"Men are clinging to football on a level we aren't even aware of. For centuries, we ruled everything, and now, in the last ten minutes, there are all these incursions by women. It's our Alamo."
We're only two days away. After an entire off season of waiting, it's finally time. Preseason camps are drawing to a close and it's game week for high schools across the state of Alabama. College games will start a week later, followed by the pros a week later. Last season was the greatest season of my life. My beloved Crimson Tide won the BCS National Championship and was led by Mark Ingram en route to the team's first win of the trophy that dare not be named. As an Alabama fan, this was outstanding, but was also to be expected. For better or for worse, it's in our DNA to expect excellence out of our team. (To my wife and others that are about to complain about my use of "our" to describe a football team: I help buy the merchandise and watch the games on tv that reap financial benefits for "our" team. I'm a part of the team, and look for my national championship ring to come in any day now. Also, if it weren't for my lucky shirt, we'd have never survived that Tennessee game.)
The greatness of last season was found in the unexpected: My Saints won the Super Bowl. If that statement doesn't take your breath away, you obviously either don't bleed black and gold, or you are a bandwagon jumper. I've been a Saints fan as long as I can remember. I was born during the Aints era and I've lived through an awful lot of ups and downs with this team. I fondly remember Pat Swilling and Ricky Jackson, Bobby Hebert and Dalton Hilliard, the Dome Patrol and the antics of Jim Mora. The rhythm of the first 25 years of my life was to go to church, make it home right after kickoff, watch the Saints build a nice lead in the first half, fall asleep at halftime, and wake up with just enough time to see my Saints blow the game in spectacular fashion.
Every year I get excited about the Saints, only to see my hopes dashed on the rocks of cruel reality. During last year's run, I promised myself that I wouldn't get emotionally involved in the outcome of their games. During the NFC Championship game, I had a youth event and was unable to do anything but check my Blackberry over and over again for score updates. I got in my truck just in time to hear Bobby Hebert tell the world, "The Saints are going to the Super Bowl!" All by myself, in my truck, in a church parking lot in Central Alabama, I went crazy. All hopes of maintaining my composure were lost. I managed to stay low key through the Super Bowl, going to church and coming home in time for the second half. My wife and kids went on to bed and I stayed up in eager anticipation of the final moments. Interception. Touchdown! Ballgame. I sat by myself in my living room and did what any respectable, reasonable grown man would have done in my situation. I cried like a baby. I witnessed something that I never thought I would see in my lifetime. My Saints won the Super Bowl. My family got in on the ground floor with the Saints, and 43 years later we saw it all come to fruition. All of those years of yelling at the tv, all of those naps ruined, even the remote control that I broke throwing it on the floor in the 8th grade-- all of that defeat was swallowed up in the greatest football victory I could imagine. I thought of Buddy D. I'm not sure what Buddy D. would have said about the Saints winning the Super Bowl. I know it would have come out as completely unintelligible gibberish and it would have been great.
Now here I am. I got to spend last Thursday on the sidelines at my alma mater, Alma Bryant High School with the team. I help out as a team chaplain along with my friend Chris Taylor. I'm obviously way past my prime. I find that I relate more easily to the coaches than the players, since we're the same age. When I last walked off of a high school football field as a player in November 1998, the class of 2011 was in Kindergarten. I still love it. I love being out there, celebrating the good and lamenting the bad. I love listening to the band and watching the crowd. I love watching these guys come together and build a bond that is greater than they can imagine. The practice games are gone. Saturday morning will arrive before you know it and half of the state will be 1-0 while the other half is 0-1, but between here and there, we've got a football game to play. I'm counting down, are you?
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