistering September sun—be it in Baton Rouge, Tuscaloosa, Chapel Hill, or Clemson—you could be convinced you’d slipped dimensions and found yourself in Dante’s tenth circle. Because no matter what oppressive temperature your weather app lists, the stadium’s real feel is at least ten degrees hotter. Fifteen in the upper deck. You cannot beat this kind of heat, folks, but with the right mindset, plenty of water (duh), a strong deodorant (none of that all-natural stuff), and a few other basic preventative measures, it can be survived. You may even learn to thrive, but that takes years of literal sweat equity. Sunglasses, a wide-brim hat, and a decent SPF are minimum must-haves. Veterans pack personal fans—bonus points for misters. Personally, I’m partial to a Minute Maid frozen lemonade around the end of the first quarter. And take note, October is a meteorological trick play. Don’t be fooled. This is not sweater weather. I repeat, this is not sweater weather.
And because there’s only one way my grandfather would have approved of signing this thing off, go Tigers!
