The dust in Odessa doesn't just settle; it hangs. If you've ever driven through West Texas at sunset, you know that hazy, orange glow that blankets the oil rigs and the flat, endless horizon. But in Odessa, that dust carries the weight of a legacy that most high school kids couldn't possibly wrap their heads around. We are talking about Permian High School football. It is more than just a team. It is a haunting, a religion, and a massive civic burden all rolled into one.
Most people know the name because of H.G. Bissinger. His 1990 book, Friday Night Lights, basically turned a group of teenagers into national icons of a specific kind of American obsession. But here is the thing: the book came out over thirty years ago. The movie followed. Then the TV show. People act like Permian is a museum piece, a relic of 1988. It isn't. The stadium still fills up. The "Mojo" chant still vibrates through the aluminum bleachers of Ratliff Stadium.
But honestly? The reality of Permian High School football today is way more complicated than the Hollywood version. It’s a story of a program trying to maintain its "Panther Spirit" in a world where the demographics of Texas have shifted, the oil money fluctuates like a heart monitor, and the pressure to win isn't just about sports—it's about the town's very identity.
The Ratliff Stadium Experience and the Ghost of 1988
You can't talk about Permian without talking about Ratliff. It seats nearly 18,000 people. Think about that for a second. That is larger than many Division I college tracks. When you walk into that place on a Friday night, the smell of popcorn and deep-fryer grease hits you first, but then it's the black and white. Everything is black and white. It’s stark. It’s intimidating.
The 1988 season is the one everyone obsesses over because of the book, but Permian’s dominance wasn't a fluke of one decade. They’ve got six state championships: 1965, 1972, 1980, 1984, 1989, and 1991. That 1989 team? They were actually better than the '88 team everyone remembers. They went 15-0. They were monsters.
But what happens when the winning stops being a given?
In recent years, the dominance hasn't been as absolute. The rise of Austin-area schools like Westlake and the perennial powerhouses in North Texas like North Shore or Duncanville has shifted the power balance. West Texas isn't the undisputed king anymore. That hurts in Odessa. It creates this weird tension where the current players are constantly being compared to their fathers and grandfathers who played under legendary coaches like Gene Mayfield or Gary Gaines.
Why the "Mojo" Brand is Different from Regular High School Sports
Mojo. It’s a weird word if you think about it too long. Legend has it the chant started back in the late 60s during a game against Abilene. It was just a rhythmic shout that caught fire. Now, it’s a multi-million dollar brand.
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- The gear. You’ll see Mojo hats in airports in London and Tokyo.
- The expectations. At most schools, an 8-3 season is a success. At Permian, it’s a crisis.
- The scrutiny. Local boosters don't just watch the games; they dissect them like they're paid analysts.
If you’re the quarterback at Permian, you aren't just a student. You’re a public figure. You get recognized at the H-E-B. People have opinions on your completion percentage while you're trying to buy milk. It’s a lot for a 17-year-old.
The demographic shift is another factor people rarely discuss outside of West Texas. Odessa has changed. The school is much more diverse than it was in the 1980s. The socioeconomic struggles of an oil-dependent economy mean that for many of these kids, football isn't just a game—it’s the only visible ladder out. Bissinger was criticized for how he portrayed the racial and educational priorities of the town, and while some of those wounds have healed, the core truth remains: in Odessa, football is the primary currency.
The Coaching Carousel and the Gary Gaines Legacy
Gary Gaines passed away in 2022. He was the man at the center of the 1988 storm, the coach played by Billy Bob Thornton in the movie. Gaines was a decent man caught in a meat grinder. He once said that the pressure was so intense he could feel it in his bones.
Since the Gaines era, the coaching job at Permian has been one of the most scrutinized positions in Texas sports. When Blake Feldt took over in 2013, he brought a level of stability back, followed by Jeff Ellison. Ellison, who took the reins later, had to navigate the "Mojo" tradition while modernized offenses started popping up all over the state.
You see, for a long time, Permian ran the Veer. It was a punishing, triple-option style that relied on execution and toughness. But the modern game is about space, speed, and the "Air Raid." Watching Permian evolve from a ground-and-pound identity to a more modern approach has been like watching a massive ship try to turn in a narrow canal. Tradition is a tether. Sometimes it keeps you grounded; sometimes it keeps you from moving forward.
The Rivalry: Permian vs. Odessa High
If you want to understand Permian High School football, you have to understand the "Cross-Town" rivalry. It’s Permian vs. Odessa High (OHS).
It is the classic "haves" vs. "have-nots" narrative, though it’s more nuanced than that. Permian was the newer school, the one that saw the immediate success. OHS is the older institution. When they play, the town of Odessa effectively shuts down. It’s the "Civil War" of Ector County.
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Statistics tell a lopsided story—Permian has dominated the win-loss column for decades—but the OHS game is where the most raw emotion lives. It’s about bragging rights at the barber shop for the next 364 days. In 1997, OHS finally beat Permian after a 33-year drought. People still talk about that night like it was a lunar landing.
What Most People Get Wrong About the Mojo Legend
Social media has changed the "Friday Night Lights" mystique. Back in the 80s, the only way to see Permian was to be there or wait for the Sunday morning highlights. Now, every play is on Twitter (X) or Instagram within seconds.
The biggest misconception? That the players are all "football-first" robots.
These are kids who deal with the same stuff every other Gen Z kid deals with. They’re on TikTok. They worry about their GPAs. They deal with the boom-and-bust cycle of the Permian Basin oil fields that affects their parents' jobs. The "tough guy" image of West Texas football is real, sure, but it’s layered over a lot of modern anxiety.
Also, people think the town hates the book. That's not entirely true anymore. While there was a lot of anger when Friday Night Lights first dropped, many in Odessa now recognize it as a piece of history. It put them on the map. It gave the "Mojo" brand a global reach that other Texas powerhouses like Katy or Southlake Carroll simply don't have. You can't buy that kind of notoriety.
The Financial Reality of West Texas Football
Let's talk money. Permian High School football is an economic engine.
The revenue generated from ticket sales, concessions, and merchandise doesn't just fund the football team; it often helps sustain other athletic programs that don't bring in a dime. When the team is winning, the town spends more. The hotels are full on game weekends. The restaurants have hour-long waits.
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When the team struggles, you can actually feel a slight slump in the local mood. It's weirdly tied to the price of a barrel of crude oil. When oil is up, the boosters are flush, the stadium is loud, and the future looks bright. When the price drops, everything feels a little more desperate.
Actionable Insights for the High School Football Fan
If you are planning to visit or want to truly understand the Permian phenomenon, don't just watch the movie. Do these things instead:
- Attend a game at Ratliff Stadium in October. Don't go for the season opener. Go when the district race is heating up. The tension is palpable.
- Visit the "Mojo" Hall of Fame. It’s located at the field house. You’ll see the helmets, the trophies, and the photos. It’s where you realize that for these kids, they aren't playing for themselves—they are playing for the names on those walls.
- Read the 25th Anniversary Edition of the book. Bissinger went back and wrote a follow-up on what happened to the players like Boobie Miles and Brian Chavez. It’s a sobering look at what happens when the cheering stops.
- Watch the "Little League" games in Odessa. You’ll see six-year-olds wearing Permian jerseys. That’s where the cycle starts. It’s not a choice; it’s an inheritance.
Permian High School football isn't just about winning games anymore. It’s about survival. In a world that is moving faster and faster, Odessa clings to the black and white jerseys because they represent something solid. Something permanent.
It is the belief that if you work hard enough, hit hard enough, and "believe in the Mojo," you can be part of something that lasts forever. Even if "forever" is just the time it takes for the clock to hit zero on a Friday night in October.
The stadium lights are still the brightest thing in the desert. They are a beacon for some and a spotlight for others, but they never, ever go out.
To truly grasp the legacy, one must look past the box scores and see the names of the families that have stayed in Ector County for generations, sending son after son into that tunnel. It is a cycle of hope and pressure that shows no sign of slowing down, regardless of how much the game of football changes on a national level. Mojo, it seems, is a permanent resident of the Basin.