Flowers for Cal Twitter 3.0

Long may its ancestors reign.

Credit: Dalmcm

The times before this one did not last very long.

I know, because I was there for those too, when the deep magic was written – a decade ago, when the #drop50 era surged through the after dark; there, when Evan Weaver declared that it was “Bears in 4”; there, in 2014, when we were knee-capped by a 30-7 loss to Washington at home; there, for Jared Goff’s five interceptions at Salt Lake, one for each win we had going into in; there, when the 4-0 2019 team was done in by Chase Garbers’ broken collarbone.

Those good times – and they were good – only ever made it a month at best, but the Tweets had the same DNA that drove us into the national consciousness now: irreverence and pure in vibe; the same spirit, if not in scale.  

It’s important, as people try to make sense of what has happened on Cal Twitter this week – to stress this: there has always been a group of Blue and Gold faithful. In the modern era, the main voices of this faith first came by blogger, the story carried by those who got to experience the best of the Jeff Tedford years – a generation who saw first-hand the heights that were possible for Cal football, and have mourned what else could have been, if one or two more things just went correctly.

I was not one of these lucky ones. Tedford was already on his way out when I got to campus, while the fans waited on a renaissance that would not come; the greatest coach in our modern history, fired after final seasons of 5-7, 7-6, and 3-9, his replacement, immediately 1-11. But in this late Tedford, early Sonny Dykes malaise, the Cal Twitter community first emerged -- before the algorithm boosted us all into the spotlight, we gathered on the Internet's Town Square to follow recruiting announcements and dutifully scribe the play-by-play at open practices (at least, until media relations made us stop). The names and faces were still few enough to recognize our brethren by sight; we celebrated milestones together, grew older together, talked politics and food and general mundanity in the offseason, talked mostly to each other. We formed loose alliances with the other Pac-12 communities: Wazzu, Oregon, found friends among the Arizona State and Utah contingents. Some of Dykes’ staff, not yet told to avoid social media, even tweeted alongside us from time to time. The players did too, because Twitter was such a new platform to us all.

Even when there were not many, Cal Twitter was already here for the Hill Mary, 60-59, the Cheez-It Bowl and both Texas wins, developing our own tongue and lore – words we still remember to say, whenever the Bears are lucky enough to break the half-century mark for points.

The same spirit, if not in scale.

**

The Burners started appearing two years ago – anonymity was not new among our numbers, but this wave was surely that of the next generation; mostly early and mid 20-somethings who did not get to share in the heights of the program, but found a love for it anyway. Some grew up reading our work, before we even WroteForCalifornia; some even sprung out of the program itself: graduated players and support staff who sought to post more freely (read: unhingedly).

It would be nice to lie that this iteration of Cal Twitter was born seamlessly, but it was honestly contentious for a good stretch of time. All the way into the middle of 2023, each game was simultaneously result and referendum -- groups of old and new factionalized around their support or lackthereof for Justin Wilcox, lashing out at each other after each final whistle. It was only when the Pac-12 officially died -- and probably, because of a meme -- that we all decided to cheer the Bears together; when our survival was no longer guaranteed. In those nervous months without a home or future, we (Burners et. al) waited together for salvation. Finally, the ACC answered -- with a partial member share and the last boat out of the G5, but we took it and said goodbye to the West in cruel, fitting earnest: on the 50 yard line of Rose Bowl, once again, a few months short of January.

I used to worry about who would keep loving the program after my generation aged out – who would write if we stopped; if anyone was coming after us at all -- Cal football lost its fair share of casuals in the mid-2010s simply through its own ineptitude. But the Burners have helped answer that question, and as I wrote a few weeks earlier -- I have come to understand their passion, even if I do not share their anonymity. In many ways, the love they have is a deeper one than those before them – drawn from Big Game wins, but not big game wins; knowing a program rarely ranked, if ever. They did not even have the good old days to mourn. 

***

I am telling you all this, because I need you to know that all *this* – this seemingly endless well-spring of absurdity, this third iteration of Cal Twitter, the Calgorithm that has the snagged the eyes of the college football world this month -- was not immaculate conception; it was born out of tragi-comedy and boundless heartbreak, near-miss after near-miss, a punchline at the gallows; six decades of collective anticipation and disappointment, handed down and made memery. The same spirit, now at scale. 

***

This piece was supposed to go up on Wednesday, but I have been struggling to find an ending that feels “right”, especially for the audience waiting. I’m not even sure if I have the right one now, in this version that you’re reading; the last month of Cal Twitter has exploded in ways un-promptable, so much so that I have started to wonder whether this season’s realignment was not merely conference, but cosmic. 

There is something here, of course, in this joy we have cultivated amid this new, wild frontier, but I have found myself almost uninterested, if not unable to work through it, because the truth is that none of this really needs to mean anything to mean something. 

The time will last, as long as it does. We know it. We’ve told the story.