You don’t have to be a Division I athlete, the University of Kansas basketball coach or a booster for the rapid realignment of the NCAA conferences to shake you to your core.

The University of Missouri’s (my alma mater) probable departure from the Big 12 is life-altering, and threatens to rewrite college history. This is why grubbing for ratings sucks:

We have to rename our most popular bar (“Big 12” is now technically called Campus Bar and Grill because the Big 12 conference sued for the trademark before I arrived, but I’ve never known it as anything else but Big 12). Nights at that underage mecca left an indelible mark on my college experience and on my police record.

I got arrested on 4/20 of my sophomore year, in the women’s restroom, by a lady cop. They did an infamous sweep, where they lock the doors to the establishment and a handful of officers walk through, carding and ticketing anyone who looks nervous. I had been supervising an older sorority sister’s upchuck form when I was cornered by a fierce-looking female officer. I was nothing but cooperative (I told her I was 19 and handed over my real ID) until I realized I was being handcuffed.

What followed was printed in full in the police report that was mailed back to my parents in Texas. They had been surprisingly chill about the whole affair, until this bulleted gem arrived. Described as “glassy–eyed and uncooperative,” I:

- Refused the handcuffs, pointing out that my clutch put her in far less danger than her gun did me
- Joked about the similarities of the arresting officer’s haircut and her (male) partner’s
- Made cracks about previous situations in which I had found myself in handcuffs
- When asked if I had any illegal contraband, replied “just the needles” and reported that I was diabetic

In short, the story just won’t flow the same if I have to change the locale.

A major conference meant major tailgates. Until my senior year, we had an area called “Frat Pit,” which is exactly what it sounds like. It was the picture of excess, and I hope a smaller conference doesn’t translate to more subdued pregame activities. Everyone needs a story like this one.

No Big 12 means no Big 12 championship, which means no excuses to wreak havoc with my father. When we played Oklahoma for the Big 12 North title in San Antonio, my Dad put us up at La Mansion, a gorgeous historic hotel on the River Walk with an obscene brunch layout — bottomless mimosas and Bloody Marys, and as much lobster and crab legs as there were pastries and omelette add ons.

We drank our weight in top-shelf margaritas and after the game when I had to pass out or die, my pops told me he was going to go make friends at the hotel bar — and not to come looking for him, he flies solo. (The perk of recently divorced parents is benefiting from their attempts to sway their children’s affection. This trip was quickly followed by tickets from my mom to see the Rolling Stones in Concert. Plane tickets. To Brno).

Roadtrips are over. If we leave the Big 12, what does that mean for our arch-rivalry with KU and our yearly border-war showdown at Arrowhead Stadium? And will the Illinois game and the ensuing debauchery at St. Louis bars like McGurk’s remain if both Missouri and the Fighting Illini are in the same conference (the Big Ten) or will it be moved to a home-and-home series? Or for christssakes the RVs?? Have you no common respect for geography!?

Three friends and I drove to Austin once for a Texas game, spending more hours in the car than points Mizzou managed to put on the scoreboard.

Can a person not find themselves alone on 6th Street after a knockout fight with her best friend over a slice of pizza, overpay a pedicabber $40 to pedal her home while she weeps over said pizza, and tell Texas alum Marcia Gay Harden how very much she resembles Marcia Gay Harden (really, it’s striking) all in the same away-game OOC weekend anymore? Sheesh.