T’was the night before football, and all through her latest column, Rheta Grimsley was ragging on Earth Fare and stirring the part of you that will never predict a loss:
(Hmmm… I swear she had some Christmas metaphor or something in there that warranted all that… oh, here it is)
It is Christmas Eve here, or the night before the first football game of the season, a time when even the most flinty-eyed veteran of losing seasons believes. Anything is possible. Oh, yes. This just could be the year. Santa Claus is coming, and in his big bag is a Heisman quarterback. I’ve been good. Please, let this be the year.
Once you have grown up an Auburn fan, listening to Bear Bryant’s mumbled, almost incoherent recapitulation of a slaughter on Sunday television,
you are ready for life — its disappointments, lop-sided advantages, relentlessness and rare, sweet moments. You are ready to do battle with the devil.
And here I am, the age of those embarrassing alums who used to show up for games wearing orange and blue for god’s sake, feeling a stirring because it’s the night before the season begins and this year could be different. So what if our cross-state nemesis is the reigning No. 1 team in the nation, picked by pollsters to remain No. 1 until the End of Time, when the Bear will call his son Nick Saban home? Experts could be wrong.
god God love her.