Head down Razorback Road on a late spring weekend in Fayetteville and you’ll see Canopy city — red and white fabric roofs, boxes of beer, a throw rug or two and maybe an old La-Z-Boy recliner. Under the canopies we find unlikely bedfellows, canopy fellows if you will. The pre-family reunion known as the hog pen. 

Canopy city is where we grab a donut from someone you know well even if you don’t know their name. Or a slice of Domino’s Pizza, a random chicken wing. Under the canopies we take shelter from the rain, from the scorching June sun or the unseasonably cold April wind — whatever the weather sees fit to be that day cause it’s always fickle like that. 

We’re here because we’re queued up to get into the hog pen, the Razorback baseball section that’s essentially a big lawn out behind left field. Sometimes folks line their chairs and pop up canopies days, maybe weeks, in advance of a series. We chat and crack jokes and get rowdy. Swap stories, talk sports. Shoot the shit like good Arkansans do. 

About 90 minutes before first pitch, the pen gates open like the parting of the Red Sea. Only in this moment the tribe of pen family, brothers from another mother, transform into enemies as soon as the gates open. When the Red Sea parts, it’s every man, woman, and child for themselves. All friendship and kinship is suspended for a few minutes of total chaos: Grown men of a well-seasoned age haul ass down the lawn, beer bellies bouncing while wagons of Yeti coolers and Fireball whiskey trail behind. Women sprint like division 1 athletes, steamrolling over anyone or thing in their pathway. Children zoom past the old folk straight to the fence and slide face first into their family’s preferred spot, sacrificing their tiny bodies for a shot at premier baseball viewing. It’s a few glorious, unforgettable minutes of sports fandom. It’s utter insanity. 

Just as quickly as the first 50 people pour into the pen, we’re set up and back to being one another’s chosen family. The Fireball comes right out, the unofficial libation of the hog pen. It’s the most widely used and respected of liquors out here. No, not for its taste, but because it travels well, warms you up when it’s cold, gives gumption, and consoles broken baseball hearts. 

Assigned seating isn’t a thing, as you’ve already gathered. It’s first come, first served but we do have an acknowledgement of everyone’s preferences. There are the berm folks, the ones who set up on the little ledge of a hill ten or so yards back from the fence. Team Berm likes the unobstructed view of the game no matter how dense the front of the pen gets. Our crew sets up at the fence, known as the rail. The rail is coveted; truly the only right and holy view if you care about seeing balls and strikes. It’s the best place to sit if you’re gonna ask me, but nobody did ask me and that’s fine.

The allure of the hog pen is different for each person; it offers an experience that those who sit in chair backs or fancy boxes wouldn’t understand. Bring your kids and shoo them off to play catch. Grill out and have picnics. Make friends with frat bros and county sheriffs and people who drive 7 hours one way in their campers to watch some baseball. Heckle the hell out of the visiting team. Drink your own beer. Pass out homemade cookies. Act a fool. The pen is where life moves a little slower and a little easier. 

We met a guy named Sherman under contentious terms during one of the rail seating conquest moments. On this particular day, we didn’t make the rail and sat behind Sherman on the second row. Feathers got ruffled over chair placement and some biting words were exchanged.

But eventually things settled and Sherman became a beloved baseball brother. He and his wife live out in the boonies, somewhere past Lamar, about a hundred or so miles from Fayetteville. He’s retired and has a tattoo of a body-building Razorback on his right calf. Often he has twin granddaughters in tow who sit in swinging camp chairs made for 8 year-old bodies.

Sherman is of a certain generation and demographic you see a lot of in the pen — country boys in their sunset years watching ball, harkening back to a time when they too could run and throw and hit like those young men out there, in the prime of their youth, playing America’s game. 

There’s Jimmy, pen patriarch, who is always on the rail no matter what. It’s a respect-your-elders type of thing with Jimmy; we all just know he deserves to be in the front. He’s kind and generous, always ready in his straw hat to toss tootsie pops to kids. Jimmy is the easy-going, Tommy-Bahama-wearing, “no bad days” grandpa of the pen who makes everyone feel at home. 

Ten yards behind Jimmy and Co. are the berm regulars —Lancey. Forest. Cam. Brenden, et al. Cam’s been sick but is fighting hard. He shows up to Canopy city with his buttons that say “Cam Kicks Cancer!” and homemade I♡Hogs keychains and bracelets he sells to help pay down medical bills.

The first time I saw Cam was three years ago at a super regional at Baum Stadium. The team was soaring that year and greedy ticket holders were scalping hog pen spots for hundreds of dollars. The hog pen, you should know, is the great equalizer. The Shakespearan theater pit of baseball, where anyone can and should be able to afford a ticket to watch a game. Cam had an empty, torn up Eureka Pizza box he had scribbled “QUIT OVERCHARGING FOR HOG PEN TICKETS” on that he proudly held up all weekend from the berm. 

West of Cam and down at the rail sits Amanda, our official yell leader. Nearby are the trio of nurses, Belinda, Ashley and Z. Kendall with the unmistakable cyclops-looking sunglasses is also at hand. And so is Lance, who always makes his way down the rail during every 7th inning stretch, just so he can shout “allrightyousonsofbitches!” while snapping group selfies with front-rowers every few feet. It’s a beloved tradition and an honor to be in a Lance selfie that is posted the subsequent day on his Facebook page for all the world to see. There’s also Greg, gentle-giant Army vet, and his badass but easygoing wife Jill. Greg’s part of the yellow-hat crew, the ones who sport canary Arkansas ball caps with red As, easily identifiable in a sea of red and white headware faithfuls.

I’d be remiss, of course, if I didn’t mention Rick. The Rick of Razorback fandom royalty. If you know the hogs, you know Rick, who is the ultimate hog lover and a favorite fan often seen on televised Razorback games. Rick dons a visor with fake furry red hair attached, which he calls the Razorback wig, and he’s on a quest to attend 100 Razorback games this year. I think maybe he already did it. He doesn’t just love baseball, he loves supporting every kind of hog team and often bounces from one game to the next if different sports overlap in a season. He wears fake tusks in his mouth, Razorback sneakers and socks that have his wife’s face on them. He rides a beefy motorcycle. Knows everyone’s name. He brings perspective, a good time for all, and a doormat he throws on the hog pen ground to keep his shoes clean when it rains. 

Our home base is in left-center, over by the university’s camera guy who films the outfield action. It’s excellent home run territory and prime real estate to snag a ball or three during batting practice. One season, my partner Ben took a go-ahead home run to the jaw standing in the pen out in left-center. It left a bruise but it was a game-winning hit, so worth it.

We sit by Marc and Cali of Siloam Springs, both of whom work for a Christian card company. Marc runs ultramarathons for fun, and Cali (wo)mans his aid stations. Sometimes their blended family of grown kids cycle through the games with them. Marc wears a tired red bucket hat adorned with Razorback enamel pins and buttons. He’s a Midwestern guy who’s made his home with the hogs. Marc and Cali are happy, down to earth people we love. If things are going well, they both start to dance. Dancing Marc is a special treat; the world wishes it could be so lucky to see him break out his ole’ midwestern white dude moves, overflowing with joy as his body glides along to the stadium sounds of Rhianna or Red Dirt country. 

This season didn’t end how we wanted it to. The hogs were absolutely slaughtered by TCU during our home-hosted regional. The weather was crappy and games were delayed. We didn’t make it to supers or to Omaha.

But it’s okay. We won our conference and we spent hours with our hog family enduring some exceptionally frigid and windy games in one of America’s best collegiate ballparks.

Baum Walker Stadium really is special, and the hog pen is a big part of that. It’s flanked by people who exemplify decades of statewide Razorback fandom — folks who have longed for a national championship and have woo’d pig sooie for longer than I’ve been on this earth. They know the stories and the voices and the ghosts of this game. 

I remember a time before the hog pen existed when baseball wasn’t such a thing in the Natural State. I never thought there’d be enough room for Arkansas to love baseball the way I do, that it would never be able to quit its first love of football. That we’d never find a devotion beyond it.

But by some mysterious, even magical force, baseball has blossomed here. I’ve seen it catch like a fever, spreading its allure with elementary aged kids and pave the way for the explosion of travel ball clubs and city rec leagues. I can see the reverence for what Dave Van Horn has built here these last twenty years or so in Fayetteville through commitment, passion, and perseverance.

We celebrate our pro hogs. We pack out Baum Stadium. We clear a lawn in left field so people can cram in with their coolers and families and friends. A championship looms large, yes it is so close that we can taste it. But that’s not why we’re here. We’re here for the hogs and our chosen family. It’s the trash talk, the delivery pizza, the peanut shells and dusty tracks along the rail that draw us in and keep us coming back. We tolerate the downpours and the spider bites, the tipsy frat guys and the left-sided sunburns because of the joy we feel when we’re together in this place. 

We are the hog pen, and we’re here because we’re home. 

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The greatest dynasty in collegiate athletic history? The Arkansas Razorbacks.

Over 150 years ago, President Andrew Johnson began the tradition of hosting athletic champions when he invited baseball’s Washington Nationals and Brooklyn Atlantics to join him in a White House ceremony.

In the age of television, we’ve made a big production out of the White House hosting Super Bowl winners, NBA champions, and the college equivalents. And they might bring in the women’s gymnastics team if they win Olympic gold. 

But track and field? No, not them. Not the men and women wearing singlets, running around an oval, jumping or throwing heavy objects.

A few years ago Stadium Talk told the story of America’s greatest college sports dynasties. Oklahoma, Texas, Alabama and Notre Dame football teams all received mentions, as did the UCLA Bruins men’s basketball teams. Penn State’s men’s wrestling and women’s volleyball teams. And the Connecticut and Tennessee women’s basketball powerhouses under Gene Auriemma and Pat Summit, respectively. 

How about that dynamite Minnesota women’s ice hockey dynasty that won 6 national championships? Bet you didn’t know the Trinity College Bantams men’s squash program won 17 national titles. To quote the author, Jennifer Studer Daley, “no other team on this list comes close to touching the number of titles that belong to the Iowa Hawkeyes wrestling program.” They won twenty three.

Ms. Daley is correct; no other team on her list comes close. That’s because Ms. Daley’s list does not include the greatest dynasty in American collegiate athletic history: the Arkansas Razorback Track and Field teams, which have won a collective 49 national titles in track and field and cross country, 42 under legendary coach John McDonnell.  

To be fair to Ms. Daley, the iconic Sports Illustrated magazine printed a similar story, and also forgot to mention the Razorbacks.

National spotlights on track and field usually focus on Oregon, where legendary NIKE founder Phil Knight spent his running days. Oregon has won 32 national titles, which is no slouch.

It’s also no Arkansas.

The ancient Greek and Roman empires were the backdrop for the first organized athletic competitions, which evolved into track and field as we know it today. The decathlon is thought of as the supreme test of speed, skill, and endurance to test the best all-around athletes. And we celebrate the marathon today with road races around the world that give everyday all-comers a chance for glory. 

The White House is not going to invite the national champion Arkansas men’s and women’s track teams for a visit. But that does not mean that Arkansans should pat our tracksters and coaches on the head and send them on their way. They deserve better.

In Arkansas, Football is king. Basketball is second. Baseball is third. No need to argue any of that. Would football or basketball recruiting be harmed if we started making a big deal over Track and Field? If the university became known as a track school? No, Track and Field prominence would diminish nothing in football or basketball. If anything, it would make the U of A look more cosmopolitan, adding to the perception that NWA is a sophisticated cultural corridor, complete with spectacular art museums, world class bicycling trails, and a modern medical school with a new way of thinking.  

Hot Springs has impressed me with its presentation of offerings, which celebrate the city’s history as home to some of Major League Baseball teams’ spring training during the 1930s to early 1950s. In February, the city dedicated only the third known statue of Babe Ruth (the other two are in Baltimore and Japan). There’s a baseball trail with plaques depicting the exploits of famous major leaguers. Babe Ruth is said to have hit two of the longest home runs he ever hit during spring training in Hot Springs. The city hosts an annual event bringing in retired major league players to speak on baseball then and now. All of this over spring training from long ago.

I’m not in the PR business, but I think I know a lost opportunity when I see one. When you are the greatest in history at something, step up and tell your story. No one else is going to do your crowing for you. And in the case of Track and Field, it is not even a close call. 

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Like many Arkansans during the Fall, I sit on the sofa with the television painted cardinal and white every Saturday with overwhelming anticipation; the pigskin soaring down the turf searching for the end-zone, but more importantly, the pride of each Arkansan. In the cold months of Winter and early Spring, I lay tucked in blankets, awed at the Hogs on the court as every basket strengthens the state’s pride. The wet months following, Baum-Walker is a wonderland of hot dogs and home runs. The Hogs are a force in competition, and the community. In fact, Hunter Yurachek led the athletics department to 18 of 19 teams ranked in the top 25 at the end of the 2021-2022 season. The program and student-athletes impact the community with many programs and events. The Razorback fans also strengthen the state with their loving spirit and deep-rooted tradition.

Fayetteville is a buzzing community, and the perfect home for the Hog. Donald W. Reynolds, Baum Walker, and Bud Walton carry an aura of hope for the average Arkansan. The pride grows each time Pittman turns up the jukebox, each time Muss goes running around the court in celebration, and each time Van Horn tips his hat to the opposition in victory. The power can be felt through every arena, barstool, and household throughout Arkansas.

The student-athletes strengthen the state with their determination and response to adversity, as the Hogs finished eighth place in the 2020-21 Learfield IMG Directors’ Cup and the 2021-2022 Fall Final Learfield IMG Director’s Cup. (The Learfield IMG Director’s Cup rewards points to teams based on their finish in each sport’s NCAA ranking.) Hunter Yurachek even won the NACDA Athletics Director of the Year 2021-2022 award. 

The Razorbacks also strengthen the state with their helping hand in the community, and contribution to our future through various programs. 

Many of these programs support elementary students; a critical part of developing the future of Arkansas. Book Hogs and Healthy Hogs are programs in which the Hogs visit the elementary schools in Fayetteville to encourage reading for 360 minutes during February to become a Book Hog member, and active eating habits, exercise, and drinking water to become a Healthy Hogs member. Both programs award grand prize winners a lunch date with a student-athlete. During the holidays, The Hogs raise money for ten elementary school students to participate in a $100 shopping spree with student-athletes, in the Shop with the Razorbacks program. RazorCalls allow student-athletes to Zoom elementary schools to respond to questions, read books, and CALL THOSE HOGS! 

The Hogs also contribute to many other programs committed to helping the less fortunate in Arkansas. Student-athletes assist with stretching, setting up, and cheering on at the Special Olympics at Ramey Jr. High. Every year, the Razorbacks host a canned food drive that provides food for many hungry families suffering throughout the state. The Fearless Food Fight, sponsored by The Pack Shack and Blue Cross Blue Shield, is an event in which student-athletes and staff members package meals at Bud Walton Arena for more communities throughout NorthWest Arkansas. The Hogs distribute donations locally to NorthWest Arkansas food pantries. Student-athletes also care for veterans in Arkansas, delivering handwritten notes made by elementary students to veterans at the VA Fayetteville Medical Center every Valentine’s Day in the annual Salute to Veterans community collaborative.

Although many contributions from the program are appreciated, there simply wouldn’t be a program without fans. Tradition binds us together in a tight knit community like no other. The most famous tradition would be the hog call. The tradition sticks with fans their entire lives, as reports of the “WOO PIG SOOIE” have been reported across the nation. 

The loving spirit each Razorback fan has for each other also strengthens Arkansas. A recent example of this would be the No. 1 Auburn @ Arkansas upset the Hogs pulled off at Bud Walton Arena in early February. Along with the record-breaking attendance of 20,327 fans and an amazing win, another extraordinary feat was accomplished. A sense of community was formed in the line of anxious fans. A DJ played as fans waited, tossing footballs. A spikeball tournament occurred and a poker game took place in the mass of Arkansans as well. The atmosphere was wild, with fans chattering and laughing with each other. The love the fans put into the team guides the expectations of the Hogs.

The strength of Arkansas lies in the community that the Razorback athletics program and the hard-working Arkansans have created. The strength continues to grow with every moment of joy the Hogs give through the hard work in competition, community engagement, and the creation of more loving Hog fans. Woo Pig.

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Most of my Facebook friends avoid politics, while others post their views in moderation. However, some of my Facebook friends could be described (and might describe themselves) as Far Left or Far Right. Their posts often demonize those on the other side of the political divide. For example, one left-leaning Facebook friend posted that the Republican Party champions racism, rape, and greed. Similarly, one right-leaning Facebook friend posted a meme that equates the Democratic Party to the Nazis in the 1930s. Some extremists might merit those descriptions, but most conservatives and liberals do not devour babies for breakfast.

Yet too often, social media’s political demonization spills over into real life. You hear it in the partisan rhetoric of many politicians, and you witness it in Washington gridlock. But sadly, you can also see it in the day-to-day lives of Arkansans, either at home, in the church, at work, or elsewhere. I confess I have been a culprit. One day a colleague and I got into an intense political discussion (some would call it a plain old argument), and before I knew it, I was yelling at him. He (understandably) left.

What’s the antidote? Give up our opinions on social and political issues? No. But instead of demonizing someone for their politics, we can humanize them for their personhood.   

After all, whether we are Right, Left, or Middle-of-the-Road, we share common values. The late science fiction writer Harlan Ellison once said we all want to love and be loved. Sounds simple, but it’s basic Humanity 101. Many Arkansans have spouses and children. Almost all of us have relatives either by blood or relationship, and most of us have friends and work colleagues as well. We all shoulder hopes and fears, joys and sorrows, dreams and nightmares. And most of us want to treat others decently and in turn be treated decently ourselves. In essence, we are all humans breathing the same air, regardless of our political leanings.

But how to apply humanization to Facebook and other social media? Exhibit A—before one posts the current popular anti-conservative or anti-liberal meme, one can Google it to see if it’s true. If one plans to “like” a political post, one can do the same thing. After all, Googling only takes a few minutes. And memes intended to demonize the opposition needn’t be posted or “liked” at all. If in doubt, we can ask ourselves this question—is this meme constructive, or insulting and arrogant?  Name calling is never warranted. Further, regarding those with whom we politically disagree, we can “like” their non-political posts, especially posts concerning family, friends, and accomplishments.

But how does this humanization work if a political discussion ignites in real life, maybe in the workplace or over dinner? What if it’s an issue about which you feel passionately? Should you just keep your mouth shut?  Yes—with a caveat. You should listen and try to apprehend what the other person is saying. In fact, even if you’re not a Christian, the New Testament gives this sage bit of advice: “Each of you should be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to become angry.”

We all shoulder hopes and fears, joys and sorrows, dreams and nightmares…In essence, we are all humans breathing the same air, regardless of our political leanings.
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But what if you blow it? You’ll recall that earlier I mentioned I had yelled at a colleague during a political argument. Clearly, I had been in the wrong, so later that day, I apologized to him. Since then, I have endeavored to try to listen to and understand his political viewpoints without interrupting him. I don’t always succeed (hey, do the Razorbacks always win?), but it’s a worthwhile goal. Also, sometimes we may simply need to agree to disagree.

Will this process resolve all political conflicts with significant (and even insignificant) folks in our lives? As Star Trek’s Mr. Spock might have said, “Highly unlikely, captain.” The flight path of life and relationships is too erratic to be course corrected with a well-meaning principle. Still, perhaps the latter can move us closer to our chosen trajectory.

Demonizing leads to hostility, suspicion, and paranoia. But humanizing leads to calmness, reason, and trust. The decision is ours. If we choose the former, we may become a toxin poisoning our own wells. But if we choose the latter, we may become an elixir fortifying our communities.

Who knows—we may find out we don’t live next door to a devil after all.

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