What a shocker the Bama/Auburn game was, especially its crushing and totally unexpected final play. Many precincts in the Heart of Dixie are still pole-axed.
My sources in Tuscaloosa (near which I still have various relations) tell me GPs across the state report their Tide fan patients are presenting with complaints of insomnia, facial tics, inability to concentrate, poor appetite, unaccounted for weeping, night sweats, sudden rages, confusion, sexual dysfunction, hallucinations, more than the usual amount of reflux, and large bowel complaints. Bama fans are being advised not to drive or operate heavy equipment. Zantac and anti-anxiety drugs are being trucked into the state. Valium is being sold on street corners. Grief counselors and bartenders across the state are being treated for exhaustion. Residents near the grave of Bear Bryant report hearing moaning and the clanking of chains at night. Bird dogs named Rooster decline to eat and whine at the moon. Commerce has slowed; churches are full on Sunday morning. Alienation stalks the land (alongside acute giddiness in Auburn precincts). Purpose, at least for the moment, is lost. It will return. But slowly.
My Dad was born in Carbon Hill, Alabama, just a couple of months before Ronald Reagan fetched up in Tampico, Illinois. Dad never went to Alabama. In fact he didn’t finish junior high school. But he became a huge Bama fan. Throughout his adult life, as is the custom with Tide aficionados, he was always in his upright and locked position for the Auburn game. Had he been alive last Saturday, he would have died. I’m glad he didn’t have to see it.