The walk to Georgia Tech’s Bobby Dodd Stadium takes you past fraternity houses with garden benches, dorms with spray-painted sheets, academic buildings packed with knowledge-hungry students, even on a football Saturday. (This is Georgia Tech, after all.) Of course, you’ll have to tread lightly; the sidewalk is often cracked, there are beer cans everywhere, and there are always random chicken wing bones to avoid. (This is Atlanta, after all.) But when you arrive at the century-plus-old concrete behemoth, you’ll be in the mood for some college football. And when it’s the last Saturday in November, you’re full of old-fashioned hatred.
The walk to nearby Mercedes-Benz Stadium in Atlanta, by contrast, is wide and clean, carefully designed and masterfully executed, along sidewalks so pristine you could eat chicken wings on them—not that you’ll see any. There’s a tastefully planned and regulated Tailgating Zone – sponsored, of course, by a certain Atlanta-based home improvement company – and the whole experience is like walking into a cathedral, almost overwhelming in its grandeur.
Next year, Mercedes-Benz will host “Clean Old-Fashioned Hate,” the annual rivalry game between Georgia and Georgia Tech – the first time since 1912 that the Georgia Tech-hosted half of the rivalry will not be played at Bobby Dodd. It’s the latest example of the increasing NFL-ization of college football — and unfortunately, it’s also completely understandable, given college football’s new financial reality. Playing a rivalry game in an NFL stadium will, in the words of Georgia Tech athletics director J Batt, provide “a transformative revenue boost” — and in the wild new world of college football, tradition is a cookie and revenue a behemoth.
It is true that old stadiums, even when retrofitted, are not as aesthetically pleasing as modern creations. Aluminum benches are not as inviting to alumni butts as cushioned club chairs. The Saturday afternoon sun is much more bearable in an air-conditioned monolith than in a concrete grandstand. Parking is a nightmare, traffic is ‘Walking Dead’ level apocalyptic, and good luck trying to grab a bite to eat after the game in a college town.
But what then? Spend an afternoon at a rivalry game – the Iron Bowl, The Game, the Egg Bowl, Clean Old-Fashioned Hate, any of a hundred others – and you’ll understand it on a primal level. The sun shines a little brighter, the popcorn and hot dogs taste a little better and the band sounds so much better in a college stadium.
During a rivalry game, alumni can point to the spot in the stadium where they sat as a student. Current students can reunite with high school friends who voted for the opposition. Friends, colleagues, clients meet before and after the game in tents and tailgates, and if everyone takes sides, everyone wins.
There is no doubt that Mercedes-Benz is one of the most beautiful stadiums in the world, and an exceptional environment for great football. It has hosted one Super Bowl — the 2019 Patriots-over-Rams snoozer, but that’s no fault of the stadium — and will host another in 2028. It is the site of Alabama’s famous second and 26th national title victory over Georgia in 2018, and will host this season’s college football title game. Each year, MBS hosts the SEC Championship, the Chick-fil-A Kickoff Classic and Peach Bowl, and at least one Georgia Tech home game, including this year’s Notre Dame game on Saturday.
All of these games are spectacular, often transcendent experiences. And none of them are rivalry games, steeped in glorious, messy, transcendent tradition.
Georgia and Georgia Tech have been playing for so long that no human was alive on Earth when this series began. Granted, the series hasn’t been particularly competitive lately – Georgia has won the last six and 12 of the last 14 – but rivalry isn’t just about results on the field. (Georgia Tech fans have a slew of coping jokes at the ready: “What does a Georgia graduate call a Georgia Tech graduate?” “Boss” is about the only one we can print.) The Kirby Smart era in Georgia has the rivalry moved firmly eastwards, towards Athens.
That partly underlies Georgia Tech’s decision to move the game. AMB Sports Enterprises – the umbrella organization of Falcons owner Arthur Blank – will pay Georgia Tech $10 million to play just one part of the rivalry game at Mercedes-Benz Stadium. Ten million for one game is a decent amount of money to move a game a mile south. You could count the number of athletic directors who wouldn’t turn down that deal on any hand.
In an open letter to Georgia Tech fans, Batt outlined the costs Georgia Tech faces in its attempt to return to its national championship level, starting with the financial realities of the upcoming House settlement on student-athlete compensation.
“To compete for championships at the highest levels in the post-House era, athletic programs will need to make an additional financial investment of at least $20 to $22 million per year to participate at the maximum level in revenue sharing between students and athletes, which is essential. to compete with our peers,” Batt wrote. “While at the same time we will receive approximately $1 million less in annual benefits from the ACC, which will contribute to our share of the $3 billion in back damages.”
Suddenly, a $10 million check to play one game now makes a lot more sense, financially if not historically. Whether to view revenue sharing as something long overdue or a betrayal of the ethos of college football is no longer the question; either way, the bill is due.
In his letter to Yellow Jacket fans, Batt committed to returning the 2027 Georgia game to Bobby Dodd — but not 2029, 2031 and beyond. Maybe that was a mistake, or maybe it was just a matter of keeping options open for future transformative revenue increases. Nothing is off the table right now in the college football universe.
The 2025 Georgia-Georgia Tech game will be another tough one on the field, and message boards, podcasts and sports talk radio will light up the same way. But when you start monetizing nostalgia and turning tradition into a commodity, something inexpressible but essential is lost. “Sterile, climate-controlled hate” just doesn’t feel right, does it?
