If you’re a college football fan, then welcome to your new favorite place. If you ain’t a college footballer, then you probably ought to turn directly to the the obits, and do not pass go, do not collect $200.
My God-given name is Percy Paul Bear Dooley Bryant. I love college football. I’ve always loved college football. I love it so much that I wouldn’t get married until I met a girl named Autumn. She wanted to be a cheerleader, too, but she’s a big girl. When she jumps up in the air, she keeps getting stuck. Heck, I named my children Bo, Charlie Jr., and Herschel — and good girls they are.
I was born and bred in Beachton, but I’ve moved all around — to Meigs, Metcalf, Boston and Miccousukee. Heckfire, I even lived on the Hawthorne Trail for a while until I figured out you couldn’t get anywhere from there.
People call me crazy. I ain’t never really been sure why. Could be because I have a black velvet painting of Elvis, Bear Bryant, General Lee and Jesus hanging over my bed. Could be because I’d rather burn my yard than mow it.
I love football, oh yes I do. I was watching the FSU-Miami game last year over at my grandmother-in-law’s (she’s the one who always won our tobaccer spitting contests) and she up and passed out. So I called 911. The 911 operator told me that she would send someone out right away.
“Where are you?” she asked me. I said, “At the end of Eucalyptus Drive.”
She asks, “Can you spell that for me?”
I thought for a minute and finally I said, “How ’bout if I drag her over to Oak Street and you pick her up there?”
Every week during the fall, I’m gonna do my dead-level best to look around at the games all y’all will be watching on Sattidays around here. Now don’t be looking for a whole lotta games from California or Pennsylvania or Montana. Football is not the same there as it is around here. They play football — we live it.
I got to tell you up front. I am a sucker for Southeastern Conference football. I mean, how can you get better than the tradition that is “Rooolll Tide,” “War Damn Eagle,” “How ’bout ’dem Dawgs,” “Bayou Bengals,” “Rocky Top” and the Gators’ “Jaws” music? Now, with that said, ACC football is nipping on the old-school heels, with them ’Noles, Hokies, ’Canes, Tigers and Yaller Jackets all making noise for theirselves.
No Sugar bowl-coating it, no fooling around. I’m gonna call it like I see it and tell it like it is from my big ol’ recliner. You might not like what you read, but it’ll be straight up and straightforward. And if you don’t like it, you can just kiss my grits.
Now, I know what you’re thinking. Picking winners for me probably ain’t got much to do with football. Well hardy har har. You’re a regular commodian. Next time you’re driving behind me I might just flick you one. Winner, that is.
I’ll pick my first set of winners next week. Until then, always ’member — you might be my cousin if your wife has ever said to you, “Come move this transmission so I can take a bath.”