Edit Desk: The irony of the Rivalry

Any Lehigh student would say Rivalry Week is the best time on campus. Every year it lands on a perfect fall week right before everyone heads home for Thanksgiving break, when Pennsylvania’s brisk weather first hits and the last of the colorful foliage lingers on the Lehigh Valley trees. 

The week encapsulates the college student experience. It’s full of traditions that bring together Lehigh’s community — with students gathering on Packard Avenue for Bed Races, laughing at the bed sheets hung around campus and hoping their lectures will be interrupted by the Marching 97. 

And, of course, it ends in a quintessential football game. 

It’s always boasted that the Lehigh-Lafayette game is the most-played rivalry game in American college history, with the teams having recently met for the 161st time. This is where the deep-rooted rivalry — one we devote a whole week to — comes from. 

Still, most students only live through four years of it.

As a junior, I just celebrated my third Rivalry Week and third Le-Laf football game. But for me, The Rivalry has a deeper meaning that goes beyond my three years here — starting before I even knew what Lehigh or Lafayette was. 

For me it started at birth. My older brother, Timmy, is currently a senior at Lafayette. 

Timmy and I aren’t quite a year and a half apart in age and are just a year apart in school, so we’ve spent a lot of time together. When I came to Lehigh and heard about The Rivalry, I was prepared. I had 18 years of experience from bickering with my brother. 

It only made sense that we would commit to colleges that have a long-standing tradition of competing with each other. 

We grew up side by side — from playing on the same soccer team as toddlers to taking sibling photos every year for our high school yearbook. We even used to get confused as twins, much to his dismay, because for years I was the same height as him and took great pride in it. 

Being so close in age, it wasn’t the typical “older brother picks on little sister” dynamic. Whenever he made fun of me, I would make fun of him right back. Our childhood was filled with silly fights that would last until we got bored and someone chose a board game to play. 

Every summer since I was born, we road-tripped for eight hours from Maryland to Massachusetts. These drives led to some of our worst fights that ended only when I blasted music on my iPod to drown him out. 

As we grew up, not much changed. We rode to elementary school and middle school drop-off together, arguing over who got the front seat. I always lost. 

In high school we continued to bond and bicker — fist bumping in the hallways and driving to and from school together. He’d always drive and control the music. 

When he first went off to college, I was excited. I got the car to myself, I could watch my shows on TV and I knew dinner wouldn’t end in an argument. 

But truthfully, without him I was bored. The house was too quiet without him yelling at me for making us late to school. I didn’t have my built-in friend to bother whenever I wanted. 

I always said I didn’t want to go to the same college as my older brother. I wanted to do my own thing and avoid being labeled as “Timmy’s little sister.” Yet, I ended up only 25 minutes away from him. 

Having my brother at a neighboring college eased the transition from living at home to being in an entirely new state with new people. Knowing he was never more than a short drive away made me less scared. 

Over the past few years, my whole family has gotten involved in The Rivalry, though my parents will never take a side. 

Every year they drive up from Maryland, and last year our oldest brother even flew in from Chicago. Outside of Rivalry Week, our family group chat is frequently filled with Lehigh or Lafayette slander, and I always correct anyone who mistakenly calls the game “Laf-Le” instead of its correct title “Le-Laf.” 

While students and alumni are proud when Lehigh wins the football game, I’m just slightly prouder to say I won and my older brother lost. 

Last weekend, my brother and I celebrated our last rivalry game together as college students. But what makes The Rivalry such a special tradition is that it never dies. Year after year, alumni return, and the game continues to be played and celebrated. 

The funny thing about The Rivalry is that there’s irony in it. 

It brings people together more than it tears us apart — my brother and me, my family and students and alumni of Lehigh and Lafayette.