Everything being a constant carnival, there is no carnival left.
-- Victor Hugo
Those who claim that hubris and cynicism cannot coexist have never lived through a coaching search. More than allegiance or curiosity brought 93,000-plus to A-Day, the Crimson Tide's annual spring scrimmage game. This crowd was ecstatically vengeful. This crowd wanted blood.
On the field, Crimson played White, ones versus ones, hunting dogs on the scent, as our new coach would have it. But in the eyes of the fans, here were other colors and other schools. Here were the plans to make right what has been so horribly wrong for so long. Worse than being just bad--mediocre.
It feels good to be hated again, good to be despised. It's no one's dream to be ignored, dismissed.
You want to be guy who wakes up in a beautiful stranger's bed, walks to his car, and sees "LIAR" scratched onto the hood by a woman who slept alone last night across town. That guy was loved. That guy did his damn job right.
Priorities come into question. Mysteries are repeated. Curses are uttered. Somewhere amid the din, you feel the honest burn of truth hitting your ears. All is language, so learn what was said.
Hope, that feathered thing that our local scribe pointed to? Sickness, per our worldwide leaders in Connecticut? In portion, yes, but more to the point, more to the tastes of the assembled, get this right: Memory.
Roll Tide.
