Bidgood Bob Has to Eat

Since Alabama and Auburn are both off this weekend (Alabama’s “game” tonight doesn’t count), and next week is apt to get pretty testy, I decided this week’s column should be about something the Aubs and Bammers can all agree on… food. 

The internationally-recognized
Lunch in the Gump logo

As some of you may be aware, in my day job I am Chief Executive Officer of a multinational conglomerate known worldwide as Lunch in the Gump. At LITG, we are working on solutions to global warming, peace in the Middle East, stemming the foreclosure crisis and ending our country’s reliance on foreign oil. We are bigger than Colonial Bank.


And when we’re not solving the world’s problems, we like to have lunch. Oh, we do love our lunch. Sometimes we even write about the experiences, and you can find these “reviews” at www.lunchinthegump.com.  


Mind you, at LITG we are not food critics. We are just average folks from Montgomery, Alabama, AKA “The Gump.” We are Aubs and Bammers united in the pursuit of good eats and friendly conversation in locally-owned joints.  

Dreamland - A Gump-worthy
Alabama-based chain.

We like our vegetables fresh and our burgers greasy. And we do not suffer chains lightly. To qualify for our patronage, to be Gump-worthy, as we say, a chain restaurant must (a) be good, and (b) have its origins in Alabama. For example, we have no problem recommending Dreamland or Baumhower’s, but we’ve expelled members for eating at Moe’s.


Now, don’t misunderstand… there’s certainly nothing wrong with Moe’s. The place is just not Gump-worthy. When the employees holler “Welcome to Moe’s!”  on your arrival, they’re not doing it because they’re happy to see you. They’re doing it because the franchise manual says they have to. We hate stuff like that.


At Hamburger King, they are happy to see you too, but they don’t all yell “Welcome to Hamburger King!” when you walk in the door because they are too busy constructing the most impossibly perfect greasy burger you will ever put in your mouth. Yes, eating one will shorten your life span but what the hell; it will also cure a hangover. So have two.


Take a ride down to Dexter Avenue to Chris’ Hot Dogs if you want something truly extraordinary. Last April Fool’s Day we posted on the blog that Chris’ was calling it quits after 93 years in business. Our simple prank caused civil unrest, rioting and panic-buying of Chris’ Dogs. 


Only in Montgomery can you savor the excellence of the fully pimped-out hamburger steak at Sundown East. We call it the “Beast.”  There is a dish at the Green Papaya that I can neither spell nor pronounce but it’s unbelievably good and will take care of that congestion problem you’ve been having.


Want to see what happens when a Quizno’s goes out of business and the only thing they leave behind is that little roaster oven with the conveyor belt? Then go to Wishbone Café way out in East Gump. They are using that little conveyor roaster to churn out some of the best Cajun/Creole dishes this side of Canal Street. 


There are just too many good joints to list. El Cantaro over on Ann Street es muy, muy bueno.  If I were judging a cornbread contest between the Davis Café and Martin’s, it would end in a tie, probably after several overtimes. 

If you like fried chicken (and who doesn’t?) you ought to try the pulleybones at Eastbrook Café. Just don’t use the “pulleybone method” to decide who is paying the check. Governor Riley might decide that you’re gambling and next thing you know you’ll have troopers all over your ass. I saw the Guv in there once. “Well, well, well,” he said, “Looks like we got ourselves some illegal gamblin’ chicken here.”

Actual photo of the Guv making the deal
with Chief Pascagoula from Mississippi.

Sometimes when LITG is in the midst of disentangling a particularly thorny international crisis we send one of our junior executives over to the Scott Street Grocery & Deli for takeout. The subs there are really good and they are also approximately the size of Nerf footballs.  


Now, if you don’t read anything else in this column here are two words: Stockyard Café. It’s up in the North Gump somewhere but whatever you do, find it. Here is an excerpt from the LITG review that sums it up nicely:


“A hoity-toity, mamby-pamby restaurant reviewer might note sarcastically that nothing says ambiance like the lack of ventilation, second-hand cafeteria trays and misspelled, handwritten signage. Not so fast, my friend. This place oozes grease and confidence like their patrons. They even give away raw onions and peppers to those who don't care how they smell from either end.”


Derk’s Filet & Vine, Down the Street, Sinclair’s, El Rey, Lek’s Railroad Thai, Lunde’s, Farmer’s Market, the Wagon Wheel, Corsino’s, Cook Ma’s, Shashy’s… there are simply too many good lunch places to list them all. If your favorite got left out, let me know.


It’s almost incomprehensible that you can buy this stuff right here in your very own Gump. You don’t have to go to Paris or Rome, or even Atlanta. Just hop in the car and chow! 


LITG would also like your opinion. Through the end of the month we are soliciting readers’ input on their favorite lunch places. Go to www.lunchinthegump.com to participate.


Like we say at Lunch in the Gump World Headquarters, “Think global, but eat local.”

Humility and Sportsmanship? Read On.

I Googled "dejected bama fan" and
this is what I got. Fitting.

We are Alabama fans lost in the wilderness. Here we sit, out of the picture, languishing with a 31-2 regular season record over the last three years, yet irrelevant, unloved and threatened.


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.

Oxford, Mississippi would be the embodiment of Sir Thomas More’s Utopia, if only they had a decent football program. But here’s the thing – Ole Miss people don’t care.  They don’t have to win the national championship every year to be happy. I want to be like them.


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!!

BCS Poker on ESPN - A Rigged Game

ESPN, the self-proclaimed “Worldwide Leader in Sports,” is playing college football like a game of Texas Hold ‘Em.

Huh? College football media coverage is like poker? Have I lost my mind and gone to drinking on deadline? Again?

A good player knows the winning hand is not always the best hand at the table... you drag a pot because everybody thinks you have the best hand. Sometimes you have to make the guy with the best cards throw his hand away. 

Other times you get dealt unbeatable cards, the “Nuts” as they’re called. Anybody can win with the Nuts, but a good player doesn't just win the hand. A good one lures you in, making you think you’ve got the best cards right up to the moment the trap is sprung and your chips are gone.

Because there’s no playoff system, ESPN can play poker with college football, and they are playing it very well. They say when you look around the table and can’t spot the sucker – you’re it. Well, college football fans, ESPN has made us the suckers. If the BCS can’t get the two best teams into the championship game, then ESPN will make you think the two best teams are there.

Case in point, FOX Sports chose to play a mindless game of roulette by spending untold millions for broadcast rights to the World Series, without any idea who would be playing or if anybody would tune in to watch. Because there is a playoff system, the wheel was spun and it came up Giants vs. Rangers -- horror of horrors if you're FOX. Saturday night’s Game 3 had the second-lowest TV ratings in history. Sunday night’s Game 4 was beaten by a regular season NFL game. And there wasn’t a damn thing FOX could do about it. FOX gambled and lost, just like brainless saps who play roulette (or electronic bingo).

No way ESPN lets this happen in college football. Their talking heads remain in lockstep, telling pollsters how to vote, telling us which teams are good and which are overrated, who to watch, hyping this team and poo-pooing the other, all to maximize ratings for their games, including the big one January 10 in Glendale, Arizona, live on ESPN. 

Everybody hopes for the Clash of the Titans. But what if it turns out to be a dud? What if the SEC teams beat each other up? What if Michigan and Penn State stink? What if USC is on probation? Well, ESPN already figured out a strategy for playing this crappy hand. They call this strategy “BCS Busters.”

Boise is good because Herbstreit says they are.

The more Kirk Herbstreit told us how really good Boise State was, the more people believed him. Boise and the other BCS Busters were played as ESPN’s hedge against the possibility that the big boys might all have a loss or two. The network has created its own fallback position, a guaranteed unbeaten team worthy of respect and high ratings. Why? Because Herbstreit told us so – certainly not because of anything these lightweights have done on a ridiculous blue field. 

ESPN expertly built Boise and the Busters, running the Respect Machine wide open in case any of the big boys stumbled. When Alabama fell, followed by Ohio State and then Oklahoma, it didn’t matter because ESPN had the Busters as hole cards, just in case.

But as the season moved on, more cards were revealed. ESPN is now eyeing the Nuts – a matchup unbeatable in the ratings – the mother of all shootouts pitting the explosive Oregon Ducks vs. the equally explosive Auburn Tigers, led by Heisman winner Cameron Newton and his Wheaties-box smile. 

There is this one tiny problem for ESPN, though. The BCS Busters won’t lose. What is to be done with the faux monsters they’ve created? Kenny Rogers says you’ve got to know when to fold ‘em. So ESPN is dumping the Busters like a medium-high pair against a flop full of suited overcards.

Sorry about the gratuitous use of poker jargon.

The first move occurred last Tuesday night when Boise played fellow WAC powerhouse Louisiana Tech on the aforementioned ridiculous blue field. Here is the #2 or #3 team in the polls, hyped for years by ESPN as deserving of “respect,” playing the only football game in the country during prime time. Where does ESPN air the game? Surely on ESPN! 

Nope, Boise played on ESPN2 (known to most as The Deuce but known to my readers as the Skateboarding and Texas Hold ‘Em Channel). What was aired on ESPN, the Mothership? Why, a poker tournament, of course. Check it yourself. For once I didn’t make this up. Respect, my ass.

Alabama vs. Auburn... ESPN is all in.

Having folded the BCS Busters, ESPN is now playing its final hole card – the Alabama Crimson Tide. Faced with the prospect of an Oregon - Boise BCS Championship (the horror) ESPN is now making the case that the road to Glendale, Arizona goes straight through Tuscaloosa, Alabama. 

Listen to them. “If Oregon and Auburn win out, they’re definitely playing for the championship, but if Alabama beats Auburn, the Tide is in.” What they are really saying is, “You need to stop voting for Boise and the Busters! We can’t let Boise in because nobody will watch the game, much less the month of hype preceding it.” 

Of course, ESPN isn’t holding the Nuts just yet and there are still cards in the deck. What if Oregon St. beats Oregon, Georgia beats Auburn, Auburn beats Alabama, then South Carolina gets revenge on Auburn?

Boise vs. TCU for the Crystal Football? I'd rather watch poker.

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.