2024-10-21 20:40:02
Some children were told fairy tales, stories of princesses far away singing with animals in beautiful dresses. The folklore present in my childhood was … very different. The folkloric figure I was reading about was Paul “Bear” Bryant, the greatest football coach to ever live. My dad had glass Coke bottles with Bear’s face on them on his bachelor pad walls. My papa was adamant I knew who Bear was. I could identify him in every photo by the time I was 4 years old. Alabama football coaches Bear Bryant and Nick Saban are gods among men in Alabama. I remember during a particularly bad election, my grandmother told me she wished Nick Saban would run for governor. And I think he’d win by a landslide, his politics not considered in the slightest.
I bled crimson and white. I had an Alabama cheer uniform when I was 4 years old that I wore religiously. Alabama football dominated every conversation with my dad’s side of the family with their wardrobes proof of pure, unwavering devotion. I was proud to be a ’Bama fan. Saying “roll tide” as an exclamation for both excitement in my everyday life and as a war cry for AJ McCarron and every other legendary QB after him to lead us to another national championship at only 7 years old. I remember the headline “HURTS SO GOOD” after a narrow win against Clemson in 2016 and how the overtime clock ticked as we beat Georgia in 2018. I screamed so loud I think I woke up my whole neighborhood.
This experience is anything but unique. Alabama Crimson Tide gear dominated most people’s wardrobes, especially men older than 40. Hats, polos and even shoes were marked by the Alabama “A,” the direct inverse of a scarlet letter. It was the logo of champions, invoking pride and unadulterated joy in both the wearer and the viewer. Nick Saban — my former coach and would be governor — never failed to bring me and those I disagreed with together under the crimson lights in Bryant-Denny Stadium in such a way that even Sunday 10:30 a.m. church couldn’t compare.
That is until I decided to attend the University of Michigan. The 2023-24 football season was magical for every student but especially for me. I grew up with national championship trophies being the expectation, not the goal — an obligation rather than a dream.
I have to be honest and say I was doubtful Michigan would get as far as it did. Whenever I heard Michigan and Alabama were going head-to-head, the fear was all-consuming. It was me — a new U-M fan — versus absolutely everyone else because it didn’t matter if you were an Alabama fan or not, there was a common consensus back home: Those Northerners couldn’t win. SEC is just different. On the couch with my brother-in-law, the inevitable doom I imagined for Michigan became an unexpected success. No Alabama loss ever tasted that sweet. It was Michigan versus everybody, and the team I considered untouchable was too weak in the face of the Wolverines.
It was a loss of religion in a way. Nick Saban and Alabama football players were the superheroes of my childhood. Tua Tagovailoa and his undeniable ability to turn a game around. Jalen Hurts and his legendary throws. Julio Jones and his perfect runs. They were legends in the making according to most but more equivalent to Biblical figures to me. Then, Michigan Football won the College Football Playoff National Championship. I screamed so loud in Crisler Center that all of my surroundings went black. I ran to South University Avenue with excitement levels even greater than my grandfather’s after an overtime Alabama win.
It was the most united I had ever seen a group of people.
Even more than Alabama fans.
Football has been at the forefront of my life for as long as I can remember. I thought that it was about the team. I thought that maize and blue and crimson and white were the energy sources behind my love for football. But after a disappointing season, seeing Michigan barely beat teams it should be blowing out of the water, it’s become clear that I don’t care about the team or even the coach. I care about the community I gained from it — being able to talk to my grandfather about something he’s actually interested in, explaining to friends what the yellow line the jumbotron shows on the field means and joining in on “The Victors” in the freezing cold rain. That’s what makes football, football. That’s what I love.
I bleed maize and blue, crimson and white and whatever other colors allow me to scream at the top of my lungs with people I love.
Daily Arts Writer Sarah Patterson can be reached at [email protected].
