 |
| I Googled "dejected bama fan" and this is what I got. Fitting. |
Just what am I supposed to do with the non-refundable airline tickets to Phoenix I bought after the Florida game? What about the deposit I sent to hold a reservation at the Scottsdale Princess? What about my dignity? Will they give that back?
Oh, Lord, to be an Ole Miss fan.
They have miles and miles of ancient, moss-draped oak trees surrounding a town square unblemished by the crudity of chain stores and fast food, where you can get an honest drink in one joint and a real milk shake in the next. Where you can browse a great bookstore that sits in unassuming testament to a century of impossibly bountiful literary heritage. To stroll a picturesque old campus with diamond-dazzling debutantes who swarm the Grove like fine-looking doves to a baited field.
 |
| Colonel Reb didn't care who won... he was only there for the hot chicks and booze. |
They have two Mannings and nothing more, unless you count some guy named Frank “Bruiser” Kinard, who played tackle at Ole Miss in the 1930s, I guess before the place was referred to as “Ole.” Bruiser played professional football for the New York Yankees and the Brooklyn Dodgers. Nope, that’s not a typo.
I googled the Ole Miss 1890-1992 “Team of the Century” and I had only heard of two players on there – Archie Manning, of course, and Billy Brewer, who, as Rebels coach, was best known for his loose interpretation of NCAA rules.
Ole Miss fans are perfectly happy with all of this, so I want to be like them. In fact, I am hereby losing this unhealthy obsession with winning all the time. I dream of the day when my beloved Crimson Tide can fight hard, keep the score respectable and then all of us Bama fans can be good sports about it.
Then I can stand at my tailgate, with a welcoming smile on my face, and tell the opposing fans, as they pass, “Hey, great game. Y’all played great. Good luck the rest of the season. How about a beer?”
Who am I Kidding?
Only halfway through this column and I am about to puke my guts up. Become like an Ole Miss fan? Be gracious in defeat and magnanimous in the occasional victory? Not Bidgood Bob. Not on your life. Strike me dead and take away my lucky houndstooth boxer shorts before that happens.
It’s Thursday and I’m getting my mojo back.
LSU fans, you drunken swamp trash, see you all in Tuscaloosa next year. And as for that “Tigah Bait” cheer, how about learning to pronounce your “r’s” okay?
And what about you Tennessee types? Listen up, hillbillies... that thing you dry off with after your weekly shower is called a “towel.” It’s not a “towl.” It's a two-syllable word with an “e” in it. Got that? Now go back to feuding with the McCoys.
You julep drinkers from Ole Miss and Kentucky are also-rans we keep on the schedule to keep us bowl-eligible, rest our starters and pad our stats. Thanks for that, although every time I’ve been to Lexington or Oxford you have all been so nice. You make me puke.
And you Gamecocks, with your banty rooster mascot that glorifies illegal hick brutality, enjoy this while you can, losers (but beat Auburn).
Razorbacks? Not-so-sharp yokels, I say.
Georgia? I hope UGA VIII gets the mange this weekend over in Auburn.
And it seems the wishy-washy Urban Meyer down at Florida isn’t such a genius any more without the squalling brat Tebow. Chomp this. Wish you’d stayed retired now, don’t you Urb?
Mississippi State, you’re next. Bring your stupid cowbells, see if we care.
Auburn? They’ll keep for another column. Let’s see how this whole Newton thing goes.
Oh, you Vanderbilt poindexters can kiss my crimson ass, too.
Thanks, I feel better now. If I offended anybody with this, I DON'T CARE!!
No comments:
Post a Comment