Bye Week: Cleaning out the Mail Bag

Visitors' section - Neyland Stadium

Bama 41, Vols 10. Thankfully Bama made it to the bye week with just the one hiccup, and now the battle-scarred, road-tested Crimson Tide can heal up for the trip to Cajun Country next weekend. The Traveling Circus didn’t make it to Knoxville for the 41-10 spanking of the Vols because we didn’t want to sit in any of the 600 or so seats that UT officials “found” during the offseason so Neyland Stadium could remain the largest in the SEC.

Folks, I have been to that place many times. There’s not a more beautiful setting, what with the Great Smoky Mountains, autumn leaves, the Tennessee River and all that, but if they paint those visitor seats any skinnier, a bunch of miniature French poodles won’t be able to sit down in there, at least not all at the same time.

On to the mail bag... Since there’s a lull for Bama fans this week, I’ve decided to share a few samples from the Bidgood Bob mailbag, beginning with a very touching letter I recently received from a friend just back from the Middle East:

Impressions from the Middle East

Dear Bob:

I thought I'd share some of the impressions I got from my recent posting to the Middle East. Man, things are bad over there. You walk the streets, you really get a sense of the hopelessness of the region. Substandard housing, poor educational facilities, a high illiteracy rate... these people are not intellectually equipped to believe anything other than the propaganda their leaders spew.

They truly hate us. I think they are jealous of our lifestyle, our affluence, our many advantages. They have a keen resentment of our arrogance, but, in spite of their frequent demonstrations of defiance and our own recent setbacks, I believe they still truly fear us.

Well, anyway. It'll be a cold day in hell the next time I set foot in the Middle Eastern part of Alabama again, particularly in Lee County. You can bet your sweet ass on that.

Sincerely,

Black Warrior (Tuscaloosa)

Bragging Rights

Hey Bob!

What the hell is going on? Last I heard, these bragging rights were supposed to be good for a whole year. But the Auburn fans where I work are strutting around like banty roosters, a full month too early. Last year they tried to claim a moral victory, and now they’re trying to deprive me of a full month of my constitutional bragging rights. I’ve had enough. I’m calling Morris Dees.

Sincerely,

Victimized (Cloverdale)

Now Here’s a Unique Problem…

Dear Bidgood Bob:

I hope you can help me out with this. I am an Alabama fan, and like all Alabama fans I like to spend a lot of my spare time counting my national championships. The problem is, every time I count them, I keep coming up with a different number, kind of like that creepy “count the bridges” thing out on the dirt part of Woodley Road. Should I try to get some help? My Auburn friends are sure getting sick of me.

Signed,

16 Rings (Wynlakes)

Tax Dollars Down the Drain

Proud sponsor of Crimson Tide Athletics.

Dear Bob, 

As an alumnus of the University I suppose it’s a good thing that ZeroMeth.com is a sponsor of Alabama Athletics. This is apparently a very good cause but it can’t possibly be cheap to  sponsor the “Zero Meth Instant Replay” on the Jumbotrons at Bryant-Denny.

My research indicates that “Zero Meth” is government-funded and in the interest of public health. I have to wonder, however, if this is effective use of taxpayer dollars.  Is the in-stadium campaign stopping a single meth addict from using? I mean, what sort of a meth addict are you if you are watching those ads from inside Bryant-Denny stadium? Wouldn't you have long since traded away your tickets for some meth?

Best regards,

Perplexed (McGehee Estates)

Cowbells and Irrelevance

Dear Bidgood Bob:

I have finally figured out why the SEC has never really tried to get Mississippi State fans to quit ringing cowbells at the games. I think it must be because nobody really cares.

Signed,

One Less Thing to Worry About (Vaughn Meadows)

Delivered by Mistake

To Mr. Cam Newton:

Towards thee I roll, thou all-destroying but unconquering Cam; to the last I grapple with thee; from hell’s heart I stab at thee; for hate’s sake, I spit my last breath at thee. I seek thy Heisman and thy Wheaties-box smile. And since neither can be mine, let me then be towed to pieces, grasping at thy elusive shoestring, thou damned Cam!

Sincerely,

Captain Ahab (The Waters)

More Fuel for the BCS Controversy

Dear Bidgood Bob:

Based on our stellar won-lost record over the past several years against competition at least as strong as that faced by Boise State, we hereby request that we be referred to henceforth as “BCS-Busters.”

Respectfully submitted,

The Prattville Lions

Comeuppance

Dear Bammer Bob!

You are just a Bammer through and through. I looked at your website, www.bidgoodbob.com, and I thought it was just a bunch of awful Bammer nonsense. It’s not near as funny as www.lunchinthegump.com. I am going to cancel my subscription to the Independent unless they drop your stupid Bammer column or get a good Auburn columnist to bring you down a peg.

Anonymous. 

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. 

Come Down from the Ledge, Bob

South Carolina 35 - Alabama 10
I am on a great quest. I search like Lancelot for the Holy Grail and like Diogenes for an honest man. Oh, and like the Scarecrow searching for a brain.

Since early Saturday evening I have cast the light of my lantern into the shadows, seeking, to no avail, a post-streak reason to live. I want to be a Rational Bama Fan, one who knows that You Can Not Win Them All.

I need to find a Rational Bama Fan (RBF, for short) so I can talk this thing through and come to grips with this angst, this loserhood that has taken over my being. But RBFs have become the most rare of species this week, as shy as a piebald deer and as scarce as teeth at a Razorback booster meeting.

The “Why Us?” crowd is out in record numbers. There are plenty of them to be found. After reveling for three years in magazine covers, ESPN specials and lofty rankings, the hardest part of this football season for them has been whether the Tide’s running backs should be called “Fast and Furious” or “Shock and Awe.”

Now it seems the SEC has conspired to let everybody have an open date before playing Alabama. According to the Why Us? crowd, the vast Bama-hating conspiracy has brought us NCAA probation, secret witnesses, StripperGate, TextbookGate, AgentGate and now this: OpenDateGate.

These people believe that if General Lee had been given an extra week to scheme and rest the troops before Gettysburg, we’d all be laid back on the veranda right now, sipping mint juleps and wondering if we ought to pave the streets.

Let the Walk of Shame Begin

Oh, how the mighty have fallen. The public shaming of the once-mighty Crimson Tide will continue in the middle of the night Saturday, televised on the Texas Hold ‘Em & Skateboard Channel before a sparse homecoming crowd of drunks and insomniacs who found their tickets on the sidewalk outside the stadium.

The opponent is a team without a mascot, since the literary and forward-thinking University of Mississippi dumped the politically incorrect Colonel Reb, a dirty old white-bearded bastard who may have owned slaves way back. Ole Miss is getting with the program, moving into enlightenment and casting aside the plantation mentality and negative images of dumb jocks and win-at-any-cost desperation. That, and their quarterback is a quick-footed three-time loser felon imported from the west coast. Hotty Toddy! Run like you stole something!

If they can find a room at all, Bama fans must allow themselves to be gouged more than $200 a night (with a two-night minimum) for a sleep-cheap McFarland Boulevard fleabag. It’s either that, or drive all night and pull into Dothan just in time for the early church service that might be needed to salvage your worthless, hung-over loser Bama soul.

Or, you can try to dump your tickets. One of the unintended consequences of having 102,000 seats is that the gameday market value of the tickets will approach zero if fans have any reason whatsoever to stay home, like getting freight-trained by South Carolina and then letting Mammon-worshipping ESPN bully you into a dreaded time slot that puts you up against Saturday Night Live.

Current market value: $7.00 for the pair.
Could increase if Saban raises enough hell on his radio show.
Will go to $0.00 if there is a 20% chance of rain.

But of course the SEC and all of its “member institutions” worship the Dollar as well, so let’s play until midnight and pray that the drunks, who got wasted at the homecoming parade, passed out, then got wasted again by kickoff, don’t fall asleep at the wheel and splatter themselves across the state in a crimson tide of blood spilled in the name of cash, while the players, who get none of this action, are suspended for helping their friends get access to some loaner textbooks. Not hookers and blow, mind you -- textbooks. Little stores of knowledge and wisdom. This whole system is like something Stanley Kubrick came up with while he was smoking crack, and up until last Saturday we were on top of the whole damn thing!

Whew, letting it rip there, wasn’t I? 

Nate Davis. Yes, it's real.

And can you believe this? Some people’s entire self-worth is apparently predicated on their status as Bama fans! I worry about these people in a dark time like this. Take Nate Davis, for example. If you have been to Bryant-Denny Stadium in the past few years you’ve seen him -- a stocky, shirtless fellow who frequently sports a Scottish kilt and a houndstooth fedora. His entire upper body is covered in a growing array of tattoos proclaiming the dominance of the Crimson Tide (I can’t speak for his lower body, thankfully), and it is all topped off by Nate’s masterpiece, his entire back, waist to neck, shoulder to ham-like shoulder, covered by a full-color tat of Coach Bryant himself.

Here is a quote* from Nate Davis: "Through the University of Alabama, Coach Bryant and Van Tiffin, I found God."

There are no Rational Bama Fans. I hope Nate is doing okay this week.

Bidgood Bob is hurting, and this column is a cry for help. His prediction: Ole Miss is coming in rested (who isn’t?) and Bama is beat up. Not only are most Crimson Tide players not used to losing, Saturday night they will see empty seats for the first time. This is how death spirals get started. Take the Rebels (or whatever they are called) and the points.


* According to Warren St. John, bestselling author of the excellent book, Rammer Jammer Yellow Hammer, from his site, Fanopticon.com

'Bama Fans Intrude on Civilized Society

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 19^th 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 2^nd 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.

The Great Mallett Fades Late, Bama Rolls

Bidgood Bob Recaps Bama Win over Hogs, Forecasts Win Over Gators

Favorite La-Z-Boy, AL – Bidgood Bob and the Traveling Circus stayed in Montgomery last weekend, having blown the September road budget to go see the Duke nail-biter. That, and the fact I was nursing a MOAH (Mother of All Hangovers) from being hideously over-served at the Harlequins Ball, was the reason I chose my favorite easy chair to watch Alabama’s comeback win over Arkansas. As always, a few observations follow:

It’s Good to Be King

The opening sequence of the CBS broadcast revealed one of the greatest aspects of college football – hopes and dreams. Footage of a half-mile of Arkansas students accompanied a report that the Piglets began lining up as early as Monday to get the best seats. They were yelling and screaming, calling the Hogs. “It’s ON, baby!

Surely the Razorbacks and the Great Mallett were about to unseat the #1 Crimson Tide on national TV! Surely the Great Mallett was about to vault to the top of the Heisman Watch! Surely Arkansas football was about to be back on the map! It was almost painful to see the Crimson Tide crush their little hopes and dreams.

Verne and Gary

Overall, one of their better broadcasts. Danielson didn't go out of his way to root for the Great Mallett, so he (Danielson) didn't have too much egg on his face when the Great Mallett's Heisman Trophy campaign began its inevitable descent to the trash heap of history. Lundquist didn't have many noteworthy gaffes. About the only thing the broadcast team whiffed on was the play of Trent Richardson on special teams. Not only is he maybe the second-best running back in the nation. Not only is he one of the best pass-protecting backs I've ever seen. He will also absolutely knock the crap out of you on kick coverage. Very unselfish. Look in the dictionary under "ballplayer" and there he is. TV missed this, but otherwise they did pretty well.

A Story Suggestion for 60 Minutes

CBS made a great show out of the “tent city” formed by Arkansas students so devoted to their beloved Hogs and so eager to see the Tide turned. One feature showed the Great Mallett and unnamed teammates delivering pizzas to the tent-dwellers, who so loved their Razorbacks that they were willing to forego their studies, their beds and their basic hygiene just to get the primo student seats. It was truly heartwarming, those wacky kids. Ah, college.

As any male person who actually attended an SEC institution can tell you, however, most of the tent-dwellers were probably fraternity pledge seat-savers there against their will, without pay and at the expense of their grade point averages. One thing is certain about a lot of schools: when there is anything worth lining up for, the new-boys will be at the front of the line. Is this college? Or is this slave labor? I think Mike Wallace and Morley Safer need to get off their butts and expose, expose, expose!

Students Painting their Bodies

Of course, there is plenty of this at Alabama (and any other school that regularly plays on TV), but the Arkansas students may have taken the concept to extremes. It wouldn’t surprise me if the free (non-slave) tent-dwellers each had a letter on his or her chest that formed a part of the long message spelled out in the Hog student section.

Here’s some free advice any advertising exec will back me on: First, keep it short (i.e. “Beat Bama” or “Go Hogs”). You are only going to get a second or two of airtime. That is not long enough for the nation to read all three verses of your fight song, or the prologue to the Canterbury Tales, or whatever that was.

Second, remember that body painting can be a double-edged sword. The camera shot that shows you as the wild and dedicated Razorback fan, reveling in the early success of the Great Mallett, can suddenly turn into the ubiquitous “Stunned Hog” shot when things begin to go badly for you.

I am reminded of the delicious “Stunned Bulldog” shots from Athens a couple of years ago, when the Georgia brain trust thought it would terrify the Crimson Tide if all their fans wore black shirts. That was a huge success. Georgia is apparently still trying to find its manhood after that one.

The Game

Coach Saban finally remembered that he is blessed with the best ground game in the business and it soon became evident that the one-dimensional Razorbacks couldn’t hang on to their 20-7 lead. Unable to stop Alabama’s run, and unable to gain yards on the ground itself, Arkansas had to rely on the Great Mallett.

It wound up being a heart-stopper. But in the end, the diabolical Saban and his henchman Kirby Smart figured out the Arkansas air game and the second half was like watching a boa constrictor against a rabbit – very methodical and with a predictable ending.

Florida Prediction

Unlike Arkansas, the Gators still have plenty of players who know how to win big games. The Florida offense is finding its rhythm and a team with this much talent probably won’t surrender a lead, at least not like Arkansas did. There is no doubt Florida is well-coached, although they should probably hire some tutors to clue the players in on some of the finer points of the Florida Criminal Code.

If you are a betting man, the point spread (Florida +9 as of deadline) sure looks like you’d be a fool not to take the Gators. Don’t fall for it. I predict Bama goes straight to its bread and butter power running game and sticks with it, keeping the hammer down for the full sixty minutes. Barring the turnovers and penalties that kept Arkansas in the game, this Saturday it won’t be close. Bama 35-17.

Bidgood Bob writes from Montgomery. He is an unapologetically arrogant Bama fan.

Eyewitness Account of Duke Ass-Whipping

Durham, NC – Bidgood Bob’s traveling circus is back home after a trip to Tobacco Road for last weekend’s Alabama-Duke game, a 62-13 Crimson Tide win that wasn’t nearly as close as the final score indicated. The methodical spanking of the Blue Devils has been well-documented elsewhere, so the following are just some observations from a road-tested Crimson Tide fan.

The Setting – What College Football is All About, Mostly

The geography of Tobacco Road is wonderful – the area is crowded with tradition-rich basketball schools that dabble in football. Although Duke’s campus is in Durham, we set up our headquarters in nearby Chapel Hill. Since the Tarheels were at home against Georgia Tech Saturday we decided to tailgate on UNC’s campus instead of Duke’s, on the premise that we can see throngs of drunken Alabama fans any time.

We got to see two stunningly beautiful campuses – UNC with its Georgian and Federalist architecture and Duke with its Gothic style. It would have been worth the trip simply to tour campuses, if you like that sort of thing, which I do. Once we got over to Duke we found they take the “pedestrian campus” concept very seriously. Tailgating at UNC, you just find a spot in somebody’s yard, lift the trunk and go bottoms up, Bama-style. At Duke, on the other hand, you park off campus and hike in. Alas, we had to leave the coolers behind.

Of course, Saturday’s parking policy may have been adopted specifically to keep Bama’s huddled masses in line. For all I know Duke may let Wake Forest fans park on campus. Anyway, on the long walk to the stadium I noted that your average funeral procession is livelier than this bunch. Some guy yelled out, “Roll Tide baby!” and you should have seen the Duke fans turn to stare at the ruffian as if his cell phone had gone off during the Apostle’s Creed.

Wallace Wade Stadium is a jewel, and I strongly suggest that the design team working on Cramton Bowl go have a look at it. It’s a cozy venue without the corporate trappings we are used to at Alabama and Auburn. There’s a press box that might or might not have contained a suite or two. The bathrooms were nice (well, the one I went to was). Concessions are done county-fair style, with dozens of local vendors showing off their wares.

They had a nice-sized video screen in the end zone; otherwise you’d think you had stepped back in time a few decades to a time before naming rights, ribbon boards, fan-cams and luxury boxes. Trees and gardens surround the place and you can see Cameron Indoor Stadium and the spires of beautiful Duke Chapel from any seat in the house. Overall, a great place to watch a college football game.

The Crowd

At kickoff better than half the crowd was wearing crimson. My assessment was that the Bama fans were well-behaved guests, and the Duke folks went out of their way to make us feel welcome, even down to the nice touch of having their band play “Yea Alabama” before kickoff. That was most appreciated. The Bama Nation returned the favor, providing a standing ovation when Duke’s head basketball coach Mike Krzyzewski was introduced, fresh off the 2010 NCAA Championship and FIBA World Championship. They got a name for the winners in the world, and one of those names is Coach K. I forget the other one.

Bama fans gave another standing “O” for the surviving members of the 1944 Duke team, who beat Alabama in the Sugar Bowl on January 1, 1945. A nice gentleman from Mobile was sitting next to me and he pointed out that all of Bama’s best players were busy saving the world from the Nazis and the Japanese, and that a full-strength Crimson Tide would have surely stomped Duke’s butt that day. I suggested that perhaps Duke was also missing key players from its team that year and the kindly old gentleman responded, “Nah, their rich daddies got them out of it.” A true Bama fan indeed. Somebody Google this for me, I am on deadline here.

The Game

Early on, the SEC officiating crew, apparently bending over backwards to prove their impartiality, decided to go to a video review of every other play. Combined with the TV timeouts following each Alabama touchdown, this resulted in a first quarter that took over an hour to play. A three-hour mercy killing was turning into a four-hour torture session. Maybe somebody from ABC got the word down to the field to let ‘em play.

There is no delicate way to put this: Duke is bad, bad, bad. Even worse, Duke is one of those terrible teams with players who like to do a lot of talking after the whistle and between plays. A number of Duke fans I spoke with told me (very politely) that they thought Alabama ran up the score, to which I responded (very politely) that the score could have easily gone over a hundred and that you should go get back in line for your basketball tickets.

Everyone saw Mark Ingram’s first score, your basic over-the-top TD. And everybody saw Ingram shove a Duke defender after the play and draw a well-deserved fifteen-yard penalty for it (it was a shove, not a head-butt – I had a better angle than ABC). Problem was, the crowd was small and wasn’t really into it, so everybody in the stadium heard the whistles when the linesmen signaled TD. So then a couple of Duke linebackers held Ingram above their heads and their gutless cur of a safety, #4, grabs Ingram by the ankle and starts to jerk.

On TV you can see Preston Dial convincing #4 to turn loose of Ingram’s leg, then ABC cuts away to a cheerleader shot or something. Well, Bama fans, you will be glad to know that the cowardly #4 (who cares what his name is?) was immediately surrounded by about 2,500 pounds of crimson bodyguards who were apparently explaining to #4 how the rest of the afternoon was going to go. The SEC officials got him out of there alive. If you are a Tide fan who recorded the game and want to have some fun, watch what Ingram does to #4 on his second TD run. It doesn’t get much better.

The Difference Between Us and Them

By the start of the third quarter most of the Duke fans were long gone but the Bama fans remained, like NASCAR fans waiting for the next big wreck. It was hot on Saturday, over 90 degrees at kickoff, and we decided to wander over to the shady side of the stadium for the second half. Taking our pick of seats on the fifty-yard line, we encountered a number of very cordial and curious Duke fans. Here is a sampling of the discourse:

Duke fan: “Sorry we couldn’t have had cooler weather for you guys. I guess down in Tuscaloosa you play all of your home games at night to beat the heat?”

Bidgood Bob: “Well, no, we play them whenever the TV networks tell us to.”

Duke fan: “How good is your punter?”

Bidgood Bob: “We don’t know.”

Duke fan: “We can’t wait to see your third-string tailback.”

Bidgood Bob: “You’re not going to like him, either.”

Duke Fan: “You should play us in basketball.”

Bidgood Bob: “Whatever.”

Seriously, it was a great trip to a beautiful place and we encountered nothing but very friendly, interesting people (except for Duke’s #4 - I hope he finds his jock strap some day). I would be in favor of Alabama’s continuing home-and-home series with the ACC for a number of reasons: their schools are in interesting places (except for FSU), their fans are very cordial (except for Miami) and they take their beatings well.

Bidgood Bob is a Montgomery businessman and unapologetic typical arrogant Alabama fan. He is not sure exactly how many national championships the Crimson Tide actually has, but eight have occurred during his lifetime. He doesn't know anything about football and writes more about the gameday experience than about the game itself. He seldom checks his facts and he is too lazy to Google things (like #4’s name).

Moby Dick (the short version)

... or, Drunken Middle-Aged Recession Victims at 30-Year Frat Reunion

Call me Ishmael. Some months ago - never mind how long precisely - having little or no money in my purse, or my wife’s purse, or my IRA, or my sock drawer, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would jump into the old Ford pickup and go see the watery part of the world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen and regulating the circulation, plus I can get drunk and, for a brief three-day period, tell the old wolf slobbering at my door to go fuck himself.

Arriving late in rough and tumble Walton County, I hoisted flagon after flagon of Scotland’s finest so as to catch up with my besotted mateys, then returned to the Inn at Bella Vita where I attempted to find a bunk amidst the cacophony of snorers and drone of infernal CPAP machines… ‘Tis better to sleep with sober cannibals than drunken Christians, said I.

The next morn I met the harpooners - Queequeg, a massive Birmingham insurance executive, and Tashtego, a more compact, but no less impressive specimen of a Birmingham insurance executive. Both appeared fit and ready for a merry chase at sea. They took to the shores in search of the elusive White Whale.

No sooner had we reached the shore and shaken off the Red Bar fog than we heard the cry from the crow’s nest, "'Thar she blows!- thar she blows! A hump like a snow-hill! It is Moby-Dick!'" Then later.. “Nay! Nay! ‘Tis a whole pod of White Whales a-feeding!”

The Harpooners set forth with vigor, leaving behind the relative safety, conviviality and oath-bound monogamy of the crew. “Starboard gangway, there! Side away to larboard- larboard gangway to starboard! Midships! Midships! Throw out a chumline of tequila and buffalo wings, there, ye bastards!”

Are they mad? Hell is an idea first born on at least 15 digested Bud Lights; and since then perpetuated through the hereditary dyspepsia nurtured by parenthood, private school tuition, disapproving in-laws, NCAA probation, a plummeting stock market and looming foreclosure. After them, lads!!

We heard their ravings during the chase - “Towards thee I roll, thou all-destroying but unconquering and drunk and sunburned Whale; to the last I grapple with thee; from hell's heart I stab at thee; for the sheer hell of it, I pour my last beer on thee! Let other harpooners seek the smaller, younger, svelter whales! We seek the Great White Whale!”

Editor’s note: From here, accounts of the outcome differ.