Undisclosed, NC – The Traveling Circus took its show on the road last weekend, deciding to skip the big Gator Roast in Tuscaloosa in favor of some R&R in one of the tonier corners of Appalachia. We trekked up to our pal Righteous Brother’s mountain hideaway for a long weekend enjoying four of the five essentials in life - those being golf, food, alcohol and college football.
Suffice to say that the golf end of the deal was memorable. RB happens to belong to one of those clubs where cell phones are strictly prohibited, where the members treat one another with utmost respect and courtesy, where every inch of the golf course is lovingly manicured, where the staff treats members and guests like visiting heads of state and where they never, ever run out of Grey Poupon. This club is so exclusive that even its name and location are highly classified. We’ve never figured out how RB got in.
The immaculate golf course was laid out in the late 19th century by a famous Scottish-American designer who must have harbored a deep animosity for middle-handicap players in his adopted country. Undulating fairways, elevation changes, swirling winds and ice rink-fast greens combine to humble a good player and absolutely humiliate an average one.
Here is an actual quote, from impact through ball flight to disastrous ending, from a Circus member playing a simple 125-yard wedge into the 2nd green: “Oh, baby, be as good as you look… get up a little… now go to the hole! Go in! One time! Hit the pin! Now stop! Whoa! STOP, YOU @#&%* MOTHERLESS WHORE!!”
One member of our group described his thought process after a well-struck approach as “Birdie birdie birdie birdie… BOGEY.”
I Forgot. This is Supposed to Be a Football Story
Anyway, back to the thesis of the column, which is pretty much Bama Fans Exhibit Their Misplaced Priorities in the Land of the Civilized.
Come game time on Saturday night, RB’s club had us set up in the very posh grill, as manly a room as you’ll find, with deep oak paneling, soft leather furnishings and nary a bit of sissy food on the menu. Red meat, red wine and two fine 60-inch plasmas awaited the Circus, which on this trip consisted of five Bama fans, two Auburn fans and a highly intelligent and entertaining Wofford grad who seemed genuinely amused by our earnest anticipation.
At kickoff, a mild panic set in among the Bama group when management set the volume level so low that we couldn’t hear the Gary Danielson/Verne Lundquist commentary (some would consider this a blessing). Much worse, it soon became apparent that the majority of the patrons were there for the socializing and not the Saban-worshipping. I know it is hard to believe, but there they were, chit-chatting with their wives over cocktails, oblivious to the fact that the Alabama Crimson Tide was playing on TV. Heresy.
We tried to maintain decorum to the best of our abilities but when Nico Johnson intercepted Florida’s jump pass in the first quarter, we couldn’t hold back. “Urban, get you some of that!” somebody shouted. A few heads turned our way. “Tebow’s gone, baby.” “That play is so 2007.” Grown men, chest-bumping and high-fiving each other. How our Auburn friends managed to keep their dinners down I’ll never know.
After an 80-yard Bama touchdown drive, the Tide held and Florida was forced to punt. When Julio Jones broke a tackle on the return and began trucking it down the sideline, five of us jumped up and shouted, simultaneously, “YOU AIN’T RUNNING!”
I recall a number of the aristocrats in attendance regarding us as if we were bearded ladies or some other oddity they had heard of but never actually seen in person. When Alabama tight end Michael Williams threw a particularly crushing block, effectively “de-cleating” a Florida defender (Boom!) we rose as one, punching the air in ferocious triumph, a fire-breathing collective of barbarism right there in one of the last bastions of American civility.
“Pardon me,” asked a white-haired gentleman in a navy blazer and an ascot, “Have you fellows heard a Princeton score?”
I still haven’t figured out if he was really a Princeton man or just making fun of us. Or both.
At halftime, having frightened off most of the genteel dining crowd and not wanting to further jeopardize RB’s membership status, we settled up and departed for the house to watch the second half amongst ourselves, away from the gawkers, safely back in the crimson monkey cage.
Bidgood Bob is back in Montgomery, where he is enjoying the fifth of life’s essentials - sleep. Next week he will recap the Tide’s less-than-exciting 24-12 victory over South Carolina, which will prompt two nitwit AP pollsters to switch their #1 votes back to Boise State.
I am certain the Princeton guy was f*cking with you.
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