Fumble

There must be something in the Southern Air that especially nourishes whatever it is in humans that leads them toward worship and devotion. Something that compels them to lay all their faith and energy upon a single cause.

I am referring, of course, to college football.

Yes, college football (as much of a religion around here as any of the myriad manifestations of Protestantism), that holy of holies which conveniently calls its followers to mass on Saturday rather than Sunday. Of the two holy rival houses, my families claim allegiance to the University of Alabama (Roll Tide Roll!), which for the past couple of years has been pretty rewarding in terms of bragging rights.

But today, gentle readers, all that came crashing down.

Now, you have to understand that I am not, as the majority of people in these parts tend to measure these things, a particularly good football fan. I have only come to appreciate the game over the past three seasons, so my grasp of the intricacies is still somewhat shakey, and my invented sports vernacular has been known to send a room into spasms of hilarity. Furthermore, I am the kind of person who just gets a kick out of seeing a well-executed play, no matter what color jersey the executor is wearing. I also am the kind of person who wants the other team to play well- because I feel it means more for us to win against a team that is not making a bunch of mistakes. And, perhaps worst of all, I am the kind of person who holds no animosity toward our traditional rival, Auburn- in fact I will root for them every day of the year save one (that being the Iron Bowl). In short, I am the kind of person who is a fan of an excellent game rather than the idea of an immaculate team- which garners me a lot of dirty looks from people more devoted than I.

My husband, on the other hand, tends to get... well, emotionally involved might be understating it, but it works. Although his views on Auburn mirror mine, he tends to get so wrapped up in an oridnary game that if our team is performing poorly he has to leave the room. (This being an exponential improvement over a couple years ago, where he would stay in the room and become so enraged I'd fear for his heart). His father and at least one of his brothers are the same way, so I'm pretty sure there's some nature/nuture stuff going on there. Of course I, too, get aggravated when we aren't playing well, but I am the sort of fan who retains faith to the bitter end that there might be a turn-around... which means that when it came right down to the final four minutes of today's game (we were down fourteen points) it was just me and my sister-in-law left in the living room at my in-law's house.

My faith was not rewarded with victory in this instance, but I don't mind. I love my team nonetheless (and I do not envy them the tongue-lashing Coach Saban is sure to be unleashing). And as it turns out, Nathan got to watch a much more emotionally satisfying game, anyway:

(Catch)