Somewhere not far away, there’s a 10-year-old boy who’s about to have one of the greatest days of his life. Years from now, he will undoubtedly share the same experience with his children. But today, he will experience a southern rite of passage when he attends his first college football game.
It will begin on Friday evening. His mom will make him go to bed early, reminding him that “tomorrow’s a long day.” But nervous anticipation keeps sleep from coming easily.
Saturday morning he’s up early, fully dressed in his team’s colors before he eats breakfast. His mom smiles because he never does this on a school day. Within an hour, they’re on their way. He can’t help but notice all the cars on the highway are full of people wearing the same colors.
Soon, his father gets off the main route and begins taking a series of turns and backroads. Dad says this is a time-tested shortcut that will get them to their destination in the least amount of time. Dad is spot on. Shortly, they pull into a church lot and find their parking space. Immediately, people on either side greet them. It reminds him of Thanksgiving when his relatives get together. In a way, it is, because his family has parked here for years. Mom dutifully unfolds a card table, and soon every inch of it is covered in food. It looks like an all-you-can-eat buffet: fried chicken, burgers, hot dogs, baked beans, snacks and desserts.
After a couple of hours of eating, drinking, and socializing, it’s time. They walk a few blocks, turn a corner, and the boy is awestruck at what he sees. An endless number of tents seem to be covering the entire campus. The smell of grilling food fills the autumn air. People are tossing footballs. Music is playing. There are even folks watching football on televisions. Everyone seems so happy, but it’s a bit unnerving. He’s never seen this many people before, so he holds his father’s hand tightly.
They meander through the makeshift city and continue walking towards the stadium. Soon it’s only a block away. Another few minutes and it stands before him. He’s seen it on television before, but TV cameras can’t capture the magnitude of this edifice.
It’s made of concrete, brick, and steel, with bronze statues of past heroes flanking it’s perimeter. People buzz around it like honeybees circling a hive. This is what Roman children must have felt the first time they saw the Colosseum. For a moment, he stares in reverence.
Once his ticket is scanned, he walks through the gate into the stadium. Everyone heads up the ramp to their seats. It’s several levels high, but that doesn’t matter – the boy is almost running now. On the way up, he catches a glimpse of the playing field, and his heart races.
Finally, they reach their portal, where he walks into the sunlight, and comes face to face with thousands of people. Giant screens are playing videos from great victories. Blaring music sounds like a call to battle. The band is spread out over the field and begins playing the fight song just as they reach their seats.
Now, everyone’s standing and raising their voices in unison. It’s the loudest, most wonderful thing he’s ever heard. The stadium seems like a living thing. He joins in, but his screams are lost in the crowd’s hurrahs. In that instant, his team bursts onto the field and the noise becomes even louder. It’s like standing in front of a jet engine. He can’t hear his father speak. The game is minutes away from kickoff, and for the first time in his life, he’s there in person.
In the south, our love of college football runs deep. And like cavemen who passed down hunting skills to their young, we pass down devotion for our schools. From great grandparents, to grandparents, to parents, to their children – to quote Hank Williams Jr., “It’s a family tradition.”
That’s why I believe college football is the greatest spectacle in all of sport.
Especially when it involves my team.
Joe Hobby is a standup comedian, a syndicated columnist, and a long-time writer for Jay Leno. He’s a member of Cullman Electric Cooperative and is very happy now that he can use Sprout from his little place on Smith Lake. Contact him at [email protected].
