I was sorting through the paralyzing clutter of my computer’s desktop last night and came across a very heterosexual Word document named “Love Song for 2009.”
I think it was created the Sunday after the Georgia game. Very Jerry-ish, I suppose — in sentimentality, if not in execution. I thought I would share it.
Ben Tate – The Chinese Tyler Hudson, the black Bruce Lee, your tears testify to your greatness. I remember sitting there with Jaime in section 4, a sunny afternoon in ’06, watching you, talking about you, ‘they’re bringing in the freshman, yeah, he’s going to be good.’ Tate. Ben Tate. The best running back in the state. Your name sounded like the name of the guy you’ve turned out to be. We have seen you lower the head, we have seen you accelerate through the seasons, we have seen it and felt your dedication. Crab cakes, and football, and crackin’ bones… the border state battering ram of our hearts.
Darvin Adams, you look like a guy Cree Summer would have crushed on in A Different World but instead of protesting apartheid you get in the open. You get in the open and go after the ball like a stray chasing a steak. You’re too young to even remember that show. Keep this up and you won’t be the best since Courtney Taylor, you’ll be the best since Lawyer Tillman, who does remember it… the best since Beasley. Todd. Adams. Todd to Adams. I want you guys to stay friends forever.
Old man Fannin, man of steel. You went up for what could have been a game tying catch. A guy named Rambo went up for what should have been have been a highlight kapow. He knocked the ball out. And himself. You have bricks under your skin. We all know it. We’ve seen it. You’re getting the ball more than you did last year. It’s still not enough.
Ziemba, mighty Dragon Force, you jump every game (so it seems). It’s almost as charming as your Auburn tattoo. Hell yeah. On any given Sunday, we’ll be able to find the right channel and watch the bicep flex in memory of your first love, for whom you were always there, with a perfect quote, a perfect stance, a perfect block.
Kodi Burns, Auburn man, your humility is the stuff of legend, as your 78-yard junior year high school throw before it. I remember the days of “the fire, the fire, the fire.” I remember Chick-fil-a. I remember them. These days are better.
Chris Todd: you look like a quarterback, and are one. War Eagle. Thank you.