A Short History of the Reformation, Bama Style

Bama’s homecoming win against the Ole Miss Black Bears (or whatever we have to call them now) is thankfully in the books. The late kickoff made for a long day, so my memories are rather wooly. As deadline approaches, I can’t find my scribbled notes and I think the digital voice recorder I use for preserving insightful observations got left on the bar at Gallette’s.

Therefore lacking the wherewithal to regale The Independent’s well-read subscribers with amusing anecdotes from the Capstone, I must check off to the safety valve -- a history column about The Reformation.

The start of a movement

Many historians believe the Reformation began in 1517 when Martin Luther hammered his 95 Theses to the door of a German cathedral, thereby challenging the primacy of the Roman Catholic Church and instigating Protestantism. Hah! Those silly historians couldn’t be more wrong.

The Reformation began on January 4, 2007 when a Gulfstream jet landed at Tuscaloosa Regional Airport and Nick Saban climbed out of it. This represented the first challenge to the official religion of the Bama Nation, Bryantology, and launched a reform movement now commonly referred to as Sabanism. Whereas Martin Luther had his 95 Theses, Saban brought the Process, and it was good.

The rise of Bryantology is well documented, but I will sum up for the uninitiated. It went like this: the U.S. seized the Yellowhammer State from its rightful owners, and then in 1831 the Legislature created the Promised Land in Tuscaloosa. The Chosen People wandered for a spell and dabbled at football until George Denny emerged as their leader. Denny begat Wade, who begat Thomas, who begat Bryant. You know the rest.

Of course, there have been offshoots. For a while there were Perkiscopalians, Curryists, Stallingists, Dubosians, Franchionistas, and Shula Krishnas. None of these ever really caught on, except for the Stallingists, which most college football theologians characterize as a fundamentalist Bryantology sect ultimately snuffed out by NCAA Philistines and the Free Homer Movement. But I digress.

The Doctrine of Bryantology requires constant proclamation of past successes and an unyielding belief in the manifest destiny that Bama will always prevail simply because of its Bamaness. The observant and faithful can be seen in and around the Bryant-Denny Cathedral in their houndstooth vestments, partaking in the sacraments of bourbon and crimson kool-aid, secure in the kind of faith that can sustain a true believer through six straight losses to Auburn.

He is watching you.

Bryantology is a quirky faith. Its high holy ground is Moro Bottom, Arkansas. It uses a bizarre numerical system that multiplies national championships by a factor of two. Its followers do not visit doctors, instead knowing that an offering of a Coke and some Golden Flake chips at the foot of the Bryant statue will have you feeling better by the time you get back to Gordo.

One of the more moving elements of Bryantology is the ecstasy of the masses during the pregame Incantations, which accompany video highlights of umpteen national championships and which are comprehensible only to the faithful. For years, the Incantations would emanate from the Bryant-Denny speakers like a bullfrog rumbling at the bottom of a well, and then out would run the team for kickoff.

But a strange thing happened in Bryant-Denny one afternoon in the late summer of 2007. Immediately after the Incantations, the Jumbotrons flickered for a moment then returned to focus on the image of a long, empty tunnel. The opening riffs of AC/DC’s Thunderstruck began to pound the air. Then two Alabama State Troopers appeared at the far end of the tunnel and waited, at parade rest. And these were not the usual flabby, about-to-retire troopers, either. These were hard, chiseled troopers you’d hate to run into after a night of doing shots and acting the fool. What was happening here?

This is how it unfolded. All of a sudden the image of Saban, flanked by the troopers, appeared on the colossal screens. Just as suddenly the multitudes seemed to forget about the Incantations and rose as one, a sea of deafening crimson as the players, larger than life and with purpose in their movement, fell in behind Saban for the walk down the tunnel.

They emerged from the tunnel, streaming from video screen to hallowed ground, picking up pace and breaking into a charge to the thunderous delight of the crowd, which was being Processed from a celebration of the past into the shimmering light of the here and now. In that moment Sabanism was born.

One at a time, a'ight?

Hardcore Bryantologists with holy artifacts.

Now there is a great divide in the once-monotheistic Bama Nation. Houndstooth fedoras give way to wide-brimmed Panama hats. Newly converted Sabanists abandon the recitation of past glory in favor of relentless attention to the present. While Bryantologists remember the Rose Bowl, Sabanists are consumed with a laser-like focus on this Saturday, and this Saturday alone.

Yes, he lost a game to South Carolina. But the faithful still believe. Heck, it took more than one plague for Pharaoh to get it through his thick skull that the Chosen People were not to be trifled with. This would be a good place for a Red Sea metaphor, but as usual I am on a deadline and have to wrap this up. Oh well.

So what will come of the Reformation? Will Bryantology and Sabanism be able to coexist peacefully? Or will the two factions devolve into centuries of self-destructive conflict? Will the conflict create a void to be filled by the upstart Newtonarians from the East? Are there barbarians at the gate? Stay tuned.

Uh-oh.

Bidgood Bob's cries for help are sometimes published in the Montgomery Independent, a scruffy weekly that you may not always agree with, but you ought to subscribe to anyway, because there is something worth reading in there every single time.


Almost forgot... lay the points and take Bama in Knoxville.