Red River Shootout

If you haven't read The Courting of Marcus Dupree, you should. 'Till then, here's an excerpt that, although 20 years old, is still pretty relevant for this weekend. True rivalry never goes out of style:

Texas and Oklahoma are neighbors only by a quirk of geography. They are
separated by the Red River, which used to separate New France from New Spain.
What really separates them is a century and half of history, the Alamo as
opposed to the Dust Bowl. When you hear a Texan or an Oklahoman call the other
neighbor, it just means they share ownership in an oil well. They are like
tribes connected by a common hatred, two people who look on one another with the
special loathing usually reserved for cannibalism. Oil and football prescribe
the characters of the two universities, and to a degree, the states. Longhorns
see themselves as big, fast, wealthy, wily, capable, cultured and annointed by
the Almighty. The good guys. They see the Okies as poor, ignorant,
Bible-thumping outlaws. Okies see the Texans as loud, arrogant, smartass
bullies. Jesus and football are one-two, but the order depends on the year and
which side of the Red River you occupy. There is something else in this rivalry,
something harder to define, but something that has to do with the times in which
we live. Just as Army-Navy symbolized all that was glorious and traditional
during World Wr II, Texas and Oklahoma are two states of the here and now.
Strange to say, trendy. Witness Texas chic, a disease in which people wear
cowboy boots, ride mechanical bulls and talk about the last time they saw Willie
Nelson at the Lone Star Cafe. Witness the popularity of such shows as "Dallas"
or "The Best Little Whorehouse In Texas". Somehow, "The Best Little Whorehouse
in New Jersey" just doesn't sound quite right. There are many who would contend
that the words Okie chic are mutually exclusive, but there is no denying the
popularity of Oral Roberts and his message to the Masses of Unhealed. Jap
Cartwright, Inside Sports. October 1981.