From the Editor's Desk: From Wreck ’Em to Wrecked by Group Texts
I have two things on my mind this week — one good, and one… profoundly annoying. And because I prefer to ease into disappointment rather than dive straight into it, we’re going to start with the good. The annoying one will require a little emotional preparation and a deep breath.
PART I:
WRECK ’EM!!!
Saturday afternoon, while we were watching the Big 12 Championship, I looked over at my oldest son, Graham, and said, “You sure have it good, boy.” And I meant it. At his age, he’s already experienced more championships than I did in my first three decades: two Albany Lions state titles in 2022 and 2023, the Texas Rangers winning the World Series, and now a Texas Tech Big 12 Championship.
The Lions’ 2022 title was the first championship of any kind I had ever experienced. I was 34 years old before I finally knew what it felt like to cheer for a team that finished the job. Up to that point, sports were mostly an exercise in hope, disappointment, and occasionally questioning why I let teenage athletes determine my emotional well-being.
Texas Tech, of course, has always played a central role in that roller coaster. The last season worth celebrating was 2008, when I was a sophomore at Tech. Mike Leach was leading the charge, the Air Raid offense was lighting up the scoreboard, and it felt like a new era was coming. For a brief moment, Tech fans saw a glimpse of a bright future.
Then the next 17 years of pure misery happened.
But this past Saturday was different. For the first time in program history, Texas Tech won a Big 12 Championship — and our first outright conference title since 1955, the year my dad was born. That alone made the moment emotional, not just for me but for generations of Red Raiders who have weathered every rebuild and every heartbreak along the way. I’m not ashamed to admit the final seconds brought a tear or two.
There have certainly been moments when I wondered why my parents didn’t raise me as an Alabama, Georgia, or Ohio State fan. Life would’ve been calmer. Predictable, even. But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized something important: it is far better to be a Red Raider. Those powerhouse programs treat conference titles like receipts — something you collect on the way to something bigger. If they don’t win the national championship, the entire season is considered a failure.
But for us? This season has been nothing short of remarkable.
The crowd said it all. A Big 12 Championship record of 85,519 fans filled AT&T Stadium — more than the Nebraska–Texas title game in 2009 and more than the OU–Texas title game in 2018. Red Raiders showed up in force because we’ve spent our entire existence waiting for a team like this and a moment like this. It turns out this wasn’t just a Big 12 record — it was the largest crowd ever to attend a Power 4 championship game.
And perhaps most astonishingly, this team gave us something unfamiliar: confidence. For the first time in my life as a Tech fan, I wasn’t pacing the room or bracing for disaster. I wasn’t hiding behind the couch during third downs. This team — this defense — has completely rewritten who we are. Tech fans know the phrase “TFT” and the weary sigh that comes with it. But not this year. This year felt different from start to finish.
And now here we are: Texas Tech is headed to the Orange Bowl on New Year’s Day.
It still doesn’t feel real to type that. But it feels good — really good. After everything we’ve endured, being Big 12 Champions is an incredible moment for our program and our fan base. And after watching this team, you can sense it: this isn’t the end. We’re hungry for more.
And for those complaining that Tech “bought” this championship in the new NIL era, I say: you’re darn right we did, and it feels fantastic. As Jacob Rodriguez said, if we’re going to buy a team, why not buy the best? Keep buying that gasoline — it’s doing wonders for the Texas Tech Red Raiders.
And finally, to our friends in Austin — the preseason national champions — my sincerest condolences. Enjoy the Citrus Bowl.
(That was tacky. I apologize… a little.)
PART II:
NO MORE GROUP TEXTS!!!
Now, on to the profoundly annoying thing.
There are many absolutely terrible things in life I can somewhat tolerate — my brakes squealing even though the dealership swears they’re “in perfect shape,” Taylor Swift music (please don’t come after me you crazy Swifties), and even the occasional, completely unnecessary “Reply All” email (Karen, thank you for notifying all 150 of us on the email chain that you “got it!” Truly heroic.). But there is one modern menace that continues to haunt me like a rogue telemarketer in the dead of night: the group text.
Let me make this clear — there is absolutely no consent involved. One minute you’re living your life in peace, and the next you’ve been drafted into a digital mob you never asked to join. Apple doesn’t ask, “Would you like to enter this chaos?” No. They simply shove you in like it’s the world’s worst surprise party.
And here’s the real trap: there is a way out, but it comes with consequences. If you leave, Apple broadcasts it like breaking news — “DAVID HAS LEFT THE CONVERSATION” — as if I just stormed out of a family reunion. Suddenly I’m the rude one, even though all I wanted was to stop my phone from buzzing like a caffeinated beehive.
The greatest update Apple could ever release — even better than a battery that lasts more than a day — would be a simple, civilized opt-in button. If someone adds me to a group text, let me quietly decline. No sirens, no public shaming, no digital walk of shame. Just a discreet:
“No thank you, I choose peace.”
Until that day arrives, my routine remains the same: the moment I’m shoved into a new group text, I slap that thing on silent faster than a toddler stealing a cookie. I’ll check it later — maybe. I almost never respond. In fact, 99% of the time, if someone asks me a direct question in a group text, I will reply privately to that person instead. Congratulations — we now have two conversations going. Efficient? No. Necessary? Absolutely.
I’m convinced my condition deserves a medical classification. Something Latin. Something dramatic... Textophobia Multiplexus — the overwhelming terror of being trapped in a digital town hall with 14 people who all type like they’re running for office. I’ve already submitted this condition to several medical associations to be included in their official books. Shockingly, no one has replied.
There is no cure. Only avoidance.
And don’t even get me started on third-party messaging apps. Every time a new group says, “Hey, join us on this platform you’ve never heard of,” I feel a small part of my sanity pack its bags. I’m tired of downloading new apps, creating new logins, and pretending I’ll remember my password. If one more group makes me sign up for something, I may actually lose my mind.
So Apple, if you’re listening, please — do the right thing and give us an anonymous opt-in system. Let peace return to our phones and to our lives.
And if this article inspires a fresh wave of group texts from my so-called “friends,” let me gently remind you: I possess the terrifying power to publish literally anything about you. I can whip up a TMZ-style “sources say” article, add a dramatic AI photo of you, and send it to 1,000 subscribers before lunch.
Try me if you must. You’ve been warned… Mwahahahaha.
Ominous villain music rumbling in the background.
— Commander of the Anti–Group Text Resistance and Big 12 Champion Tech Fan
-David H. Waller
David has left the conversation
