I could write a book with all of the interesting observations I have from growing up in a small conservative town. It’s impossible to lump it all into one post. So here’s the start of a multi-part post. If you’re immediately bummed out reading that — I get it. You’re thinking this will be lengthy and drawn out, maybe even like you have an obligation to read all of it. Well friend, there’s no judgment here. Read some. Read none. We’re all busy people here. You think you’ve got it bad? Try having the self-discipline to sit down and write this thing!

Part I

“Some people think football is a matter of life and death. I don’t like that attitude. I can assure them it is much more serious than that.”
Bill Shankly

Let’s say you’re interested in your home state and interesting facts about it, during the year you were born. If you Google (or bing or go go duck, or whatever it is you’re into) “Alabama 1990”, the first thing you’ll see is a post about Alabama Football. First, I laughed, when I saw this. Then I realized it was absolutely representative. If Google’s algorithm presents data based on popular searches, the results are a good indicator of the user’s intent. On the Google and in real-life Alabama, football comes first.

There’s two primary parties in our beautiful country and there’s two primary parties in Alabama football — us and everybody else.

If you’re like myself and find football to be a bit traumatic (the yelling, the anger, the inability of fans to cope with loss, etc), know you’re not alone. Nonetheless, it’s a vein that runs through the entire state. It’s kind of like that Uncle at every family gathering that is so loud and colorful, you can’t help but be uncomfortable, yet it wouldn’t be the same without him.

I learned at a very early age that football is to be taken seriously. That if the team had a bad game, that means we have a bad week. I learned football is a conversation piece in which two strangers can unite in their passion, or the opposite; it can quickly put a wedge between the two. I learned to respond to the question, “Who do you go for?” with a swift, “I go for whoever you go for.” Ultimately, I learned that people have a deep longing for the dynamic of “us and them”.

As a child, I didn’t witness my dad expressing a lot of emotion. But on Saturdays in the Fall, this was a whole different story. I remember feeling entertained by the shouting at the tv, yet also completely perplexed that he was acting as if he was in the game. Football in Alabama isn’t just a past time — it’s a lifestyle. And if you’re not sporting some kind of Alabama decal on your truck or SUV, are you really even a fan?

The irony here is that, as I grew older, I started judging others for their devotion to football. I thought their need for the game to be superficial and felt football was almost comparable to medieval jousting.

If I am honest, I felt superior by not having an interest in football. Was I more intelligent than my peers? Did anyone in my hometown ever stop to question why they embrace the game? Watching grown men, run around chasing a ball and risking a fatal injury? And we pay and glorify them? It was always just a bit too weird for me. And that’s saying something, because I was pretty weird myself.

By separating myself from those that loved football, (which, by the way, is like 98% of the people you’d meet growing up in Alabama), I was satisfying my own need for “us and them.”

Today, I see football fans as people who are more like me than not like me. They have a sense of belonging, they need something to hope for, they want to be entertained. So do I. Judgment is suspended… but is brought back lightening-fast if I meet someone with a football-related tattoo. Come on! Seriously?

Ok, I’ve harped on football as long as I can manage. I want to take a moment to bring in some levity. Here’s a list of expressions I heard on a regular basis while growing up, some a little more disturbing than others:

“They aint got sense God gave a billy goat.”

“Children are meant to be seen, not heard.”

“You want some cheese with that whine?

“You can’t fix stupid.”

“You’re cruisin’ for a bruisin’.”

“If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.”

“Your daddy wasn’t a glass-maker! Move!”

And lastly, my personal favorite:

“She can hear a gnat piss on cotton!”

I didn’t intend to write about football, pretty much ever. But I can’t think of a more fitting way to accurately sum up my earliest memories of what I learned was important to our state. I’m not saying I agree with it. I’m not saying I understand it. But sometimes all we can do, is to learn to roll with the tide.