Clemson vs. Furman: South Carolina’s Oldest Football Rivalry Reignites After 2023 Showdown

The roar of 81,500 fans at Memorial Stadium in Clemson echoed one last time on September 15, 2023, as the Clemson Tigers hosted the Furman Paladins in what may be the final chapter of a rivalry older than most American towns. It wasn’t just another non-conference game—it was the latest chapter in a story that began on October 31, 1896, when Clemson played its very first football game, defeating Furman 14-6 in Greenville, South Carolina. That game didn’t just launch Clemson’s football program—it ignited a century-and-a-half-long feud between two schools separated by barely 30 miles, bound by pride, paint, and a plane that once dropped leaflets over a practice field.

The Birth of a Rivalry

Back in 1896, college football was still finding its voice. Furman, then a small Methodist college in Greenville, had already fielded teams since 1889. Clemson, founded on the former Fort Hill plantation of Thomas Green Clemson, was still a land-grant school with fewer than 200 students. Yet when the Tigers rolled into town, they didn’t just win—they announced themselves. The 14-6 scoreline was modest by today’s standards, but the implications were massive. This wasn’t just a game; it was the first of what would become the longest-running football series in South Carolina history.

For the next seven years, Clemson dominated. Then came the 1920s—and Furman’s golden era. The Paladins won six straight between 1924 and 1930, turning the rivalry into a battle of wills. By 1939, the series stood at 12-10-4 in Clemson’s favor. But the real drama wasn’t in the standings—it was in the emotions.

Paint, Planes, and the Purple Hurricane

Enter Frank Howard, Clemson’s legendary coach from 1940 to 1969. Under his watch, the rivalry turned theatrical. In the mid-1950s, Furman students broke into Clemson’s campus and splashed bright purple paint across the bronze statue of Thomas Green Clemson, the university’s namesake and founder of the Fort Hill estate. The act wasn’t just vandalism—it was symbolism. The statue, standing stoic in front of Tillman Hall, represented everything Furman resented: institutional power, athletic dominance, and the weight of history.

Then came the plane. Sometime around 1958, a small aircraft circled Clemson’s practice field during a humid August afternoon, scattering hundreds of leaflets that read: “Close all barn doors—Purple Hurricane approaching.” The nickname “Purple Hurricane” was Furman’s own creation, a nod to their bold purple uniforms and aggressive play. It was a taunt wrapped in poetry, and it stuck. For decades, Clemson players would hear it shouted from the stands, whispered in locker rooms, even printed on T-shirts sold in Greenville.

The Photo Archive That Keeps the Memory Alive

What makes this rivalry timeless isn’t just the scores—it’s the visuals. Clemson Athletics maintains a meticulously curated photo gallery, with every game since the 1980s documented by staff photographer Jackson Jones. His lens captured the grit of 1998’s muddy showdown at Sirrine Stadium, the stunned silence after Furman’s 2007 upset bid, and the quiet pride on Furman players’ faces after their 2019 game, where they held Clemson to just 17 points.

But the full story? That’s in Getty Images. Their archive holds 575 high-resolution photos spanning nearly 90 years—black-and-whites of 1930s crowds in wool coats, color shots of 1970s tailgates with paper cups and transistor radios, and modern images of Furman’s students waving homemade signs that read, “We’re the Original.” These aren’t stock images. They’re historical artifacts.

Why This Matters Now

The 2023 matchup was the first since 2022—and likely the last. With Clemson in the Atlantic Coast Conference and Furman in the Southern Conference, scheduling non-conference games has become a logistical nightmare. The financial incentives favor Power Five schools playing FCS teams for easy wins and guaranteed paydays. Furman gets $1.2 million to play Clemson. Clemson gets a win and a photo op. But the cost? The erosion of tradition.

“It’s like losing your neighbor,” said Dr. Evelyn Ruiz, a Clemson history professor and lifelong fan. “You don’t need to like your neighbor to miss them when they move away. This wasn’t just a game. It was family.”

For Furman, the rivalry was a lifeline to relevance. For Clemson, it was a reminder of where they came from—not the ESPN spotlight, but dusty fields and muddy cleats. The last time the two teams met, the final score was 41-10. But the real score? 127 years of shared history, now hanging by a thread.

What Comes Next?

There’s no official announcement about future matchups. Clemson’s athletic director, Dan Radakovich, told local media in 2023 that “we’re evaluating our non-conference slate with an eye toward competitive balance and national exposure.” Translation: Furman’s not on the radar anymore.

But alumni aren’t giving up. A grassroots campaign called “Bring Back the Purple” has gathered over 18,000 signatures on Change.org. A documentary filmmaker from Greenville is raising funds for a film titled First Game, Last Game. And at the Tillman Hall statue, someone—no one knows who—left a single purple ribbon tied to the base last spring.

Legacy in Black and White

The rivalry’s end won’t be marked by a trophy or a headline. It’ll be marked by silence. No more paint on statues. No more planes overhead. Just a photo gallery, a few dusty game programs, and the quiet ache of a generation that remembers when the closest thing to a rivalry was a bus ride down Highway 29.