Obligatory pre-Iron Bowl post

I’m from Alabama, where church is important, but football’s a religion. Tomorrow’s the Easter of our raucous gridiron heresy. Alabama versus Auburn, brother versus brother: It’s the damn Iron Bowl, and I graduated from The University of Alabama (they always made us capitalize ‘The’ at the student paper — it was in the stylebook that way).

Ordinarily, I’d be pumped for tomorrow’s game, but my beloved Crimson Tide is on a four-game losing streak. Our last go-round, they were soundly defeated by a team called the Warhawks. Louisiana Monroe plays in the same conference, and often loses to Troy University, the No. 3 or 4 program in the state.

The last four weeks, I’ve watched the season slide from Surprisingly Enjoyable — I never had the religious fervor for Coach Saban my brethren oozed — down, down down to Cover your Eyes.

I have little desire to watch the game with friends. I might watch with my dad, but this type of self-pity ought not be taken public.

I really just want it to be over. I realize there’s always the chance that Alabama will be pissed off, that Saban’s public derision could pay off. Hell, maybe he even planned it that way.

But the other way it could go, whether by buzzer-beating suckerpunch or unquestioned blowout, my level of sadness will dwarf the joy I could feel in victory.

Or maybe being dark and pessimistic like this is a inverse-double-reverse-jinx — a mystic 12th man acting only to prove me wrong — PROVE THE RANDOM BLOGGER WRONG!!

Did you know I once cried my seven-year-old eyes out after Bama lost to Auburn, miserable I had failed the Tide and Bear Bryant’s Ghost by wearing a different sweatshirt from last year.

Anyway, I just needed to get all that out. I’ll be watching, praying, and rummaging my closets for the shirt I was wearing when Bama last won … FIVE YEARS AGO. Roll Tide.

I have no prediction, no confidence in the outcome. But like choosing a number in Roulette, The Alabama Crimson Tide eek it out on Leigh Tiffin’s foot, 38-35.

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