… how famous Michael Jackson really was. And how small.
June 2, 2009
X almost marked the spot
I talked with Exene Cervenka from X the other day. I got real excited for a second. Not quite Bjork excited, but definitely excited.
Moi: Have you ever been to Auburn?
Exene: Well, we played there. About a million years ago. You have a big football team, right? I think we played one of those football years. I don’t remember. I might have it mixed up with Birmingham or something. Does Birmingham, Alabama have the elephant mascot?
Moi: Oh man… that’s Tuscaloosa. Those are the bad guys.
Exene: Oh. Man, I got mixed up. I was young. I was drunk. It was a long time ago. It was football. It was surreal. I got mixed up.
Moi: You would have liked Auburn better.
Exene: I probably would have.
Me: Do you watch American Idol?
Exene: I do not.
May 24, 2009
Fly down the field, girl, fly down the field
At a recent commencement ceremony at George Washington University, there were cries of “War Eagle.”
On her name card, Auburn alumna Sara Elisabeth Burson (class of ‘07) slipped our school’s illustrious battle cry in between her middle and last name.
She handed it to the announcer.
The announcer looked at it. A gag? Native American? Are you sure?
So sure.
So sure Sara graduated with a Masters in Tourism Administration from GWU not as Sara Elisabeth Burson, but as Sara Elisabeth War Eagle Burson.
This I discovered after typing “War Eagle” into Twitter’s search engine, just for kicks.
And it got me thinking about the girl whose middle name really is War Eagle.
I went to high school with her, in Birmingham no less. She was beautiful. So was her little sister – her name (her first name) was Tiger. Their last name was White. They were two of the prettiest girls in school, duh.
Alabama fans brag on their houndstoothed army of Bryant namesakes (“hi, name is Drunk Jones, this here is my brother Cheeter”), but with the single, feminized semi-exception of Tyde (you remember him – Saban’s brother?), have any of them ever had the passion or the balls to name a child after their actual battle cry?
War Eagle ended up going to Georgia. It hurt us all.
May 9, 2009
Bo Knows The Secret of Life
“God bless you. And most of all, keep Auburn in your prayers, keep Auburn in your heart, and War Eagle.”
more about “Bo Knows The Secret of Life“, posted with vodpod
December 30, 2008
Toomer’s Rumors and Boomers resurrection 12.29.08
I’ve been planning a state of the union. Not really planning, just thinking about it. But where to start. This was the strangest year yet for Auburn football. Auburn fans have never had to cope with regime change under the full blogtastic weight of the internet. In that, we were alone in the SEC, save for the Volunteers. Rumors of defections and coordinators galore, yes. But never the hyperactive trauma of a head coaching firesignation / search. There were riots. Shoes were being thrown. Hecklers. Forest fires. Pirates. And now suddenly Chizik is an anchor with a white hot vision. And now suddenly, Gus Malzahn. And now suddenly, we can sleep. Zzzzzzzz.
War Eagle.
I’m gonna start it back up. The whole W0rks-style thing Jerry does? It’s too fun. I gotta do something. Jerry’s is a bit more succinct than TR&B ever was / will be, but I gotta do something. .
Speaking of Jerry…
Jerry Hinnen. Spencer Hall. You never see them together…
Chris Shelling Jr., you sweet holiday angel!
Earlier today, I was driving at high speeds with Billy Childish. The car in front of me had a bumper sticker reading: SABAN/PALIN ‘O8 with a picture of palin wearing a bear bryant hat. I sped past them and mimed the throat slash motion to the driver. Jihad.
Of course, I wish the young man would have made the right decision, but perhaps his deviance will expedite the polygamizing of the Tide come whenever the game is. Make them your wives, Utah… cause I mean, even Mike Shula had Bama back for a two loss season.
By the way, the AP has deemed Bama finally winning some games as the number one story in the state of Alabama for 2008. That we started losing games is number two.
“I came here to help him win and that’s what I’m going to do.”
December 29, 2008
Who Da’ Mahn
Combine Auburn’s offensive production against Vandy, Tennessee, Arkansas and Bama …
and you only get six more yards than Tulsa got against UTEP.
Score one for The Chiznit.
(tip of the finger to Chris Shelling Jr.)
December 19, 2008
Eltoro
Ditto, Auburntron — suit this dude up.
“I talked to Coach Chizik and told him ‘War Damn Eagle!’” Freeman said. “I told him that I was going to sign with Auburn and there wasn’t any doubt about it. I’m so ready to be a part of the Auburn Family. I can’t wait to be a part of it.”
Freeman said his first conversation with Chizik went very well. Freeman believes Auburn found the right guy for the job.
“I know a lot of people say that they don’t like him for the job because of his record at Iowa State and this and that, but I believe in Chizik and I believe in Auburn University!” said Freeman. “I absolutely believe they hired the right guy. Me and Coach Chizik and the rest of the Auburn Family, we are going to get this thing back right.”
Freeman was hardpressed to hold back his excitement about Chizik and signing with Auburn.
“I heard Coach Chizik has coached three Thorpe Award winners, well damn, he better get ready to coach a Dick Butkus Award winner. It’s on now!” Freeman said. “We’re coming back. Me and the boys are coming! I’m ready! WAR DAMN EAGLE! I just can’t wait to be a part of the Auburn Family.”
Auburn has lost eight commitments, one of which it has since gotten back, since Tommy Tuberville’s resignation Dec. 3. More commits have said they are now looking at other schools. Freeman said he had a message for the decommitments and other potential recruits.
“If Auburn can’t get’em, we’ll beat’em…If we can’t get’cha, we’ll beat’cha,” Freeman said.
Merry Christmas to you too, Eltoro. I needed that. War Damn Eagle.
December 18, 2008
The Cask of Spirito Della Tigre
By J.M. Comer
My mind swims and wallows in a dank pit, Dearest Reader. It wanders as the darkest day of the year, Dec. 21, the first day of winter approaches. Last night, I sat in my warm library with my two dogs hundreds of miles from the Plains of Auburn. My Edgar Allen Poe collection of short stories and poems was in my lap and my mind drifted to a place between sleep and waking …
The thousand injuries of Optimisme I had borne as I best could, but when he ventured upon the last insult I vowed revenge.
I spied him from the shadows as he staggered down the street, drunk from enthusiasm, after the Chizik celebration.
His knitted winter hat was forced to the back of his head with a single festive bell, and the beads of a New Orleans festival both orange and blue hung from his neck. His dress shirt was emblazoned with the symbol of my Tigers, his Tigers, our Tigers.
M. Optimisme was an older man of wide girth, a man of privilege. His head shook from laughter as he swayed to and fro along the cobblestone streets.
His hat bell jingled. The holiday celebrations had come early for him. He placed his hand on a lamppost to steady himself and leaned back to take in the night air, bathing in the artificial light. His laughter boomed through the empty streets. It sickened me to hear it.
But I approached him with a cautious creep, my hand coming from the gloom to rest on his wide shoulder.
He started, spun around and exclaimed, “By Dye’s pants! Young Comer! Ha ha! What a fright! Why do you hide in the shadows? Tonight is a rebirth! A celebration!”
His breath reeked of meat, heavy cream and wine. My old friend had filled himself this evening at the celebration.
“Why, I did not see you there at the coronation,” Optimisme said. His large finger poked hard at my chest; his squinted eyes peered at mine.
I coughed. “I did not feel like a celebration was in order, my dear Optimisme. These are times for reflection.”
“Bah,” he cried, swiping his hand in the air, clearing invisible cobwebs of doubt. “You think too much my dear Matthew. You still mourn? Chizik is one of ours. He’s home again!”
I chuckled, falsely, and glanced sideways at this old man. His teeth looked worn and yellowed. Behind them, his fat tongue lolled with the pleasure of his words.
He had a weak point — this Optimisme — although in other regards he was a man to be respected and even feared. He prided himself on his connoisseurship in wine.
“I’ve been searching for you my friend,” I said with false cheer. “I have procured a cask of what passes to be 2004 Spirito Della Tigre, but I have my doubts.”
The man’s eyes rolled lazily behind heavy shut lids, but quickly snapped wide. “You jest! Impossible! 2004? A good year, but I am not a fan of the House of Tuberville’s methods.”
“I have my doubts,” I replied; “and I was silly enough to pay the full price without consulting you in the matter. You were not to be found, and I was fearful of losing a bargain.”
“Spirito Della Tigre!”
“I have my doubts, it is a 2004.”
Again he cried, “Spirito Della Tigre!”
“I fear that such a year will not come again,” I said, placing his arm in mine. “A dear friend of mine, M. Henderson, is a fan of the House of Tuberville’s 2005 Sacco di Croyle Numero 11. He thinks it is superior.”
“He is foolish,” exclaimed old, tired Optimisme. “I frown upon anything after 1988.”
At his last accusation, my teeth clinched behind my lips.
He spat, “I have lived long … I have drank deep. For me, the 2004 had a slight aftertaste … it is bitter to me. But then … I didn’t drink my fill. We must go to your vaults.”
I patted his soft back, saying, “Now is a wonderful time to savor the 2004 again, but I must warn you, dear Optimisme, the cask lies deep within, near the catacombs. I couldn’t possibly ask you to venture there.”
… ah, Dearest Reader … I’m awake and back in Poe’s Baltimore and the year 2008 draws to a close. I’m sure to brick up dear old Optimisme in the dark vault with these words, that hopefully I’ll eat some day. I’ll eat them with glee and you can watch … if they prove to be unfounded.
(To see how the rest of the story turns out, please click here.)
But dear God, the football program of Auburn University: I’ve never been associated and loved anything that can make so many stupid, expensive, embarrassing mistakes in so short a time. And then it repeats them a few years later.
We’ll never know what really goes on behind the scenes. But I’m just sick of the croynism, men looking out for themselves, their money and their friends instead of what is best for Auburn.
But I do know this: Gene Chizik was not the best coach available or the best fit for Auburn; he was the only coach available that made the old, white men comfortable. He said what they wanted to hear and gave them the hope to relive an era that is dead. I can guarantee that the “Society of the Black Book” is about to make a comeback. Big time.
These same cronies pushed, prodded and questioned the best coach I’ll probably ever see at the helm of our university, Coach Tommy Tuberville. He’d had enough and left.
The Auburn football program has been left in a terrible position from a power struggle and ineptitude.
I hope this is the last hurrah of the idiots. The last gasp behind the brick wall.
But it is disheartening that this is all happening once again to Auburn, an institute of learning that never seems to learn.
We’ll make it through this. We always do. War Eagle. We’ll all be there for you Tigers. Give ‘em hell in 2009.
But for now, it feels like we’re all hanging in a place between the wreckage and the promise.
