I’m THIS serious about being a Bama fan

Sometimes you have to go into enemy territory.  Sometimes you have to do things you don’t necessarily like to do, because it’s the right thing to do.  Sometimes you have to put up with those from whom you might otherwise want to disassociate yourself.   And sometimes you flat out have to tolerate people you really, and I mean REALLY can’t stand.

Not saying I’d like to push the to-be mentioned individual down some stairs, but in the event he was out of gas on the side of the highway on a triple digit Alabama summer day, I’d probably honk at him and yell “ROLL TIDE!”

Flashback to the 1st Saturday in October, 2009.  That weekend was the Friday night a good buddy of mine – Diamond Charlie – was set to have a “bachelor party” type evening.  Nothing scandalous, just some guys getting together to watch football and then go out.  Me, being the married guy with a wife in town for this debauchery filled weekend – mental note for future weekends, send the wife to the beach – so I could not stay out too late lest I feel the wrath of what certainly would have been a scorned woman.  This means I’m a designated driver for some of the guys, no big deal, somebody’s gotta get us out and back safe.

The part where me being the die-hard fan comes in like this: 

Diamond Charlie is a fellow die-hard Bama fan, however he’s the ONLY Bama fan in his entire family.  He grew up living a life I described at the beginning of this post.  He’s lived with the enemy.  He’s related to the enemy.  He had to tolerate misery the likes of which words cannot do justice.  He’s also from a town that is dominated by fans of none other than the despicable auburn University (lower case intentional) to go along with a family that chooses to cheer for a school formerly named Agricultural and Mechanical College of Alabama.

So this Saturday night I was surrounded, and with only 1 fellow believer in the idea/truth that the University of Alabama is a superior institution of higher learning and collegiate athletics.  And on this particular Saturday night, auburn was playing tennessee (again, case intentional).  Rather than pray for Al Qaeda to strike and scourge the earth of orange clad heathens, I had to be polite and support my comrade.  It was me and Diamond Charlie taking the beach and I simply had to fight this one out. Surrender was not an option.

Throughout the entire game, one of Diamond Charlie’s life-long friends screamed at the television.  While dawning a football jersey that only an infidel would wear as well as his “lucky hat,” he claimed that his team could easily win 10 games and should have a shot at getting to Atlanta for the SEC Championship game.  Rather than correct him with logic and facts (his team went 5-7 the previous year, had less than 65 scholarship football players on the roster, had a brand new coaching staff, and they had just lost to a mediocre LSU team the week before, etc.) I simply let him prove my point that the vast majority of auburn fans are delusional .  I’m not talking the kind of delusion where you get drunk and feel like you can beat up George St. Pierre, I’m talking the kind of craziness where people end up getting put in padded rooms and drink through a straw for the rest of their lives.  I mean this kid was out in left field without a glove, off his rocker, outhouse rat type CRAY-ZEE.

Again, it was me and Diamond Charlie against the masses and we were in survival mode.  I felt it was best to keep a low profile and not make too many waves because my team, my beloved Crimson Tide would do all the talking come November.  Which, they did.

So after a few hours of hell on earth and listening to drunken claims of grandeur, we all load up and head out.  Again, I was the DD and I had Diamond Charlie riding shotgun and of course the loud-mouth claimer rode with us.  I could not drive fast enough.  I had to work to keep from jerking my car into on-coming traffic.  I had to put off thoughts of homicide and suicide at the same time.

After our arrival, I had a Sprite or two and called it a night.  All of the guys were going to call cabs when they got done anyway so I headed home to my unscorned wife (note my wisdom in this situation guys, think long-term here, yeah, you know it, I’m right – right but boring – but still right).

The next day I was getting something out of my car and I noticed something in the back seat.  I found something so wretched, so despicable, so disgusting I could hardly keep from vomiting while fainting while screaming.  Suffice it to say, I was shocked at what I saw.  The loudmouth had left his “oh so lucky” hat in my car.  I’ve never been so offended in my life.  I felt so dirty, so defiled, so impure, so violated and contaminated.  How on earth could I rid my car, my home, my life of this evil?

There is only one way: gasoline, a lighter, and the empty lot across the street from my house.  I burnt that kid’s hat to an ash over a fire ant bed.  My car, home, and life have since been cleansed.  The demons have been exercised.  I’ve been set free, free indeed.

If you are the guy that left your hat in my car, get yourself a new hat.  So much for your hat being lucky, Roll Tide SUCKER!!!

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