I heard Kenny dip into that neat-o Hollywood butter-style – “Brad Lester gets the hand-off and gets maybe a yard” – and that’s when it hit me.
The last time someone was doing a play-by-play for me over the phone was the Vanderbilt game. I was in east Texas, en route to hand off the fam in Shreveport. Dad was at the Holiday Inn Express watching the second most glorious first quarter of Auburn football this year. He was describing it through the phone and we were feeling good. I got to the hotel. The feeling didn’t last.
“Kenny,” I said, not knowing I was on the phone with the once-voice of the Auburn High School Baby Tigers, a team that ran the table this year and could have given the big boys a run for their money, say the experts, “have you called games before?”
Yeah, it was right around there when it really sank in. I was back in east Texas, I-20, the South slowly reappearing, on my way to retrieve the fam at the same hotel.
A whole month I’d been by myself. A whole month starved of Auburn victory.
It got surreal, man. Everytime I called, Kenny would describe some horrible nightmare. The text messages were flaming barbs of disaster. “This is not good.”
Kenny is good. He made Kodi sound exactly like this picture he took of him.
We held on. We won. War Eagle.
Might I add that my week whatever prediction, which leads into my Amen Corner, etc. prediction, was all but dead on:
We struggle against UT-Martin but eventually win by like, three touchdowns… Bama makes it out of Baton Rouge…
We struggled but eventually won by like, two and half touchdowns (from what I understand we just sat on the ball rather than score the last one) and Bama barely made it out of Baton Rouge…
We beat Georgia with turnovers… [Bama] pulls a Bama win against Miss. St. with some fluke, but get banged up.
Let’s do it, men. Carpe Diem. Flex. Suck in your gut. And ladies, gather ye rosebuds. Let’s all bow are heads. 11:30. Raycom. I love the smell of napalm in the morning.