Mayors champion legislation to reignite Bedlam football between the Oklahoma State Cowboys and Oklahoma Sooners, uniting communities and boosting local economies through this storied Oklahoma rivalry's return
In a move that blends civic pride, economic strategy, and college football nostalgia, the mayors of Norman and Stillwater have teamed up to champion the return of one of Oklahoma's most storied rivalries: the Bedlam football game between the University of Oklahoma (OU) and Oklahoma State University (OSU).
On Tuesday, during a Norman City Council meeting, Mayor Stephen Tyler Holman revealed that he and Stillwater Mayor Will Joyce have co-authored legislation aimed at making the annual matchup a matter of state law. The proposed bill would require the two schools to face off every year in a home-and-home series, ensuring the game alternates between Gaylord Family Oklahoma Memorial Stadium in Norman and Boone Pickens Stadium in Stillwater.
The initiative comes at a pivotal time for Oklahoma college sports. The Bedlam series, which dates back to 1904 and has produced countless memorable moments—from dramatic upsets to high-stakes Big 12 battles—faced an uncertain future following OU's departure to the Southeastern Conference (SEC) in 2024. OSU remained in the restructured Big 12, creating scheduling conflicts that led to the rivalry's hiatus.
Fans across the state mourned the loss, not just for the on-field excitement but for the cultural and economic ripple effects that the game brings to both communities.
Holman and Joyce's legislation is rooted firmly in economic development arguments. "We felt that, in Norman's case, we're playing New Mexico and UTEP at home next year. A nonconference game like against OSU would be much more beneficial to the local Norman economy than playing New Mexico or UTEP," Holman explained during the council meeting.
He emphasized how the influx of fans, alumni, and visitors during Bedlam weekends transforms Norman into a bustling hub. Hotels fill up weeks in advance, restaurants overflow with patrons, and local businesses—from bars to merchandise shops—see a surge in revenue that sustains them through quieter periods.
Similarly, Mayor Joyce highlighted the symbiotic benefits for Stillwater. “I think from game day economics, we might not see a huge dip, but without the Bedlam rivalry not continuing, I think you see a just a general overall economic decline in things like t-shirt sales and just all the stuff that goes into Bedlam,” Joyce told Oklahoma News 4 ahead of what was then thought to be the final Bedlam game in Stillwater.
The rivalry fuels a year-round ecosystem of branded apparel, memorabilia, and events that keep the spirit alive. For smaller college towns like Stillwater, where OSU is the economic heartbeat, losing such a marquee event could mean diminished tourism dollars and reduced community engagement.
The mayors' collaboration underscores a rare bipartisan effort in a state often divided by crimson and orange allegiances.
According to Holman, the bill encountered no pushback during initial discussions, clearing the way for it to advance to the Oklahoma state legislature for formal consideration.
If passed, it could set a precedent for how states intervene in collegiate athletics, particularly as conference realignments continue to disrupt traditional rivalries nationwide. Think of it as a local twist on the broader chaos in college sports, where mega-conferences prioritize TV deals over historic matchups.
Adding intrigue to the story is the evolving stance from the universities themselves. Outgoing OU Athletic Director Joe Castiglione shared in an October interview with Tulsa World that he had reached out to OSU counterparts months earlier about restarting Bedlam, only to encounter "minimal" interest at the time.
That lukewarm response may have stemmed from lingering tensions over OU's conference switch, which some in Stillwater viewed as a betrayal. However, winds of change have blown through OSU's program since then.
The Cowboys fired longtime head coach Mike Gundy, whose tenure was marked by competitive but often contentious Bedlam games. His replacement, Eric Morris, struck a conciliatory tone in his introductory press conference: "I'd welcome it with open arms."
Morris's enthusiasm could grease the wheels for negotiations, especially if the state law adds legal pressure.
Beyond economics, the push to revive Bedlam taps into deeper emotional veins for Oklahomans. The rivalry isn't just about points on a scoreboard; it's a cultural touchstone that unites (and divides) families, fuels tailgate traditions, and inspires generations of fans.
Bedlam weekends turn quiet college towns into vibrant festivals, with pep rallies, parades, and packed stadiums creating memories that last a lifetime. For alumni like those who remember Barry Sanders' electrifying runs or Baker Mayfield's Heisman-winning heroics, the game's absence feels like a void in the state's identity.
Critics might argue that mandating games through legislation oversteps government bounds, potentially infringing on the autonomy of athletic departments. Yet proponents counter that in an era of Name, Image, and Likeness (NIL) deals and billion-dollar media contracts, preserving community-driven traditions is worth the intervention.
As the bill heads to the legislature, all eyes will be on lawmakers in Oklahoma City. Will they codify Bedlam into law, ensuring its survival for future seasons? Or will conference politics prevail?
For now, the mayors' initiative has reignited hope among fans. In Norman and Stillwater, whispers of "Boomer Sooner" and "Go Pokes" are growing louder, dreaming of a rivalry reborn.
If successful, this could not only boost local economies but also restore a piece of Oklahoma's soul—one touchdown at a time.