What makes a rivalry?

As school sports seasons have officially ended for the 2024-25 school year, my focus now shifts to summer activities, like rec ball, swimming pools and everything in between. That means I’ve completed a full sports calendar as your local sports editor. There will be a year-long recap story coming soon, but I couldn’t dive into this week’s topic without a small blurb about my time here in Sampson County.

I’ve learned storylines, I’ve seen heartbreak firsthand, and I’ve seen more athletes than I can count. A year full of rivalries, especially on this level, where things are deep-seated long before our times, has made for stories that even I couldn’t put into words. Although a common respect is had for every opponent on the court, field, track, sand pit or any other playing surface, that desire to beat your rival never once fades. And getting the last laugh over them is a story that will be told for generations to come. I see it after every season in the all-county stuff: “My most memorable game was beating (insert rival team).” There is a pride in having your opponent’s number, and that pride has become a tradition passed down from generation to generation to keep the games fun, competitive, and having a little bit more to play for in those games compared to teams that are “schedule fillers.”

I believe I can speak on rivalries at length because of how I was raised. As the middle child with an older brother and myriad cousins, there was no such thing as not being competitive. The competition or playing field didn’t matter. We would take checkers or Chutes ‘N’ Ladders to the next level if that’s what our competitor wanted. I’ve played many a heated hand of Rummy with my grandpa. Don’t get me started on Monopoly, either.

That drive, that desire to be better than who you were facing, was something that was instilled in us as children. I don’t care if we were playing competitive hacky sack — I was there to give my all and do my best.

So, when it came time for high school sports, that competitive nature never left. It stayed with me through elementary school athletics (if only I could have kept track of my recess football statistics). I was the next Johnny Bench or Pudge Rodriguez behind the dish in Little League baseball, earning my place on just one all-star team because I couldn’t hit water if I fell out of a boat, but I had a cannon as a catcher who dared anyone to try and steal a base on me. On the basketball court, I had a jumper as smooth as Larry Legend’s and defensive skills that would make a grown man blush. In football, I was the center and a defensive lineman, which I thought was a bit unfair due to my God-given talent of having bricks for hands and the speed of a 1927 Model A. Ohio State truly missed its opportunity for an out-of-shape, pudgy lineman who wanted to spend the least amount of time in the weight room as possible without being kicked off the team. Jim Tressel, I’m still not over that.

But, beyond my (lack of) talent in sports, I was raised as a passionate fan, too. You didn’t step into my grandpa’s house and say anything negative about the Alomar family, Jim Thome, or the great Satchel Paige. Chief Wahoo was a staple of home decor, license plate frames, refrigerator magnets and clothing. Opening day was a holiday. Tom Hamilton nearly had a shrine in my grandfather’s home, and to this day, Hammy is still my all-time favorite sportscaster.

I’ve witnessed some of the worst games in baseball history via Hammy’s voice on 1100 WTAM out of Cleveland, long before streaming rights and the like took over sports. There were no betting lines announced at any point, and the clips you saw on ESPN the next day had nigh a cell phone in sight. It was pure love of the game that we all tuned in for the highs and lows of Cleveland baseball back then, yet some of my most fond memories came from drives to my own ballgames, hearing the then-Indians get blown out at Jacobs Field.

On rare occasions, like company-sponsored picnics or something of that nature, we would get tickets to a baseball game. I’ve seen my share of Akron Aeros (now Rubber Ducks) games, but the real special times were the family trips to Jacobs Field to watch a severely underappreciated Cleveland team in the late-90s and early-2000s, sunburn and all.

Hailing from Northeast Ohio, not only were the Indians a part of life, but so were the Buckeyes and Browns, which is truly a dichotomy of man in the sports world. The Buckeyes have been a perennial top-tier talent going back before my time, but the Browns have been… the Browns. Luckily, before my grandpa could ever influence me to root for the brown and orange, my dad stepped in and raised me as a Steelers fan. That went over extremely well with the rest of the family.

When you’re raised as a fan of the very bitter rivals of the rest of your family, things happen. Luckily, my brother, my uncle and one of my cousins were also Steelers fans, so I at least had some backup. But, I’ve never been the one to shy away from my feelings, especially when it came to sports. If you remember, that’s how I was raised — put as much passion into what you believe in and never quit. I paraded around the house twice a year when the Steelers would decimate the Browns. One Christmas Eve, my dad had scored us tickets to the Steelers visiting Cleveland. I watched Clinton’s own Willie Parker rush for 130 yards and a touchdown in Pittsburgh’s 41-0 routing of the Browns. I’ve yet to receive a better Christmas present, and that was 20 years ago this year. That was also the season I watched my first ever Pittsburgh Super Bowl win.

For the Buckeyes, I hate no team more — in any sport or league — more than the Wolverines of Michigan. If it weren’t for AP style guides and a devotion to grammar and syntax, I would have replaced the first letter of that state with an asterisk, which is customary for us in the scarlet and gray. Nothing gets me more fired up than ‘That Team Up North,’ a deserving moniker, if you ask me.

Going back to my playing days, local rivalries were ingrained in us. At the southeastern part of my county, we had intense rivalries with quite a few schools, but none more than the West Holmes Knights. School-age me would argue that there was no person on earth as bad as those blue and red pompous Knights who bordered us to the south. I hated them with a burning passion. I had no other choice. Which made it mean a lot more in high school, when my cousin and I faced off in athletics as members of each side of things. I, a Triway Titan. He, a West Holmes Knight.

Beyond our backyard brawls that transpired at seemingly every holiday throughout our youth, we wanted the upper hand at the highest level of competition we would ever take part in: high school sports. When either school won that year’s contest, that meant we got bragging rights for the next 364 days. A blowout was a death sentence.

So, with my history of rivalries, I knew coming into this position, I would find many like the one with Triway and West Holmes, but with different stories, different families and different dynamics. With little changes beyond minute differences that don’t change the end game, this country is riddled with small-town rivalries from coast to coast. And I love it.

Imagine my surprise when I found out that three county schools were in a league together and the other two were also in their own league. And one school district sits in the middle while the others border it. I knew there would be fun to uncover in the world of sports.

I don’t have to give you specifics. This very column thus far has brought a memory of your team’s rivalries to the forefront of your mind. Maybe you took part in it. Maybe you watched as a parent. You might have even coached in it. Nonetheless, you’re thinking of it now.

And honestly, that’s what this is about. A small-knit community where the kids play together from a young age to build lifelong friendships on and off the field. As youngsters, there are more opportunities for kids in one school district to play with kids in another while learning the fundamentals. Some kids will continue those sports all the way through high school, and maybe even beyond. Some won’t. Either way is fine. But for those who do, building those bonds early is something they will cherish forever. I know I do.

With the advent of AAU and travel teams, the time that future competitors spend competing with each other — rather than against — is levels above what it used to be. But still, athletes play for the name on the front of their jerseys instead of the back.

Having spent the time as kids together, the simultaneous respect and detest for one another does nothing but grow through kids’ formative years. That comes to fruition under Friday night lights, in packed basketball gyms, and on the ball fields. Knowing your opponent’s strengths and weaknesses can be very advantageous, and by the time they’re in high school, the athletes have faced off so many times they can nearly tell you every move the other team is going to make.

Sometimes that disdain gets the better of the kids and emotions boil over. That’s OK. Even at the highest levels of athletics, we see that. Watch a week of professional baseball, and you’ll see at least one grown adult throw a fit about a bad call, and if you’re lucky, a benches-clearing brawl. I have no qualms with the occasional rowdy fisticuffs (or, at least, the attempt at one). It shows pride and a willingness to do whatever it takes to defend your team and its honor. I’m not championing for all-out chaos, but if a kid defends his teammate after a late hit or a dirty play, I’m not going to be upset.

I originally set out to dive deeper into what makes a rivalry so. Is it the proximity to the other schools? Is it a bad call that ended a team’s chance at the postseason? Did a coach leave one team to go to his rival? There has been, throughout American sports history, a case of each one of those, but most are now long-forgotten. Instead, the rivalries stay alive just because. And I love that.