Thoughts from the West Texas observatory – LSU

(photo by the Incredible Scott Fillmer)

I thought we had it. I would have wanted an extra minute for the last drive, but even then I thought we had them right where we wanted them. Tuberville did to. And when, who was it — Rod Smith? — caught the 4th down throw off another great Todd scramble, things still made sense. But then, the yellow line appeareth and behold, it was short, sigh, damn, over. War Eagle.

There were good omens, though. The pre-game context, of course… the shot of the bouncy blond cheerleader celebrating our first sack, Nova, the rapture-esque (thank you Kenny) decibels a la Florida ’06, the pick six before half, the fact that we seemed to always slay defending national champs. But I suppose there were also bad omens. I don’t really buy into the Corso curse, but if you do, then that’s bad. Kudos to the priory of Aubie for again denying him access to the sacred head. Matthew 7:6.

(photo by Scott Fillmer)

Also, what the h, Todd’s Taste of the Town? By no means do I fault the Creole Shack for doing their thing out there on Shug Jordan, I’ve never been there, but I mean, awesome, I’m all about it. But I can’t believe that ESPN would be so desperate for the easy copy, the easy irony. Well I can believe it, I’m just surprised they actually did it. Last year it was Byron’s, which is fine, great,  but the cajun place in Auburn? It’d be like highlighting Tuscaloosa’s little-known Punt, Bama, Punt Cafe when Auburn’s nailing the Tide this year. Can we not just go to Toomer’s? Sure they showed clips like everyone always does, but hell’s bells Todd, that’s your money maker right there. Do the history! Oh it’s so awesome, oh Jesus sold it as a kid, play it up like that, say it’s good enough to be a meal, thick historical cream! It’s Esquire Magazine’s #1 reason it’s great to be an American male, for cryin’ out loud! Or Lord, maybe just the Supper Club or something. Geez.

And while we’re at it, the entire broadcast sucked, an unending stream of faux pas, inaccuracy, and Holly Rowe, who I think I once liked, I can’t remember. But she kicked things off with an odd scolding of the Jordan-Hare crowd for being too loud when Auburn was offense, actually saying “They should know better,” and it was all downhill from there.

I think some guys that should know better are Mike and Todd. I barely know the game of football, but I was correcting those men the whole night. No, that was Auburn, not LSU. No that was LSU, not Auburn. Half the time they wouldn’t even catch or correct themselves. They were projecting make-believe penalties (against Auburn) onto plays, mocking the dyslexic, odd comments left and right. But none so odd as Holly’s commentary on the much-commented on condition of LSU quarterback Andrew Hatch after an educational decleating by Jeraud Powers. Hatch did not know where he was. He was slapping himself, shaking, collapsing, drunk.

“No, I know he doesn’t drink guys… because he’s Mormon.”

So, though I pray he recovers, I have to say that the demormonizing of an LSU quarterback — the thought of their cocky, horrible fans watching their Harvard man act a stumblebum after just your average Auburn hit — was one of last night’s highlights.

Others were Robert Dunn, Sen’Derrick Marks, and — beat me, whip me, call me Helen — Chris Todd. Sure, far from perfect, but good, especially in contrast to the previous weeks. He stood in there, he made big plays. We could have used a little Kodi here and there, but for that game last night, that environment, solo Kodi wouldn’t have gotten as close to what solo Chris almost could’ve, would’ve, maybe even should’ve pulled off. But again, together? Tag team? I think it works. Just put some thought into it.

But the worst omen of all? My theory is The Pants. We’ve heard nothing so far – no name, no figure (I guessed at least $5,000), but on Friday night, there was a transfer of power, a transfer perhap never intended. Pat Dye’s pants, his pants from the 1980s, were sold to the highest bidder. Perhaps they fell into the wrong hands. I’m not going to fault Coach for dropping trou on that wet, holy, windy day dead in the heart of his professional stride. God knows…  he did what he had to do. And it was beautiful. But though I went numb for several seconds from the thrill of the story of their recovery, perhaps, like the Ark of the Covenant, The Pants are imbued with a power beyond our ken, our worth and again, our morality. Earthquakes, fires, hurricanes, The Pants. Perhaps they should still be with the catfish.

Sure, there’s a lot to work on, more on that later. But there’s a lot be proud of, that’s enough for now. It’ll be another one of those seasons, one of those It’s great to be an Auburn Tiger seasons. Let’s Hang Tenn, let’s put Georgia back in their place, and let’s BEAT THE LIVING HELL OUT OF BAMA.

Shall we?