You know what’s crazy? I’ll tell you what’s crazy™
My son graduates from the University of Alabama Saturday.
He is graduating with a degree in geology.
He hopes to work for an oil company or perhaps a municipality.
It’s an exciting time. He has his whole world ahead of him.
I know he’s thrilled to graduate, and take on the world. I also know he’s a bit nervous about leaving the cozy confines of Tuscaloosa.
His graduation reminds me of a trip I took one fine football Saturday.
For your enjoyment:
Roll Tide.
I am with my two boys in Tuscaloosa, Alabama.
I’m drinking a beer in one hand and holding a water bottle in the other.
I only have two hands. Good things I don’t have a third son.
We are all wearing Crimson red with slogans like Roll Tide and back to back national champs.
The moment brings back memories of my old days back at USC.
We were professional tailgaters. It was not uncommon for us to have a beer bong, a bottle of tequila or a circus midget being passed around like a bad idea, but I digress.
The University of Alabama is alive with football energy. You can taste the flavor, the history, the heritage. It’s like chocolate sauce on a creamy delicious cheese cake.
There are a handful of historic football programs in American Grid Iron History. USC. Notre Dame. Texas. Oklahoma.
Bama is one of those storied programs.
So today I am reveling in the spectacle that is SEC football.
You can feel it in the sweltering October air.
Alabama will never be confused with Wisconsin. The South is the South. It’s a blaring, oven cooking Saturday. Not super humid, but a relentless sun that has a take no prisoners mentality.
As I walk the quad, step over bricks with famous football alumni, march by banners that demand excellence, I breathe in the expectation of greatness. Wins are expected here. But not just wins, the Roll Tide contingent expects convincing wins that keep the pollsters clamoring to anoint the Tide as number one.
Anything less than greatness is just not discussed.
So I am with my boys. I am excited. They are excited. It is a broiling, sizzling day in this Southern state famous for football and fried food.
Alabama last in education, first in obesity. Isn’t that the state motto?
We get off the shuttle bus and the sounds of football are everywhere.
The campus is green and clean and lined with bricks. There is history every where you look.
It’s home coming and alumni are decked to the 9’s.
Many are wearing suits and fancy dresses.
Buses come and go. University of Alabama police whiz back and forth on their sleek motorcycles, blue lights flashing, sirens wailing.
I keep expecting the President to show up in a motorcade.
There is a smell of bar b q lingering in the heavy air.
The quad is filled with tents that are professionally constructed, filled with booze and and grilled chicken and flat screens that are hooked up to satellite reception.
This ain’t no sissy tailgate son!
Cute sorority girls with skirts and cowboy boots saunter to a fro in packs. They are like well manicured sheep, being herded by street barriers that funnel foot traffic toward Bryant Denny Stadium.
“Bama’s got some women,”my 21 year old says aloud.
I laugh. This is the boy whose ass I once wiped. Now he’s telling me what a good looking woman is.
I smirk a dad’s smile.
We enter the stadium with a sea of Crimson clad fans.
As we pass through the portal to the field, darkness and cement give way to brilliance and excitement. We are saturated by sunlight and a historic breath taking edifice filled with fans and glass luxury boxes and multiple replay screens.
The stadium holds 105,000 fans. It rises from the Earth, from the excitement, from the grid iron splendor, seemingly straight up.
The game won’t be sold out today. Perhaps only a 100,000 today. Georgia State is a patsy. They have a new football program. It is the kind of team you bring in to make sure the alumni go home with a win, fat and happy.
As we move down the row, people turn their knees sideways. Some smile and welcome us to the row. Others seem annoyed that we are cramping their style.
We sit down and I immediately enjoy the fact that i have a seat back and not just some bony knees grinding into my spine.
“Delightful,” I think to myself.
“Are you excited?” I ask my youngest son.
He has never been to a college football game.
“It’s hot he says,” in a whiny 14 year old kind of way.
I stare at him and laugh.
Teenage angst.
But he is right. I feel the sweat pouring off my forehead. It’s actually dripping down my face, filling up my red shirt.
It’s 87 degrees and there is no air circulating. The sun is blistering, almost over whelming.
I see people who have spent a life time eating the wrong foods. Their flesh is ample and flows like pulled hog meat on any number of grills I just walked by.
They are fanning themselves.
Is this wise? I wonder if they are exerting more energy which in turn creates more body heat which in turn creates more fat guy perspiration, which in essence causes more frenetic measures to cool themselves. It’s a never ending cycle of heat frustration till you fan yourself to death.
I look at the big guy at the end of the aisle. If he goes down is a sweaty mess of cardiac arrest, I don’t plan on doing CPR. Sorry pal. You are too fat and too sweaty to kiss. Just tap out brother, and call it a day.
I don’t even know what this means, but I laugh a secret laugh.
I quietly scan the stadium for the nearest paramedic or ice wagon.
I look at the field. It is green and historic and so so historic.
My senses are filled like a three ring circus. There are cheer leaders flying through the air, and footballs sailing through the uprights and rock and roll music blaring.
It’s a party that is taking place inside a convex oven set to 450 degrees.
Did I say it was hot?
The game starts and 100,000 people scream Roll Tide.
The crowd will scream roll tide over and over and over. When they get first downs the announcer says Alabama 1st down and the crowd responds ROLL TIDE.
People say good morning and then Roll Tide.
People sneeze and instead of saying God Bless you they say Roll Tide.
And this crowd will yell Roll Tide a lot on the way to a 45 -3 ass whoopin.
Poor Georgia State. They were scored on the minute they got off the bus. They are cheap hooker in a Navy port somewhere in Indonesia.
Come on G.I. Georgia State love you long time.
Oh well, someone’s gotta come in and be the door mat and today it’s G-State.
At least they got paid, right?
Did I say it was hot?
How hot you ask?
I order two waters at the concession stand and the guy says waters are selling so fast, they haven’t had time to restock the coolers, pack them in ice, cool them down.
Huh?
What the hell you boys doing back here? I ask.
The man recommend tap water in a cup filled with ice.
Tap Water? OK, I say a little bewildered.
How much is that?
$9.00 he says.
Nine dollars for tap water and ice.
Roll Rip Off.
By the end of the 1st quarter it is all ready 21 – 0.
The 2nd and 3rd team players get in the game.
I look around me. The fat people have either left to find shade or they have melted into a fleshy stew of human broth. Either way they are gone.
My son looks worn out. His face is red and I can tell yelling Roll Tide one more time is not going to resuscitate his enthusiasm.
“You wanna book after the 3rd quarter?” i ask.
he perks up.
“yes.”
And there it is.
Historic and memorable and over!
We meet my oldest son and his friend.
They stay in the student section for the entire game, joining us with huge smiles on their faces.
“Good old fashioned beat down,” my oldest says, sounding like a true Alabama fan.
I smile.
We head to the car amidst a horde of happy Bama fans.
Traffic leaving the univerity is like New Years Eve in Times Square
100,000 people trying to leave a downtown that was designed by urban planners who have long since died.
Grid lock is the norm. Cars and buses and pedestrians moving at the speed of cellular mitosis.
Luckily my son’s friend is a local and knows a back alley, a parking lot cut through, a faster route and we head to a sports bar.
I wonder if this is the same route who uses to pick up a dime bag?
We go in to the restaurant. It’s a sea of red.
Roll Tide is the theme and Bama football sets the mood.
I order my son a beer and toast him.
“Roll Tide Son”
He smiles a life moment kind of smile.
“Roll Tide Dad. Thanks for coming.”
I feel a tear in my eye.
Sure thing buddy. Sure thing.
Roll Tide.
Life’s Crazy™