By J. Henderson
“That’s the last time you’ll ever be a three touchdown underdog, I can promise you that.” — Tuberville to the men…
I am not one to brag on my God-given psychic powers. I have a special knack for determining the age/sex of the siblings of strangers. It’s a gift. And I can also call Auburn victories in big games with a certainty that, in this world of fixed material ‘laws’ is, frankly, frightening. But, running the risk of appearing to be gloating, I would like here to offer a lesson on confidence to the Auburn Family…This is what I said within hours of the Mississippi State debacle:
“There are guts strewn about the Jordan-Hare of our hearts, the field sopped with tears and fluids. The rest of Auburn’s season is wide open, a grand canyon of sheer terror.
I like the odds.
And we will beat Florida.”
(Note, brothers, the italics.)
And here is what I said at the beginning of this week (quoted at the JCCW, no less! Thanks Jerry!), taking at least a sliver of credit for Florida’s 2006 success:
“And so I think – we think – that, when you most needed it, we gave you confidence and the can-do attitude achieved only in adversity and shame, the same attitude we have smelted in the early fires of ‘07 and will pour hot and molten into Ben Hill Griffin Stadium, the same AttitUde we will then forge into a mighty shiv between the hash marks and shove – humbly, but without reservation, and with Can-Do Auburn Relish (CDAR) – into your soft, overrated, reptilian gut this Saturday night. And you just might need it if you’re to repeat!”
(At least one Florida blog actually seems to appreciate this wisdom, and that’s great!)
My score may have been off, but my aim was true.
How’s 14-0 twenty-four minutes in for “without reservation”? How’s Wes “Two-game-winning field goals” Byrum (Tuberville: “He has ice-water in his veins.”) for “Can-Do Auburn Relish”?
Look at these youngbloods! The Ft. Lauderdale Foot and Future Boy — same number jersey, same age: 18 on both counts.
So this week’s Sunday report is essentially a homework assignment, and it is this: to step up and believe. Leave the if-this-and-this-and-this-happens-then-maybe attitude on the curb and never again step into Saturday with anything less than utter, stark, blinding assurance that your Auburn Tigers have not just a shot at winning, but have victory in the freaking bag. Lose to Florida in this sorta game? Are you kidding me? We didn’t have Lester, but we had Fannin and Tate, and we had it in the bag. We had Kodi Burns and we had Brandon Cox, and he had us, and we had it in the bag. Quentin D. Groves went down, a sack shy of officially tying the all-time Auburn record, but we had Simms and Coleman and Lee and Powers and Etheridge and Savage and Brock and Thompson and Wilhite, and we had it in the bag. Has Timmy Tebow’s choo-choo sashay ever been so slapped back to the drawing board? And Rod Smith, thy name is clutch, just like Borges said it was, just like he said. And O-Line? Get a fake ID and go buy some beer and chug it like men. Congratulations, all of you. War Eagle, to everyone, War Eagle forever…
… we know that laptops can be stolen, we know that side-line signals can be video-taped. Practices have to be closed (when you’ve got Sabanabama coming up), manshields erected… manshields and towels (when you’re playing Sabanabama).
But the X’s and O’s of the Spirit are rooted away in the underground bunker of the heart and if those kinds of calls are called right, they are unstoppable. No nuclear Biff Tannin ballerina can penetrate the armor of their power, no flash-in-the-pan Iscariot can betray their destiny. Two weeks ago, Timmy Tebow and his roommate got it on during the Tennessee game; last night Spurban Meyer delivers a kiss of his own, on the right cheek of honest competition. And yet the 30 pieces of silver he then handed over for the cheapest, most low-down icing ploy ever attempted in college football not only bought him defeat but also cost him whatever rags of decency may have clung to his reputation. In that sense, he is now completely naked, and should wander homeless the streets and fields of sport. (Tell me, Spurb – do you keep that ref on a leash at home, too? And does he ever massage you?)
I hope it was worth, bucko. But (another) newsflash: you cannot stop Auburn Spirit… not with late hits, not with lust for revenge. And you cannot contain it… not with bogus calls or even by selling your soul. Ever to conquer. Never to yield. Fearless. True. Give’em Hell.