
Dec 31, 2024; Houston, TX, USA; LSU Tigers wide receiver Aaron Anderson (1) runs the ball during the first half against the Baylor Bears at NRG Stadium. The Tigers defeat the Bears 44-31. Mandatory Credit: Maria Lysaker-Imagn Images
By Hunt Palmer
Traditions form the soul of college football.
They do the same for countries, families and groups of friends. Traditions don’t make families or college football programs. The people do.
LSU football is more than Saturday night, H-style goalposts, painted five yard lines and the Golden Band From Tigerland. All of that makes LSU unique, but the players, coaches, fans and state the Tigers represent make LSU football.
I’ve opined many times about my distain for alternate uniforms. My emotional attachment is to the classic whites with gold pants and helmets. Seeing LSU play Arkansas and Texas A&M while dressed head to toe in white irks me.
It doesn’t impact the scoreboard, though.
When The Advocate reported that LSU was exploring sponsorship patches for the front of their uniforms, I understood. That could affect the scoreboard.
Not directly, of course, but the roster changes the scoreboard, and the dollars change the roster, and the sponsor changes the dollars. It’s a direct line.
In an era where programs are doling out north of $20 million to student athletes, the revenue streams simply must increase. That is, unless coaches are willing to take pay cuts and-or donors magically determine to stop paying eight-figure buyouts twice a decade.
Neither seems likely.
So, the money has to come in, and if a sponsor is willing to hand over millions to have a patch featured on the jersey, so be it.
Teams have played bowl games with patches for decades. No one seems to mind. I watch the Cubs nightly. Motorola bought their sleeve. The patch is blue and white to match the classic Cubbie pinstripes, and the game goes on. I hardly notice.
Play ball! pic.twitter.com/FPeuQvahqu
— Chicago Cubs (@Cubs) July 2, 2025
If the New York Yankees can take the field with an insurance logo on the sleeve before the shortstop was allowed to grow a mustache, Saturday Night in Death Valley will go on with a chicken logo or chemical plant patch.
From my chair in the press box or Jerry from Slidell’s family-owned seats in the south endzone, they won’t even be visible.
The transfer wide receiver who, thanks to a few extra dollars, picked LSU over Georgia will be plenty visible as he, adorned with the patch, hauls in a game-tying touchdown in the fourth quarter.
Times have changed.
Oklahoma is the last game of the season. Auburn isn’t on the schedule. LED light shows accompany touchdowns and the cornerback makes more than the cornerbacks coach.
Some fans enjoy all of that. Some detest it all.
The point remains that millions of fans still lock in every Saturday to watch the same teams they’ve watched their entire lives. That won’t soon change.
It’s tradition.

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