Crisis of Fandom: Tiger or Tide


Train up a fan in the way she should roll, and when she is old she will not depart from it…

I Hesitations 17

I’ve had a crisis of fandom recently.  And it’s time I opened up about it.  Trigger warning: if you are not from the SEC, you may not understand.

See, I remember hearing someone once say: In the north, football is a sport; in the Midwest, it’s a pastime; but in the south, it’s a religion.  So I’m sharing my testimony.

I was raised in a Crimson Tide family.  My father is a Tide fan and a former student, my mother is a tide fan and former student, and my grandfather was a tide Fan and former student.  My dad was a GTA at the same time Wimp Sanderson was in grad school, and they were friends (maybe that explains my father’s horrible plaid pant phase…).  In fact, my mother grew up in Tuscaloosa, and she says she didn’t know there was another school in Alabama until she was ten (smile).  My brother attended The University for a while, and I even worked on a PhD there.  You might say I am the Bama equivalent of a preacher’s kid.  I grew up saying roll tide, loving read and hound’s-tooth, and went to every home game when I was a student.  I knew how many wins Bear Bryant had, and I had a soft spot for Lyke’s hot dog loving Gene Stallings.

I was a faithful follower of the Crimson Tide


Then I changed.  I’ll chalk it up to peer pressure.  You see, I lived in Auburn for 10 years.  It’s a great town with great people.  I taught elementary school there, and living in a sea of orange and blue….well, it’s no fun living in a sea of orange and blue and trying to wear crimson.  Kinda like being the only one with no Zima at that high school party.  And so I eased over into Tigerdom.  I bought the shirts, I waved the pompoms, I shouted War Eagle.  I even rolled my eyes at that vein of more obnoxious Bama fans.

I was a zealous convert.


Yes, forgive me Saban, for I have sinned.  It has been 16 years since my last wearing of hound’s-tooth.

Say ten Roll Tides, my child, and attend a ballgame party, and I shall absolve thee.

So now that I’m back in my home town, and my life has changed somewhat, and I am, after all connected to The University, at least tangentially, every day, it is time.  Time to change.  Time to return to my roots and my raising.  Time to bleed crimson anew.

I called my mom last week and told her I was probably going to become a Bama fan again. I could hear her smiling through the phone.

“Your father will be so proud!”

Roll Tide!


Behind the Defiance


Behind the defiance, a cold, empty space;

And I see it under the sneer on your face.

You say I’m irrelevant, dust on a shelf,

But with every word, you’re indicting yourself.

You rail you’re in charge and yourself you control,

But inside, you desperately long to be whole.

You veil with dismissal, and flip disrespect,

But your words reveal discontent you reflect.

While treating what’s good with eye rolls and disdain,

I see you attempting to hide from your pain.

The mocking, the sideways remarks made with glee –

But I know the target is not really me.

I’m not the real problem; I just play a part.

I’m merely a mirror reflecting your heart.

And it is not judgment that creates these rhymes

It’s sad resignation that these are the times.

And while the throng cheers at this upside-down world,

I’ll gladly take all of the insults when hurled.

It’s not condescension that creates this verse;

It’s fear of the truth that’s behind every curse.

For anger and apathy oftentimes hides

The emptiness that in a cold heart resides.

So I’ll take the bruises and every harsh blow

Because in the end there’s a comfort I know.

That even though now we may call darkness light,

The story’s not over, and truth wins the fight.

Yes, I’ll be a scapegoat if that’s what you need,

And inside I’ll pray that someday you’ll be freed.

Predawn Race

After dark, before light

Eyes heavy, open

Looking into past and future

Chasing peace

Running from the relentless regular

That always comes

Expecting, demanding

In bold red letters

While I lie awake counting

Seconds, minutes, hours

Holding my breath

Praying I will cross the bridge

Before it is closed

Because even 2 hours

Will.measure the day

In Memory

Uncle, husband, father, friend,

One beloved by God

Those left behind will mourn the end

Of your time on this sod.

But up above they celebrate

And welcome you within

To streets of gold and visions great

And joy that will not end.

While we knew you, you made us smile

Your love was always true

Your open heart and ready wit

Cheered all who spoke to you

So though our lives will feel your loss

And miss your presence here,

We know that all of heaven is glad

To finally have you near.

And when we pause to think of you 

O’er years and months and praise

We’ll be so grateful for your life

And give to God the praise.

Location Tw0 – A Novel Excerpt


Roland sat up in bed, not sure what had awakened him.  Had it been a noise or just a sense that something was wrong?  He tried chiding himself, but his heart continued to pound, and his dog whimpered in her sleep.  It was quiet enough in his bedroom to hear the whirring of his laptop on the desk across from his bed.  But the quiet didn’t reassure him; it actually made him more skittish.  Swearing to himself, Roland left the bed and went to his closet to retrieve the 9mm.

His mouth went dry when he discovered the empty box; it was missing.  The gun was missing – not his issued weapon.  That one was locked in its case beside his bed.  This was the unregistered gun he had confiscated from a crime scene years before.  He thought he might need it someday.  And now it was gone.

She had to be in the house somewhere.  The IP address of her last email had been one of his neighbors’.  That was what had sent him riding home on two wheels two days before with sirens blaring until he reached his own block.  He could feel his ear drums reverberating in time to the thudding of his heart.  The hair on his arms raised as a bead of sweat rolled from him armpit to his elbow.  She hadn’t appeared, however, so Roland had finally allowed himself to sleep.

“Tsk, tsk officer.  Doesn’t this gun belong in an evidence locker somewhere?”

He turned, and though he had seen her picture numerous times, she was unrecognizable.  The laughing brown eyes that had stared from snapshots were now icy steel.  Her hair was dark instead of the strawberry blond he was used to seeing.  And she was thinner, much thinner.  He watched her hands around the gun for some hint of shaking; shaking would indicate uncertainty.  Her hands were as steady as his had been trained to be.

“I thought it might come in handy one day,” he replied, unmoving.

“And so it has.  Did you bend the rules and beat the drug addict or rapist you confiscated this from?”

Roland nodded quietly.  “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Why not?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.  “He did do something wrong.  That means it was okay for you to do something wrong, correct?”


“Shut up.  Nobody wants to hear you moralize.  Turn around.”

He didn’t move except to move his gaze from her hands to her face.

“Turn around, officer, and put your hands behind your head.”  She cocked the gun.  “Or don’t.”

Roland shakily turned and did as she asked, bile burning his tongue.

“Good boy.  Don’t worry. I know you were blinded by your own hurt, so I’ll be quicker.  And you don’t claim to believe in God, so I cannot hold you accountable for breaking the very morals you claim to believe.  Besides, you are not very smart.  You probably didn’t have a choice.”

Roland flinched at that last part.  He heard her footsteps, and then the end of the barrel pressed coldly against the base of his neck, where his brain stem felt as if it was pulsing.  “Please…..” He heard himself whisper.

“I’m not sorry,” she whispered back.

A loud, smoky explosion filled the room.  Then it was silent.