Let’s have a toast. Seriously, raise a glass.
To Ricky Rahne. To Quinn Henicle. To a defense that played with its hair on fire for three straight months. To a 10-win season, a Cure Bowl trophy that is currently making its way back from Orlando, and the undisputed best football season in Old Dominion history.
Cheers.
Now, put the glass down. We need to have a family meeting.
Because while the 85 guys in pads were doing everything in their power to elevate this program to national relevance, a significant portion of "Monarch Nation" was apparently too busy to notice.
I’m talking about the empty seats.
You know the ones. You saw them. I saw them. The ESPN cameras definitely saw them.
We just witnessed a historic run. We beat Virginia Tech in Blacksburg—a game that should have bought this team unconditional loyalty for a decade. We clawed our way to 10 wins. We have a product on the field that is exciting, gritty, and genuinely good.
And yet, for the Georgia State game? The stadium looked like a dentist’s waiting room at 4:30 PM on a Friday.
I hear the excuses already. "It was a Tuesday night." "Traffic on Hampton Boulevard is a nightmare." "I have work in the morning."
Stop it.
You want to be a "Power" program? You want the respect of the AAC or the ACC? You want to stop being a stepping stone for coaches and players on their way to "bigger" things? Then you have to start acting like a big-time fanbase.
Big-time fanbases don’t check the weather app before deciding to support a 9-win team. Big-time fanbases don’t leave at halftime because "we’re up by 14 and it’s getting chilly." Big-time fanbases pack the house whether we are playing James Madison or the Sisters of the Poor.
The team held up their end of the bargain. They gave you a winner. They gave you a reason to be proud of that logo on your chest. They played with a chip on their shoulder the size of a boulder.
But when they looked up into the stands during the biggest home stretch of the year, they saw silver bleachers where people should have been.
Ricky Rahne won’t say it because he’s a professional. The players won’t say it because they’re grateful for whoever shows up.
So I’ll say it: You didn’t deserve this season.
We have a 22,000-seat jewel of a stadium. It is not hard to fill. If we can’t sell out every single home game during a 10-win campaign, we forfeit the right to complain when recruits look elsewhere or when the national media ignores us.
Enjoy the Cure Bowl trophy. It’s shiny. It’s beautiful. It’s yours.
But next year? If this team runs it back? Don’t just tweet about it. Don’t just watch it on ESPN+.
Show up. Or shut up.