Alabamians will get riled about politics, no doubt. All sorts of half-heard opinions will emerge from even the mildest non-partisan. But to get someone really riled, to get them hopping mad as my mom might say, start opining on God and football. That’s when the rubber of patience meets the road of go to hell in Alabama.

David Simon could create a series about feral cats living on an Outer Banks island and people would watch.

Ain’t no city like New Orleans.

Young Bartley gives Younger Bartley advice on how on college life.

Some sucker vs. the Haley Center Haymaker

Garrido sees baseball as a simulacrum of life. For him, all important lessons in life are contained within baseball.

I had a Friday Night Lights’ moment driving down Donahue yesterday. It was round dusk, 6:45 or so.

Watch Pat Dye sigh and take a sip as he stares into the darkness. Realize how old he looks. Realize the toll. Realize to look at Pat Dye is to look at 30 years of Auburn football.
Realize for four hours on fall Saturdays Pat Dye is the holiest man in Alabama.

They walk through a screen door and there he is, calm and unmoving, holding a paperback copy of William Faulkner’s “Three Famous Short Novels”, one of the fingers on his right hand holding a spot near the halfway point. Without looking up he places the book on a table adjacent to his rocking chair.
“Y’all come on around here and get what you need. Hell, you’re late.”

“What do you want to be when you grow up, Ben?” Don’t say Jedi. Don’t say Jedi. Don’t say Jedi.