"A Tiger looks at 40"

[DKW 86 7,419]

A Tiger looks at 40

I was born an Auburn Tiger. I will die an Auburn Tiger. Nothing can change that. No joy of success, no pain of failure, no goal achieved or dream broken can alter what I am. Being an Auburn fan is more than a rooting interest in a Saturday football game, although that does play a major part in it. Being an Auburn fan is part of my personality. It defines me as much as my hair or eye color and is less easy to change. Being an Auburn fan influences the way people perceive me. It affects my way of thinking and to a degree, my way of life.

I was walking through the airport in Dallas, Texas, a few years ago with a friend of mine – an Alabama fan. It so happened, as it often does, I was wearing an orange Auburn sweatshirt. As we weaved our way through the throng of people, complete strangers twice greeted me with a hearty cry of “War Eagle!” My friend in Dallas narrowed his eyes and looked at me suspiciously. “What is it with you people?” he asked half-jokingly after the second War Eagle greeting. “Is it some kind of sick cult and that’s your secret sign?” He was right on one level. The same thing that happened in Dallas has happened in Atlanta, New York, Louisville, Phoenix, Las Vegas, Charlotte and numerous other places around the country. Being an Auburn fan is cult-like. It’s a fraternity of believers. It’s a family. Being an Auburn fan gives you immediate kinship with other Auburn fans no matter where you are. It’s as if you share a secret that the rest of the world hasn’t caught on to yet. It IS great to be an Auburn Tiger.

I was born an Auburn Tiger but like all rational, thinking human beings there came a time in my life when I had a choice. It would have been easy for me to change course as a child. My paternal grandmother, one of the people who had the greatest influence on my life, was not an Auburn fan. In fact, she was the exact opposite. She admired and respected Auburn nemesis Paul ‘Bear’ Bryant. She tried in her own subtle way to get me to change my allegiance. As much as I loved her and wanted to please her, those efforts failed. There was never even a moment of child-like indecision. I don’t think she ever completely understood my unwavering devotion, but after a time she resigned herself to it knowing I would never change. And I haven’t.

This is my 40th year as a member of the Auburn family. This season is my 40th as an Auburn fan. The first three or four I was too young to remember. But I do remember something from nearly all the rest. Games, faces, players and coaches. Wins and losses. Ghostly voices on the radio, grainy images on the screen. There were moments of near-indescribable joy and days of overwhelming disappointment. Runs, catches, kicks and passes. Fumbles, drops, misses and tackles. It all mixes together in a smorgasbord of memories that makes up the Auburn experience.

For a variety of reasons, none of them adequate in hindsight, I never attended Auburn. My degree came from another school. I’ve heard some dismiss those of us who didn’t go to Auburn as “Sidewalk Alumni” as if our love for the school was somehow inferior to theirs because we didn’t graduate there. They’re wrong. You don’t have to have a degree from Auburn to be an Auburn man or woman. There are many non-graduates love the school and loyally contribute time and resources to its betterment. As fans, we suffered through the same hard times all true Tiger fans have endured. Our experiences, our pain and our joy are the same. My love for Auburn extends beyond the confines of Jordan Hare Stadium and the wins and losses of a football team. But it is football with which the Auburn psyche is most closely associated. And it is from the football field where my most passionate allegiance developed.

My love for Auburn was instilled in me by my mother. It was nurtured on autumn Saturday afternoons in what was then Cliff Hare Stadium. As a child there, I was caught up in the whirlwind of sights, sounds and colors of game day. With my dad and my grandfather by my side, I reveled in the pageantry. The sun, the grass, the roar of the crowd, the sound of the band, the orange and blue, the awesome spectacle of it all was almost too much for the senses to absorb. The rush as my grandfather swooped me up on cue with a swell of cheers so I could see what was happening on the field, the smell of his ever-present Old Spice cologne and the roughness of his face when he hugged me tight after an Auburn touchdown are all indelibly linked to what Auburn means to me. My grandfather was a taciturn man, not given to great displays of emotion. In his cheers on those football Saturdays I got a glimpse inside the wall. I was able to see a side of him that most who knew him rarely, if ever, saw. It helped me to understand the man he was, instead of the man he allowed the world to see. Whether he ever told me or not, I knew he loved me because he chose to share those moments with me. In his enjoyment of the game, I found my own. Even now, more than 20 years after his death, I get choked up when the Auburn band takes the field for pre game.

Many of my best childhood memories are intertwined with Auburn and Auburn football. I learned to throw by watching Pat Sullivan and mimicking the way he cocked the ball at ear level prior to release. I adopted Charlie Trotman’s number 6 as my own and for years I requested it on every baseball and softball uniform I ever wore. The autographed photo and friendly letter from Coach ‘Shug’ Jordan I received after sending him a drawing when I was about five even now hangs on the wall of my home. I remember climbing down from the stands onto the field back when fans were allowed on the field after games and finding tattered pieces of blue tear-away jerseys on the sidelines. Many nights I lay in bed and listened to radio broadcasts of games, trying to visualize the action described by the announcers.

Among the most vivid of all my childhood memories is December 2, 1972. Auburn’s surprising 8-1 team was in Birmingham taking on the top-ranked and unbeaten Alabama Crimson Tide. While my grandfather cooked outside, the adults listened to the game on the radio. Despite our intense interest in the game’s outcome, the radio broadcast wasn’t enough to hold the attention of a nine-year old me, dressed in my Pat Sullivan jersey, or my friend Jeff, dressed as Johnny Musso, for the duration. Mid first quarter, we took a football and headed to the neighbor’s back yard to settle our own personal Auburn-Alabama grudge match one on one. After swapping series after series of long touchdown runs we returned to the patio where my grandfather was grilling burgers to check on the score. Up on the porch, the radio spread disheartening news. Auburn trailed 16-3 in the fourth quarter. Jeff laughed. We returned to the neighbor’s yard to resume our private war. Not long thereafter we heard shouts coming from the patio. We ignored them and went back to our game. Then another round of raucous shouting broke our concentration. Over the hedge we could see my mother and grandmother on the porch dancing with joy. We raced to the patio to see what had happened. We arrived just in time to hear the announcer intone: “Snap, kick, good!” while his partner hooted with unbridled joy. On the strength of two blocked punts, the Tigers had taken the lead 17-16. An interception later, it was over. It was the first time I had ever seen grown people cry. Jeff was disconsolate. When Auburn intercepted the ball, his shoulders sagged and he said wearily, “I better go home.”

I walked with Jeff the three blocks to his house, neither of us saying a word. I wanted to gloat but he seemed so distressed I couldn’t. When we arrived at his door we discovered a large wreath spray painted black hanging there. The shades were drawn and the lights off. Jeff opened the door. From the darkness inside I heard a voice call out, “Come on in, Jeff, but don’t let any of those Auburn people in here.” Jeff shrugged, smiled wanly and disappeared into the darkness, closing the door behind him. It was the first time I truly understood the passion Auburn and Alabama could inspire. Three blocks away, my family was celebrating with joy. Here there was only despair.

I understand their grief, because part of being an Auburn fan has meant learning to withstand heartache. For all the good memories that Auburn football holds, there are an equal number of moments that tear your guts out and stomp them on the floor. Van Tiffin’s kick in 1985. Musso running roughshod over Sullivan’s Heisman in 1971. A 42-0 loss to Tennessee in what turned out to be coach Doug Barfield’s final season. All were daggers through the heart. But nothing compared to the agony of the stranglehold Alabama’s Bear Bryant put on the Auburn-Alabama rivalry. In his 25 years at Alabama, Bryant went 19-6 against the Tigers, including a string of nine in a row from 1973 to 1982. His Tide won 13 SEC championships and six national titles during his reign. Auburn won consecutive games in the rivalry just once during his 25 seasons. Being an Alabama fan was easy. It took no effort and rewards were simple to reap. Being an Auburn fan in the face of Alabama’s dominance was much more difficult.

I’ve never had the luxury of living in a predominately Auburn area. Where I grew up, Alabama fans were always in the majority. I was often the lone Auburn fan in my entire class. I suffered ridicule from kids who equated Auburn with rednecks, tractors and farm animals. Sadly some of those kids never grew up and still rely on the same tired barnyard taunts even as adults. I endured the “you’ll have to excuse him, he’s an Auburn fan …” eye-rolling comments as if support of Auburn automatically inferred inferiority.

From the time I started first grade until I graduated high school I was able to go to school on a Monday morning after an Auburn Iron Bowl win once – the 1972 miracle. I was in the third grade. Every post-Iron Bowl Monday from the third grade on, I would stoically put on my Auburn gear knowing that another year of taunts and jibes from the Bama fans was inevitable. It reached a point to where I was content to settle for moral victories.

My junior year in high school, my best friend confidently predicted an Alabama blowout. His Tide was ranked number one. My Tigers were 14th and had Joe Cribbs in the backfield. In one of the rare instances where emotion overruled reason I entered into a bet with him. He took the Tide and smugly gave me 10 points. He offered 20, but pride forced me to back him down. I refused to bet for money, finally agreeing that the loser of the wager had to wear the opponent’s shirt for an entire week. The top-ranked Tide won 25-18. He grudgingly wore the same bright orange Auburn shirt every day for the agreed-upon five. You can still see him in that shirt in my high school annual. There he sits, staring glumly at the camera in club photos that were taken that week. He pleaded to be excused from the debt during picture day, but a deal’s a deal. It didn’t completely erase the sting of another loss to Alabama, but his grief did ease it somewhat.

As Alabama built its resume of national championships in the 60s and 70s, Auburn fans craved one of our own to help balance the scales. We’re still waiting.

As long as I’ve been alive, there has been something every season that has prevented the Tigers from climbing to the top of the mountain. Our most bitter rivals, Georgia, Florida, Tennessee, Alabama and LSU have all won national championships since Auburn last claimed the crown in 1957. We came close with a near-perfect 11-1 in 1983, but an early loss to Texas proved too hard to overcome. The 10-1 1972 team finished sixth, but pollsters couldn’t get past a 35-7 drubbing at the hands of LSU. The 1985 Tigers were picked by some to finish atop the heap. That talent-laden team finished with four losses. The 1993 team was undefeated but ignored due to probation.

As much as we love and revere coach Jordan, the bitter fact remains that in his 25 years at the Auburn helm he led the Tigers to just one SEC championship – that coming in the national title season of 1957. As much as we love and respect Pat Dye and the four SEC titles he brought to the Plains in his twelve years as head coach, there was always that one kick in the teeth that brought higher aspirations to ground. In 1983, it was Texas. In 1994, we opened the season ranked first and promptly lost the first two games of the year. Later losses to Florida and Alabama bounced us from the SEC Championship picture that season (sound familiar?). In 1985 we were again ranked first heading to Tennessee – where we lost badly. We finished that season with four losses. In 1988 we were on track to compete for the title before a 7-6 loss at LSU derailed that train. It was the only regular-season loss of the year, but it eliminated us from a potential national title game.

Maybe that’s why the disappointment of this season is so profound. After decades of knowing better than to get our hopes up, many Auburn fans were finally willing to allow themselves to believe. We looked at the schedule and saw road games at LSU and at Georgia. Traditionally, the Tigers have played well in both venues. We looked a talented roster that most experts graded among the nation’s best. “When I saw Auburn prior to the season,” one veteran reporter noted, “I thought I was looking at an NFL team. They had everything – size, speed, experience. There was more talent there than had been at Auburn in at least 25 years.” We saw a coaching staff that had seemingly found the winning formula late in the prior season. We saw a team that ran the ball well and played outstanding defense – the hallmarks of almost all national championship contenders. We saw a media that ranked us anywhere from sixth to first in the preseason polls. We allowed ourselves to finally dream the dreams we kept buried. We believed it could be done. And then came USC. And Georgia Tech. The losses forced us to readjust our expectations – the national title was out of reach, but the SEC crown remained. Four wins later, hope was alive and well. Then came the complete meltdown at LSU. It was just one game, we told ourselves. The SEC title was still attainable. We’d need a little help, but it was certainly possible. Finally, Ole Miss. The Rebels made even that modest goal impossible with a win at Auburn last Saturday. I can’t speak for all Auburn fans, but of all the losses, I’ve weathered over the years, that one may have hurt as bad as any. All the hopes I had for this team vanished in two failed attempts to score from the three-yard line.

For the first time in my life, I had doubt. I looked at my 40 years as a Tiger and wondered if the emotional investment I put in Auburn was worth it. I pondered the years of being called a rube for supporting Auburn, the cow college jokes, the years of being considered a second-class citizen by Alabama fans, the years of swallowing my pride and wearing an Auburn jersey to school after another loss to Alabama, the years of coming close but not quite making it while our football enemies knocked down the door and the seasons of having public and private hopes dashed. I wondered if being an Auburn fan was worth subjecting myself to all of that. And I realized the answer is yes.

If Auburn never wins another football game I will love Auburn no less. Because in the end, being an Auburn fan isn’t really about winning or losing. It’s not about a football team or a logo. It’s more than bricks and mortar. Being an Auburn fan isn’t what you are, it’s who you are. It’s about working hard and believing that if you do, good things will eventually happen. Being an Auburn fan is about holding your head high no matter what life hands you. It's about persevering in the face of adversity. It’s about understanding that pride and class aren’t determined by the score of a game or the record of a team. Being an Auburn fan means keeping the faith – the faith to believe that no matter what the odds, anything is possible. There’s always next year. The pain of a loss will fade. Pride in being an Auburn Tiger will not. Hope returns anew. War Eagle.

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