President Reeves,
I’m writing as a proud 2016 masters graduate of the of Journalism and as someone for whom the University of Wyoming genuinely changed the trajectory of my life.
Wyoming was the only university that accepted me.
My undergraduate grades at the time frankly did not warrant admission. But somebody at Wyoming looked at a Black kid from Philadelphia and decided I was worth taking a chance on. That decision changed my life.
Laramie became home. Wyoming shaped me personally and professionally. My experience there had such an impact that, a decade later, I’m still working in higher education, now supervising campus recreation programs at Georgia Tech. If I had it my way, someday I’d be next in line to replace Pat Moran at Half Acre.
I love stories about people being given a shot because I am one of those stories.
That is part of why I wanted Jay Sawvel to succeed so badly.
Wyoming gave a relatively unproven coach an opportunity to lead a Division I football program. I respect that. I love that kind of story. By everything I have seen and heard, Jay is also a genuinely good person. None of what I’m writing is meant to diminish that.
But being Cowboy Tough also means being willing to make Cowboy Tough decisions.
And it’s time.
Some of my fondest memories are tied to Wyoming Athletics: watching the Cowboys win the Mountain West basketball tournament, upsetting then-No. 5 San Diego State, Kegs and Eggs at the Buckhorn, and countless Saturdays watching Wyoming football.
We certainly didn’t always win.
But those teams competed. They were physical. They were stubborn. They made you believe Wyoming belonged on the field with whoever lined up across from us.
I have a Steamboat tattoo because ten of my friends and I decided in Las Vegas that winning a Mountain West championship was a perfectly reasonable excuse to permanently put Wyoming on our bodies.
That’s how much this place means to me.
Which is why watching what Wyoming football has become hurts.
I understand the challenges. NIL and revenue sharing have changed college athletics. The transfer portal makes roster building harder. Wyoming has geographic and financial realities that other programs do not. Injuries happen. There are legitimate headwinds here, and I don’t expect Wyoming to suddenly operate like a Big Ten program.
But those challenges cannot explain everything.
What we are watching now is a shadow of the Wyoming football program I remember.
This isn’t simply about losing. Wyoming fans know how to lose. We have done plenty of it over the years. But there is a difference between losing while competing and watching a program that increasingly looks like it has lost its direction.
I live in Atlanta now. I had planned to bring my wife back to Laramie for the UConn game. I wanted her to experience the place that changed my life—the drive into town, the cold, War Memorial, the people, all of it.
After watching the product on the field, I cannot justify the expense of making that trip.
I can’t seriously contemplate flying from Atlanta to Laramie in November to watch this.
And that bothers me far more than any individual loss.
Your development staff comes to Atlanta. I want to attend those events. I want to support UW. I want to give. I want Wyoming Athletics to keep me connected to the university from 1,500 miles away.
But right now, supporting this football program even from my couch increasingly feels like a poor use of my time.
And please understand: I am paying attention.
I’ve listened to Board of Trustees meetings from Atlanta. I follow what is happening at the university. I listen to your public remarks and speeches because I care deeply about the institution and its future.
I’m not someone checking a football score on Saturday and firing off an angry email after a loss.
I care about Wyoming.
And lately, one of the most frustrating feelings has been wondering whether alumni like me care more urgently about the direction of Wyoming football than the people with the authority to change it.
I desperately want to be wrong about that.
President Reeves, I also recognize that you have far more consequential responsibilities than football. As someone pursuing a doctorate in higher education administration and hoping to continue advancing as an administrator myself, I have tremendous empathy for the position you are in. Universities are complicated places. Leadership means balancing competing priorities, constituencies, budgets, politics, people, and missions every single day.
But athletics matters because it is one of the strongest connective tissues between a university and its alumni.
Wyoming Athletics gives people like me a reason to keep looking west.
It brings us back to Laramie. It puts us in brown and gold in Atlanta, Denver, Chicago, Philadelphia, and everywhere else Cowboys end up. It keeps us emotionally connected to a university that changed our lives long after we leave campus.
That connection is being tested right now.
Wyoming once made a bet on me.
I will be grateful for that for the rest of my life.
I’m glad Wyoming made a bet on Jay Sawvel, too. Giving someone an opportunity is part of what makes this institution special.
But an opportunity cannot become an indefinite obligation.
Jay is a person. By all accounts, he is a good one. He deserves to be treated with dignity and respect regardless of what happens next.
But Wyoming football needs new leadership. It needs new energy. It needs new faces and a reason for people to believe again.
There is still time to give alumni like me a reason to book that flight, come back to Laramie, walk into War Memorial, and believe that Wyoming football is building toward something again.
President Reeves, this is one of those moments that calls for the toughness Wyoming talks so proudly about.
Please do the Cowboy Tough thing.
Make the difficult decision.
It’s time.
Go Pokes!
