Loveliest Village de la Llano Estacado

It’s a big deal for me. Got a real job. Moving to Texas. West Texas. Intense.

Just as intense is what I’m having to sacrifice for that job. Not only my home, my Auburn throne, but media credentials. A press pass. Every Auburn home game. Don’t ask how. True story. Finally happened. In the box. Free food. Scarbinsky. Rubbing elbows. High fives with Housel. On the sidelines. Sweaty stares from Yoxall.

In fact, I could be at Media Days right now if I wanted, name tag and everything, Diet Cokes, blogging between-the-line prognostications of what shall unfold (I’m telling you, God love Burns, God love Todd, Tristan, Tray, Coleman, Ziemba, Byrum, Tate, Lester, God love’em all — but the secret, season-hinging ninja of 2008 will be Mario Fannin, just watch, just feel, he can’t run up the middle much because of the shoulders, but spread him out and feed him a mushroom), and blogging about all the bloggers and then heading over to Diamond Jims, that place still there?

But just as I achieve almost-tucked-in respectability, just as I catch my breath, just as I right myself in order to take in the finish-line view atop this Everest of (detrimental? genius?) Auburn obsession, the Lord, with a gust of His mighty wind, whisks me to the treeless board game of Red Raider land.

“mike leach. mike leeeeeeeeeachhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. the bell ringer. pirates. sharks. mike leach.”

ESPN’s Mack Schlabach actually predicted T. Tech to meet in the Sugar Bowl, which will be hard because we’ll be in the Orange Bowl. We’ll still beat them though.

This will be a strange, new world for me, not just geographically, but in the heart. Discounting away games, I’ve never been a fan on foreign shores, I’ve never lived more than two hours away from the front (what’s it like, y’all?). I’ve been in echo distance of Jordan-Hare for the past 11 years of my life — I basically walk to the games from my house — and soon it’ll be more than 1,000 miles, a fact which will be rendered utterly, utterly poignant by season’s end, as I’m sure we’ll win it all (four years from ’04, feels right).

Hopefully, The War Eagle Reader can keep things happening. Maybe my new circumstances will give birth to an actual, sustainable theme to this blog; let’s not kid ourselves, it’s been a schizoid first year… if I had it to do over again, I’d really try to craft my natural, this-guy’s-got-problems-but-I-like-it embed persona, the place you’d come not for the stats and stuff, but the Tristan Davis sightings, the smells of Haley Center, the tailgate romance, the Kroger aisle electricity, the 30 mph twilight Bragg Ave. boob flashings from the back of pickups after we’ve beaten LSU. Looking back, that kinda seems like what I was going for in my bizarre first real, real post, after last year’s Kansas State game:

The frat houses and dorms soak not with the anticipated musk of conquest, but rather the quiet mocha of relief. The kids wake up with tender smiles and cuddle. Swig not the Budweiser dregs for breakfast this Sunday, my friends, rather brunch together with wholesome grains and warm cheeses, share with one another and laugh nervously, but proudly, and press on in the faith, for next week will likely be more of the same, and we need our strength. We need each other.

Yes, thank you, Lord, for Auburn football.

Maybe J.M. will continue to rock the Toomer’s Rumors and Boomers category the way it was supposed to be rocked, and rock other things… maybe I’ll still post random pictures from Auburn’s 1970s… maybe I can finally convince Chris Shelling Jr. to recap the games, recap them with purity and wisdom, all the way from the Empire of the Sun. Maybe I can monetize this sucker and buy my family back to God’s country. I don’t see why it all can’t happen — such is the power and beauty of the internet: Toomer’s Corner web cams, the blAUgosphere, 2008.

But it could stop, I guess. Schedules and stuff. We’ll see what happens. Until then, War Eagle, War Eagle forever.

Wait, I almost forgot. There is the matter of The Pants. Who is going to take up the slacks, as it were, in my stead? Jerry, if you’re still coming down, it might totally have to be you – that would totally prove the sorta southern dedication to the game you’ve been claiming to those Michigan “football” fan friends of yours.


1 Comment

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One response to “Loveliest Village de la Llano Estacado

  1. mr. nashville

    chris shelling jr. will kill/intercept any man who touches the pants ($1 to jamie howard and his 6’13” tight end).(full disclosure, Chris Shelling Jr. is drunk as shit and has been been singing karaoke all night long).
    wishbone forever, amen!

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