Throughout my entire time at UT, I wanted to be a Texas
Wrangler. I saw the black t-shirts with the loud and proud gold letters on them
and began asking around to find out who those guys were. Every one that I saw
on campus had a certain demeanor to him, a bearing that you don’t see too
often. When I first met a Wrangler and shook his hand, he shook mine right
back. He didn’t ignore me or treat me like I was different because I wasn’t
wearing the same shirt. The same can be said for every single Wrangler I’ve met
and now know. I heard that they were a “spirit group” that worked out a lot,
but I had no idea who they actually were. Coming from a somewhat smaller town
and having a few accomplishments under my belt, I decided that I would apply,
thinking that I was a shoe-in. The Wranglers did not let it slide. Confidence
is one thing, but arrogance is a whole other ball game. They told me “No.”
without hesitation, and when I asked why, they told me the truth.
The
truth hurt. It hit me pretty hard, coming from a city that I had convinced
myself I was too big for, and expecting to get everything I wanted, I was
definitely not ready to be denied so bluntly. They certainly weren’t rude when
they told me, but it was to the point no doubt. If that wasn’t a reality check
I don’t know what was. The rest of that freshman fall semester was not my best,
but the only thing I did know was that I was going to try again. I rushed some
fraternities, got some bids, but my main thought the whole time was how great
it would feel to be accepted into the brotherhood of Wranglers. When
recruitment time came around again I sent in my application, trying to convince
myself that if I didn’t get in it probably just wasn’t meant to be. After an
interview and a long weekend of waiting, I got the call. I didn’t believe it at
first, and sometimes I still don’t. I got in. At least that’s what I thought.
The act of “getting in” to the Texas Wranglers is something very different from
any other organization. It takes more commitment, perseverance, strength, and
struggle than anything else I’ve ever done. After I got that phone call, after
I went to the first meeting, the first workout, my life changed. Drastically.
There was no longer time to “chill”. My days and nights were filled with
everything but rest. Every time I turned around I had something else to take
care of. That’s the thing, Mavericks is not about yourself, it’s about taking
care of your brothers and those who can’t take care of themselves. Mavericks
teaches you to look beyond the social acceptance of merely scraping by.
Wranglers do not settle for mediocrity. In any aspect of life. We are a group
of men dedicated to becoming the best versions of ourselves possible, and going through Mavericks is how we learn
to push ourselves.
I will never forget my time as a Maverick, because being a
Wrangler, aside from my faith and my family, is what I am most proud of, and
without Mavericks I would not be who I am today. I can accept responsibility,
knowing that I will do whatever it takes to ensure a positive outcome. I can be
called on by my brothers, and be able to tell them with full confidence that I
will be there whenever they need me, no matter the circumstance. I can dedicate
my life to something bigger than myself, to show the world that there are still
good men that will not accept the weak values of the public. I will treat women
with the upmost respect. I will stand up for those not strong enough to stand
alone. I will take the lead and push harder when it seems that the only option
is retreat. I can face adversity with an iron will and an attitude that slaps
obstacle in the face. I will be the absolute best that I can be. I am a Texas
Wrangler. This can be said by every single man who has earned the right to wear
the black and gold, but Mavericks is where we get our voice.
-Ethan Forester, Spring 2013
