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The 25 worst losses in college football history, including Baylor’s 2024 entry at Colorado

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The 25 worst losses in college football history, including Baylor’s 2024 entry at Colorado

Baylor plays LSU on Tuesday night in the Texas Bowl, Dave Aranda’s team looking for its seventh straight win to finish the season in a matchup that sets the table for the Fiesta Bowl quarterfinal.

The Bears bumping right up against a College Football Playoff game is fitting because one might argue Baylor could be in it without the most brutal loss in school history — one of the wildest on record in a sport made for mind-melting defeats.

As we prepare to cross over into 2025, let’s celebrate the 25 worst losses of all time. “Worst” is mostly an evaluation of circumstances, with consequences factoring heavily. Your garden-variety Hail Mary isn’t enough. We’re talking plays that couldn’t possibly be duplicated, calls that can’t be explained, gigantic leads blown and/or great seasons squandered.

And yes, a lot of these games can be flipped around as all-time best wins. But today we celebrate the losers.

One game that didn’t qualify: The original “Fifth Down” game between Cornell and Dartmouth in 1940. Cornell scored a touchdown to win 7-3 on an extra down that shouldn’t have been permitted, circumstances similar to one of the games on the list that follows. But Cornell sent a telegram the next day to Dartmouth, officially forfeiting the game. Were it not for those swell Big Red chaps, the Big Green would be on this list.

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Auburn 17, Alabama 16 • Dec. 1, 1972

“Punt Bama Punt,” they like to call it, and a nickname like that gives a game a strong chance to end up on a list like this. Paul “Bear” Bryant’s team was 10-0 and ranked No. 2 coming into this Iron Bowl against Ralph Jordan’s 8-1, No. 9 Tigers, and the higher-ranked team controlled the game — seeking a win that would provide access to a national championship shot against Texas in the Cotton Bowl. Access was denied by Bill Newton, who inexplicably blocked two punts in the final 10 minutes, and David Langner, who returned them both for touchdowns. This has it all — unimaginable plays by a hated rival, costing a team its shot at glory.

Colorado 33, Missouri 31 • Oct. 6, 1990

Missouri appears twice on this list, with middling teams, but in both cases, their losses led to conference rivals winning shares of national championships. One was pure luck, but this one was made possible by some of the worst officiating malpractice on record. Colorado quarterback Charles Johnson spiked the ball twice in a sequence that ended with him scoring on the Buffs’ fifth play, which obviously never should have happened. An underrated aspect of this debacle: Replays cast serious doubt on whether he actually got into the end zone.

Texas A&M 36, Kansas State 33 (double OT) • Dec. 5, 1998 • Big 12 title game

This is an all-time bag fumble, not just for that Kansas State team but for a program that could have gained so much from being in the first BCS title game. No. 2 UCLA’s upset loss to Miami meant Bill Snyder’s Wildcats just needed to beat the Aggies as 17.5-point favorites. They just needed to preserve a 27-12 lead in the final nine minutes of the game. But Sirr Parker caught the tying touchdown and two-point conversion, then the winner in double-overtime, and Florida State leapfrogged Kansas State and UCLA to play (and lose to) Tennessee.

Michigan State 27, Michigan 23 • Oct. 17, 2015

There aren’t enough Hail Marys in the world to approximate the improbability of Michigan punting, up 23-21, from the Michigan State 47-yard-line with 10 seconds left and Blake O’Neill fumbling the snap; O’Neill trying to pick it up and spin rather than falling on it; O’Neill getting hit and letting it pop into the air; Michigan State’s Jalen Watts-Jackson grabbing it in full stride; and Watts-Jackson following a convoy of Spartans into the end zone as time expired and his hip was broken and dislocated.

This is how Jim Harbaugh’s first meeting with Mark Dantonio ended. It would deny Harbaugh’s first team a home shot at Ohio State for a spot in the Big Ten title game — it would be six years before he won the league. The hated Spartans ended up winning at Ohio State, winning the Big Ten and earning a spot in the College Football Playoff. Circumstances and consequences, maxed out.

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Tennessee 28, Arkansas 24 • Nov. 14, 1998

A lot of people forget that Houston Nutt’s Razorbacks were 8-0 and ranked No. 9 coming to Knoxville to play the No. 1 Vols. More people remember how they blew it. The Hogs had it at their 49 with 1:47 left, up 24-22, and Tennessee had one timeout left. Arkansas went play action. UT’s Billy Ratliff drove Arkansas guard Brandon Burlsworth back and Burlsworth stepped on quarterback Clint Stoerner’s foot. Stoerner could have secured the ball as he fell, but he left it on the grass. The Vols took that incredible gift all the way to the national championship. What if Arkansas hadn’t committed an all-time gaffe? Would the following week’s 22-21 upset loss at Mississippi State gone differently? Would the Hogs have ended up in the BCS title game? We’ll never know.

Auburn 34, Alabama 28 • Nov. 30, 2013

Auburn got to this game at 10-1, ranked No. 4 on the strength of another candidate for this list — the 73-yard “immaculate deflection” to stun Georgia — but it took something more improbable to emerge as a national title contender. Nick Saban went for the win for No. 1, unbeaten Alabama with a 57-yard field goal try. It turned into a 109-yard Chris Davis return for the win, “The Kick Six.” Of course, if you want to talk repercussions, Saban and Alabama would be back again and again. A season that finished with a loss in the last BCS title game tied Auburn to Malzahn for another seven seasons, and he never lost fewer than four games again.

Nebraska 45, Missouri 38 (overtime) • Nov. 8, 1997

Show me more misery, Missouri! At least this loss to a hated conference rival that went on to win the whole thing was about bad luck, not incomprehensible human error. But what luck — Scott Frost’s pass bouncing off intended receiver Shevin Wiggins’ chest, hitting the foot of a Missouri player and bouncing up, then off Wiggins’ leg and finally into the hands of diving Cornhusker Matt Davison with the clock at zeroes. The “Flea Kicker” was not unlike Pee Wee Herman’s chain-reaction “breakfast machine” in action, and it cost the Tigers their first win over the Huskers in 20 years.

Michigan State 16, Ohio State 13 • Nov. 9, 1974

It was eventual Heisman winner Archie Griffin, Woody Hayes and No. 1 Ohio State as four-touchdown favorites at a 4-3-1 team. Michigan State fullback Levi Jackson sprinted 88 yards for the winning score and was greeted in the end zone by bell-bottomed student revelers. Then it got weird. Ohio State got to the Michigan State 1-yard line, hurried for a final play and landed on the fumbled ball in the end zone. One official signaled touchdown, another signaled time had expired, they all fled a field filling with fans, and it took 46 minutes for Big Ten commissioner Wayne Duke to tell Hayes he had officially lost. His vengeance included turning Michigan State in for NCAA violations, leading to probation that crippled the program until the late 1970s.

Cal 25, Stanford 20, Nov. 20 • 1982

“The Play,” a kickoff return for a touchdown as time expired featuring five laterals, the Stanford band on the field taking body shots and Joe Starkey’s exquisitely unhinged radio call, deserves that title and is perhaps the finest single summation of this sport. But being on the other side of that is bitter, especially considering a couple of those laterals were awfully close to forward passes and a knee sure looked like it might have been on the ground. It’s been analyzed countless times with varying conclusions. Stanford coach Paul Wiggin, fired a year later, said it crushed his program. Of course, had he not instructed quarterback John Elway to call timeout with eight seconds left before the would-be winning field goal to account for a possible miscue, there would have been no time for “The Play.”

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Miami 30, Duke 27 • Oct. 31, 2015

The winning play itself, a kickoff return consisting of eight laterals, lasting 49 seconds and winding all the way back to the Miami 3-yard line before heading back the other way, was even more breathtaking than Cal’s 1982 winner against Stanford. Problem was, officials threw a flag on an illegal block in the back. Bigger problem was, they overturned that upon review — even though the rulebook gave them no permission to review an illegal block in the back. Oh and by the way, the ACC said in a statement announcing the suspension of the entire crew (including the replay official), a runner’s knee was down and there was an additional penalty on Miami that should have been called. Shucks, sorry!

Mississippi State 21, Ole Miss 20 • Nov. 28, 2019

Rivalries abound on this list, which makes sense because nothing is worse than losing to a rival. Also, because rivalry games serve as crockpots for the absurd. Few can match the circumstances of this particular Egg Bowl, in which Ole Miss receiver Elijah Moore caught an apparent tying touchdown from Matt Corral with four seconds left and celebrated by impersonating a dog urinating in the end zone. The ensuing penalty led to a missed extra point. Firings ensued, The Athletic later writing a piece on how nearly 300 coaching careers were affected. Woof.

Colorado 38, Baylor 31 (overtime) • Sept. 22, 2024

Yes, the big play was technically a Hail Mary, but it was not the usual: drop back, set up, launch high, hope a receiver can high point or a tip lands fortuitously. This was Shedeur Sanders taking a snap from the Baylor 43, bailing left to escape an extra Baylor rusher, setting his feet for a fraction of a second and launching the dart of darts into the hands of LaJohntay Wester, who was way too available in the end zone. This came after Baylor led 24-10, squandered that, got the ball at the Colorado 26 with a 31-24 lead and 3:58 left, ran three times, missed a field goal, then let the Buffs escape from second-and-24 at their own 31 with 55 seconds left. It ended for Baylor at the goal line in overtime, Travis Hunter knocking the ball loose to erase a would-be tying touchdown.

Aranda later said his team was “cut wide open” by the loss, and it showed the next week as the Bears fell behind 28-7 to BYU at home. They stormed back and had a chance to win late but fell 34-28. What if Baylor does any one of several things to close out Colorado and isn’t battling the combo of Cougars/catastrophe hangover the next week? This turned into a team that was good enough to play for a Big 12 title.

UNLV 27, Baylor 24 • Sept. 11, 1999

Strictly in terms of circumstances, this is Baylor’s worst loss. But since Kevin Steele’s team finished 1-10 and was blown out most weeks, this will have to settle for second. What a beauty, though. The Bears had the ball at the Rebels’ 8-yard line with 28 seconds left, up 24-21. Kneel and celebrate? Nah. Steele wanted another touchdown. One play, strip, fumble and 100-yard return later, Steele’s head coaching career was off to a foreboding start.

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Central Michigan 30, Oklahoma State 27 • Sept. 10, 2016

The Hail Mary that didn’t quite get there, and had to be finished by a lateral for a 51-yard touchdown on the final play of the game would have been enough to make this part of Oklahoma State’s unwanted lore. The fact that it never should have happened makes it much worse. The Mid-American Conference crew penalized Oklahoma State for intentional grounding on what should have been the final play, a throw away with four seconds left. The crew incorrectly ruled that game couldn’t end on that play. It should have. Resulting apologies were not well received.

Colorado State 48, Washington State 45 • Dec. 21, 2013 • New Mexico Bowl

The late, great Mike Leach coached Washington State in a 67-63 loss to UCLA in 2019 that featured the third-largest blown lead in FBS history — 32 points — and yet that one didn’t quite make the cut. He has two others that did, including this doozy in which the Cougars led 45-30 with less than three minutes to play. Colorado State scored. Wazzu lost a fumble, ruled down upon review. Wazzu lost another fumble and this one counted. Colorado State scored and tied it on a “Statue of Liberty” two-point play. Wazzu fumbled away the ensuing kickoff, setting up the winning field goal.

Cal 60, Washington State 59 • Oct. 4, 2014

This one has a claim as the wildest game on record, with the teams combining for 56 points in the third quarter and the quarterbacks — Cal’s Jared Goff and Wazzu’s Connor Halliday — playing catch with no resistance. Goff threw for 527 yards and five touchdowns. Halliday threw for an NCAA-record 734 yards and six scores. So it’s a tossup and someone had to lose, right? Not when you’re Washington State and you gave up kickoff returns for touchdowns of 100 and 98 yards to Trevor Davis. Not when you’re Washington State and you suffer the ultimate college kicker moment, a 19-yard Quentin Breshears miss for the win to lose.

Georgia Tech 23, Miami 20 • Oct. 7, 2023

Mario Cristobal may yet return the Hurricanes to the heights of two decades ago and earlier, but in the meantime, he really shouldn’t be able to live down this abject failure to do math. Especially since he lost in a similar way as Oregon’s coach five years earlier — running a play and fumbling the ball away when his team could have taken a knee to kill the clock. Call it Kevin Steele-itis. Georgia Tech managing to go 74 yards in 24 seconds for the win is the kind of math that makes you think football karma was involved.

Michigan State 41, Northwestern 38 • Oct. 21, 2006

Still the largest comeback in FBS history, it saw John L. Smith’s Spartans trailing 38-3, scoring a touchdown with 7:03 left in the third quarter and ripping off another 31 in a row to shock Pat Fitzgerald’s first Northwestern team. Two interceptions and a blocked punt for a touchdown aided the madness. The Wildcats finished 4-8. For Spartans fans, this was like NFL fans watching a team win to blow a higher draft pick — they wanted Smith fired as soon as possible. He got a one-week reprieve, but a blowout loss at Indiana a week later gave them their wish.

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Texas Tech 44, Minnesota 41 • Dec. 29, 2006 • Insight Bowl

Leach was on the right side of this one, but Minnesota’s Glen Mason decidedly was not: He was fired two days after his team blew a 31-point lead in the game’s final 20 minutes. And AD Joel Maturi made it clear the nature of the collapse — not the first in Mason’s tenure — factored into the decision. Mason’s decision to go for a fourth-and-7 rather than try a field goal, up 38-21 in the fourth quarter, factored significantly into the result.

Houston 35, Pittsburgh 34 • Jan. 2, 2015 • Armed Forces Bowl

Paul Chryst had moved on to Wisconsin, Pat Narduzzi was hired to be Pitt’s next coach and Joe Rudolph in the interim oversaw an astounding squandering of a game in hand. Pitt led 31-6 with less than 11 minutes to play and 34-13 with less than four minutes on the clock. Two recovered onside kicks and a flurry of plays at the expense of Pitt’s disappearing defense changed all that.

BYU 46, SMU 45 • Dec. 19, 1980 • Holiday Bowl

This was early branding for a bowl game that has delivered consistent bangers over the years, and it was an inexplicable collapse for Ron Meyer’s Mustangs, starring Eric Dickerson and Craig James. SMU dominated for about 58 minutes, then gave up 21 points in the final 2:33 to lose. That included a recovered onside kick and a Hail Mary on the final play, Jim McMahon to a leaping Clay Brown.

Maryland 42, Miami 40 • Nov. 10, 1984

Jimmy Johnson’s defending national champion Miami Hurricanes had a tough run of luck in 1984, and anyone who follows college football has seen countless replays of Doug Flutie’s Hail Mary to beat the Canes that season. But the previous loss was worse — the largest blown lead in FBS history at the time. Frank Reich came off the Maryland bench and pulled off the unthinkable, as he would do years later with the Buffalo Bills. It was 31-0 Miami at halftime, but he threw six touchdowns after the break and the Terps stopped a tying two-point conversion to hold on.

Penn State 15, Kansas 14 • Jan. 1, 1969 • Orange Bowl

Joe Paterno went for the two-point conversion and the win with 15 seconds left to deliver his first undefeated season, but the co-Big Eight champion Jayhawks got the stop to finish 10-1 … wait, check the flag. Kansas, 12 men on the field. The Kansas fans who rushed the field headed back to the stands. And of course, the Nittany Lions converted on their second chance. Kansas coach Pepper Rodgers got star John Riggins back the next season, but his team went from 9-2 to 1-9.

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TCU 47, Oregon 41 (triple overtime) • Jan. 2, 2016 • Alamo Bowl

It was 31-0 Oregon at halftime. It was 31-31 at the end of regulation after Gary Patterson’s Horned Frogs scored points on all six of their second-half possessions. The Ducks had a reason for their offensive disappearance — quarterback Vernon Adams Jr.’s finger injury — but the defense vacated as well. Mark Helfrich responded by demoting defensive coordinator Don Pellum to linebackers coach. The 4-8 season that followed cost Helfrich his job, just two years after his team lost in the national title game.

Miami 13, Holy Cross 6 • Jan. 1, 1946 • Orange Bowl

The only bowl game in Holy Cross history — a program that dropped from what is now called FBS to FCS in 1981 — was right there for the taking. The 8-1 Crusaders were driving on the 8-1-1 Hurricanes, and coach John “Ox” DaGrosa called for a pass in the waning seconds from the Miami 26. It bounced off receiver Al Conway and into the hands of Miami’s Al Hudson, who took it back 89 yards for the win as time expired.

(Photo of Dave Aranda:  Andrew Wevers / Getty Images)

Culture

Poetry Challenge Day 3: W.H. Auden, The Poet and His Technique

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Poetry Challenge Day 3: W.H. Auden, The Poet and His Technique

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Now that we’ve memorized the first half of our poem, let’s learn a little more about the man who wrote it. (Haven’t memorized anything yet? Click here to start at the beginning.)

For most of his life, Wystan Hugh Auden (1907-73) was a star. He was widely read, quoted, argued over and gossiped about, achieving a level of fame that few writers now — and not many then — could contemplate. His New York Times obituary did not hesitate to call him “the foremost poet of his generation.”

Celebrity of that kind is ephemeral, but Auden’s words have continued to circulate in the half century since his death. Maybe you’ve heard some of them before. In the 1994 film “Four Weddings and a Funeral,” his poem “Funeral Blues” is recited by Matthew (John Hannah) over the casket of his lover, Gareth (Simon Callow).

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In the Gen-X touchstone “Before Sunrise” (1995), Jesse (Ethan Hawke) regales Celine (Julie Delpy) with an impression of Dylan Thomas reading Auden’s “As I Walked Out One Evening.”

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In both these scenes, the characters use Auden’s poetry to give voice to a longing for which they otherwise might not have words. Auden’s poetry is often useful in that way. It speaks to recognizable human occasions, and it isn’t always all about him.

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“The More Loving One” might not be something you’d quote at a funeral or on a date, but it is almost effortlessly quotable — the perfect expression of a thought you never knew you had:

Admirer as I think I am 

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Of stars that do not give a damn, 

I cannot, now I see them, say 

I missed one terribly all day. 

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Ken Burns, filmmaker

The word “I” occurs five times in this stanza, but we don’t know much about the person speaking. His personality is camouflaged and revealed by craft.

Auden, born in the northern English cathedral city of York, began practicing that craft as a schoolboy, and honed it at Oxford. Not long after graduating in 1928, he was anointed by critics and readers as the great hope of modern English poetry. A charismatic, divisive figure, he gathered acolytes, imitators and haters.

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He swam in the intellectual and ideological crosscurrents of the 1930s, drawing Marxism, psychoanalysis and mystical nationalism into his writing. Assimilating a daunting array of literary influences — Old English and Ancient Greek, French chansons and Icelandic sagas — he forged a poetic personality that was bold, confiding and seductive.

His love poems of that era were candid, discreet dispatches from a calendar of feverish entanglements, wrenching breakups and one-night stands, usually with other men. He also wrote about the feverish politics of the time — class conflict; the rise of fascism; the Spanish Civil War — in ringing rhetoric he later disavowed.

In 1939 Auden moved to America, acquiring U.S. citizenship after World War II. In New York he fell in love with Chester Kallman, a young American writer who became his life partner.

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W.H. Auden (left) and Chester Kallman in Venice, in 1949. Stephen Spender, via Bridgeman Images

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It was a complicated relationship, starting as a passionate affair and enduring through decades of domestic companionship and creative collaboration. Kallman’s refusal to be sexually exclusive wounded Auden, a dynamic that poignantly shades this poem’s most memorable couplet:

If equal affection cannot be, 

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Let the more loving one be me. 

Yiyun Li, writer

In America, Auden distanced himself from the radical politics of his earlier career and embraced Anglican Christianity. His intellectual preoccupations shifted toward religion and existentialism — to the kinds of big questions we think about late at night, or when we look to the sky.

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Making the leap from wunderkind to grand old man without seeming to stop in middle age, he became a mentor for several generations of younger poets. He was a prolific and punctual contributor of reviews and essays to various publications, including this one, for which he wrote a rave of J.R.R. Tolkien’s “The Fellowship of the Ring” in 1954.

Through it all, Auden devoted fanatical attention to the finer points of poetic technique. His notebooks are full of numbers, word lists and markings that show just how deep this commitment went. He counted every syllable, measured every stress.

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Scansion marks from one of Auden’s notebooks, dated 1955-65. Copyright by The Estate of W.H. Auden. Reprinted by permission of Curtis Brown, Ltd. W.H. Auden papers, Berg Collection, The New York Public Library. Photograph by Angelina Katsanis for The New York Times.

He gathered rhymes and other words with a lexicographer’s zeal and a crossword puzzler’s precision.

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Lists of rhyming words from another of Auden’s notebooks, dated 1957-59. Copyright by The Estate of W.H. Auden. Reprinted by permission of Curtis Brown, Ltd. W.H. Auden papers, Berg Collection, The New York Public Library. Photograph by Angelina Katsanis for The New York Times.

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The third stanza of “The More Loving One” is a miniature showcase of Auden’s skill. Of the four epigrams arrayed before us, it may be the most technically perfect.

Admirer as I think I am 

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Of stars that do not give a damn, 

I cannot, now I see them, say 

I missed one terribly all day. 

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W.H. Auden, poet

The rhythm is flawless, without an extra syllable or an accent out of place. The grammar is also fastidious. Here is a single sentence, springloaded with equivocation, beginning with one idea and sliding toward its opposite.

This quatrain is the poem’s ideal formal representation of itself, a kind of proof of concept: four lines of impeccable iambic tetrameter in an AABB rhyme scheme. The by-the-book regularity of this stanza should give you a leg up in memorizing it, and you can test yourself below!

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But the rest of the poem is an argument against perfection, just as it is a celebration of uncertainty and humility — as we’ll see tomorrow.

Your first task: Learn the first two lines!

Play a game to learn it by heart. Need more practice? Listen to Ada Limón, Matthew McConaughey, W.H. Auden and others recite our poem.

Question 1/6

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Let’s start with the first couplet in this stanza. Fill in the rhyming words.

Admirer as I think I am 

Of stars that do not give a damn, 

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Tap a word above to fill in the highlighted blank.

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Ready for another round? Try your hand at the 2025 Poetry Challenge.

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Edited by Gregory Cowles, Alicia DeSantis and Nick Donofrio. Additional editing by Emily Eakin,
Joumana Khatib, Emma Lumeij and Miguel Salazar. Design and development by Umi Syam. Additional
game design by Eden Weingart. Video editing by Meg Felling. Photo editing by Erica Ackerberg.
Illustration art direction by Tala Safie.

Illustrations by Daniel Barreto.

Text and audio recording of “The More Loving One,” by W.H. Auden, copyright © by the Estate of
W.H. Auden. Reprinted by permission of Curtis Brown, Ltd. Photograph accompanying Auden recording
from Imagno/Getty Images.

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Book Review: ‘Permanence,’ by Sophie Mackintosh

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Book Review: ‘Permanence,’ by Sophie Mackintosh

PERMANENCE, by Sophie Mackintosh


Sophie Mackintosh’s novels are always speculative in some way, with either the author or her characters forging a world governed by its own logic and rules. In their boldness and their ability to convey the violence of patriarchy, they recall the work of Jacqueline Harpman — not only the cherished “I Who Have Never Known Men,” but also “Orlanda,” her wild riff on Virginia Woolf’s “Orlando.”

Like Harpman, Mackintosh has a spare and confident hand. Her work is sometimes described as dreamlike; certainly, its contours are sketched with rapidity and confidence and relatively little detail. Her prose operates according to the same principle, at once lyrical and precise, like this from her second novel, “Blue Ticket”: “On the ground was a dead rabbit, disemboweled. Still fresh, the dark loops of its insides glistening like jam.”

When Mackintosh writes about masculine power, she does so in a way that articulates both its seductions and its terrors. Her newest novel, “Permanence,” is less explicitly concerned with the structure of patriarchy, but it has the same erotic charge as her earlier work, the same preoccupation with social prohibitions and the thrill that comes from breaking them.

Like “Blue Ticket,” “Permanence” turns on a highly pronounced binary. In “Blue Ticket,” adolescent girls are issued either a blue or white ticket on the day of their first period. A white ticket denotes a future of marriage and children, a blue ticket one of work — even, it seems, a career. The divide is stark and self-evidently faulty, its coarseness an expression of the brutalizing regime the characters are trapped in.

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“Permanence” features a similar opposition, neatly delineated. Clara and Francis are conducting an illicit affair. One morning, they wake up in an alternate reality where they are openly living together. The novel shuttles between these two worlds, one ordinary and familiar, the other a curdled paradise for adulterers.

The thinness of this “city of impermanence” — “fluid, cohesive and yet disparate” — emerges at once. The sky is “uncannily blue,” the newspaper bears no date, the edge of the city is marked by “a slick ring of water, as far as the eye could see.”

Still, a boundary cannot keep the other world from seeping in. Initially, elegantly, this is a problem in the structure of desire. Having been provided the life they dreamed of, in which their longing for each other is fully met, Clara and Francis begin to experience, to their uneasy surprise, boredom and discontent.

Without absence, the intensity of their desire for each other wanes. They even begin, or at least Francis does, to long for the relief of their ordinary life: “Another day ahead of them of petting, giggling, lying around. It seemed insubstantial suddenly, though only the day before he had felt he could do it forever.”

Soon enough, it becomes clear that the problem between Francis and Clara doesn’t lie in the outside impediments of the world they live in, but in their relationship itself. Francis remains troublingly himself — a married father of a small child, reluctant to leave his family, however much he is in love with Clara: “He did love her, and he did want to be with her. … But he already had reality elsewhere, reality which he sometimes felt trapped by, he would admit, but which he could not truly imagine cutting loose.”

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“Permanence” might seem like an outlier in the current array of articles and books about open marriages and polyamory, and at first glance the line of distinction between the two worlds, much like the division between blue and white tickets, seems almost old-fashioned. But as Mackintosh persuasively illustrates, the familiar emotions of jealousy, infatuation and eventually indifference — these persist and can flourish in any relationship, however free of prohibition.

“You want this,” Clara tells herself, and then, “You no longer want this,” as it occurs to her that “maybe it was in absence that they loved each other best, and most honestly.”

In her work, Mackintosh devises scenarios that are bold and almost aggressively simplified. But her terrain is complexity and contradiction, and in her hands these oppositions twist and turn in on themselves.

It’s hardly a surprise when the central character in “Blue Ticket” decides to eschew her designation and have a child, declaring, “True and false were no longer opposing binaries. My body was speaking to me in a language I had not heard before.” Nor is it especially startling when discontent chases Clara and Francis from one world to the other, unraveling their relationship.

What is more disquieting is the surreptitious ease with which Mackintosh’s speculative worlds start to align with our own, allowing the reader to see how so many of the old prohibitions and conventions — around choice, around marriage — remain, somehow, firmly in place.

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That moment of recognition, in a landscape that is startlingly alien, is the source of Mackintosh’s power as a writer.


PERMANENCE | By Sophie Mackintosh | Avid Reader Press | 240 pp. | $28

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Poetry Challenge Day 2: Love, How It Works and What It Means

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Poetry Challenge Day 2: Love, How It Works and What It Means

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Maybe you woke up this morning haunted by the first four lines of W.H. Auden’s “The More Loving One” — or tickled by its tongue-in-cheek handling of existential dread. (Not ringing any bells? Click here to begin the Poetry Challenge).

This is a love poem. Perhaps that seems like an obvious thing to say about a poem with “Loving” in its title, but there isn’t much romance in the opening stanza.

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Looking up at the stars, I know quite well 

That, for all they care, I can go to hell, 

But on earth indifference is the least 

We have to dread from man or beast. 

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Ada Limón, poet

Nonetheless, the poem soon makes clear that love is very much on its mind.

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How should we like it were stars to burn 

With a passion for us we could not return? 

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David Sedaris, writer

The polished informality gives the impression of a decidedly cerebral speaker — someone who’s looking at love philosophically, thinking about how it works and what it means.

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If equal affection cannot be, 

Let the more loving one be me. 

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Reginald Dwayne Betts, poet

Musing this way — arguing in this fashion — he stands in a long line of playful, thoughtful poetic lovers going back at least to the 16th century. He sounds a bit like Christopher Marlowe’s passionate shepherd:

Come live with me and be my love,

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And we will all the pleasures prove,

That Valleys, groves, hills, and fields,

Woods, or steepy mountain yields.

Christopher Marlowe, “The Passionate Shepherd to His Love

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Auden’s poem, like Marlowe’s, is written in four-beat lines:

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How should we like it were stars to burn 

With a passion for us we could not return? 

Josh Radnor, actor

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And it features strong end rhymes:

If equal affection cannot be, 

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Let the more loving one be me. 

Samantha Harvey, writer

These tetrameter couplets represent a long-established poetic love language. Not too serious or sappy, but with room for both earnestness and whimsy. And even for professions of the opposite of love, as in this nursery rhyme, adapted from a 17th-century epigram:

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I do not like thee, Doctor Fell

The reason why I cannot tell.

But this I know and know full well

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I do not like thee, Doctor Fell.

There is some of this anti-love spirit in Auden’s poem too, but it mainly follows a general rule of love poetry: The person speaking is usually the more loving one.

This makes sense. To write a poem requires effort, art, inspiration. To speak in verse is to tease, to cajole, to seduce, all actions that suggest an excess of desire. That’s why it’s conventional to refer to the “I” in a poem like this as the Lover and the “you” as the Beloved. The line “Let the more loving one be me” could summarize a lot of the love poetry of the last few thousand years.

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W.H. Auden as a young man. Tom Graves, via Bridgeman Images

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But who, in this case, is the beloved? This isn’t a poem to the stars, but about them. Or maybe a poem that uses the stars as a conceit and our complicated feelings about them as a screen for other difficult emotions.

What the stars have to do with love is a tricky question. The answer may just be that the poem assumes a relationship and then plays with the implications of its assumption.

This kind of play also has a long history. Since love is both abstract and susceptible to cliché, poets are eager to liken it to everything else under the sun: birds, bees, planets, stars, the movement of the tides and the cycle of the seasons. Andrew Marvell’s “Definition of Love,” from the 1600s, wraps its ardor in math:

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As lines, so loves oblique may well

Themselves in every angle greet;

But ours so truly parallel,

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Though infinite, can never meet.

Andrew Marvell, “The Definition of Love

The literary term for this is wit. The formidable 18th-century English wordsmith Samuel Johnson defined a type of wit as “a combination of dissimilar images, or discovery of occult resemblances in things apparently unlike.” “The most heterogeneous ideas are yoked by violence together,” he wrote; that kind of conceptual discord defines “The More Loving One.”

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The second stanza is, when you think about it, a perfect non sequitur. A hypothetical, general question is asked:

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How should we like it were stars to burn 

With a passion for us we could not return? 

Mary Roach, writer

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The answer is a personal declaration that is moving because it doesn’t seem to apply only or primarily to stars:

If equal affection cannot be, 

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Let the more loving one be me. 

Tim Egan, writer

Does this disjunction make it easier or harder to remember? Either way, these couplets start to reveal just how curious this poem is. We might find ourselves curious about who wrote them, and whom he might have loved. Tomorrow we’ll get to know Auden and his work a little better.

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Your task today: Learn the second stanza!

Play a game to learn it by heart. Need more practice? Listen to Ada Limón, Matthew McConaughey, W.H. Auden and others recite our poem.

Question 1/6

Let’s start with the first couplet in this stanza. Fill in the rhyming words.

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How should we like it were stars to burn 

With a passion for us we could not return? 

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Tap a word above to fill in the highlighted blank.

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Ready for another round? Try your hand at the 2025 Poetry Challenge.

Edited by Gregory Cowles, Alicia DeSantis and Nick Donofrio. Additional editing by Emily Eakin,
Joumana Khatib, Emma Lumeij and Miguel Salazar. Design and development by Umi Syam. Additional
game design by Eden Weingart. Video editing by Meg Felling. Photo editing by Erica Ackerberg.
Illustration art direction by Tala Safie.

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Illustrations by Daniel Barreto.

Text and audio recording of “The More Loving One,” by W.H. Auden, copyright © by the Estate of
W.H. Auden. Reprinted by permission of Curtis Brown, Ltd. Photograph accompanying Auden recording
from Imagno/Getty Images.

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