Every year when fall rolls around I am confronted with it. I begin to hear the distant music of a collegiate fight song growing in volume, the aisles of the local Walmart are crowded to overflowing by mascot memorabilia, and my Facebook newsfeed is overtaken by the happy, bragging posts of proud fans everywhere.
College football.
I always feel a sense of dread begin to creep up on me as the plethora of selfies decked out in differing hues of maroon, red, purple, and orange start to flow furiously through my newsfeed. I feel as if I am a stranger in a strange land, and my mind goes back to adolescence, another time where I didn’t feel like I quite fit in with everyone else.
You see, I don’t follow college ball. I know, I know. Blasphemous. Here I am, a proper Southern woman, and I don’t have a favorite team. Heck, I don’t even care at all.
I’ve never hollered “Roll Tide,” I don’t know the “Hotty Toddy” song, and I’m actually surprised I even realize one exists. I’ve never rung a cowbell with enthusiastic glee while screaming “Hail State,” and I’m not even sure what “Geaux Tigers” is supposed to mean.
My girls don’t have tiny cheerleading outfits, and I never decked them out as infants in collegiate gear for family photos. Nary a university bumper sticker graces my vehicle, and I can’t say I’ve ever partied on game day at The Grove.
I’ve missed out on the good-natured ribbing of old friends with a different alma mater than my own, and I can’t recall ever attending a tailgate event, although that part I may regret. I do enjoy wing-dings and cheese-doodles.
While most gentile Southern families are glued to their television on game day, I am working, or perhaps reading a good book.
I’ve never packed up the family to attend a bowl of any kind, be it sugar, cotton, orange, or even cereal. I think my parents took me to a thing called the Rose Bowl when I was a child, but other than a parade my memory falls flat. Does that count?
I’ve never had the pleasure of screaming at the television or even made a long, drawn-out status update about the dubious morals of obviously bribed referees. (Although I may gain a small amount of pleasure reading these electric rants.)
I try to keep it quiet when football season rolls around like the tide, (see what I did there), but the truth is I have no idea what’s going on. I don’t know a Black Bear from a Rebel, and never mind what a “fins up” implies. My family doesn’t own color-coordinated college tees, and if I tried to buy any I’d probably need to ask the Walmart associate for assistance.
I have no idea who’s playing who on what day, the word “rankings” might as well be French, and I can’t remember what SEC stands for. I have no problem with anyone who enjoys this all-American pastime; just try to understand why I look confused when you use words like “box,” “grid-iron,” or “zone.” I may even looked frightened when you say “dak attack.” What is that anyway? Is it like a heisman?
I love sweet tea, flip-flops, and Jesus, but when it comes to going cockoo for college ball I am as un-southern as it comes. This season I’ll not be captive to the TV on Saturday, and no “War Eagle” or “Go Vols” will pass my lips. I know I’m the minority, and perhaps even a disgrace to Southern heritage. All I can say is I’m sorry y’all. Maybe next year.
*Please excuse any factual errors related to sport content in the post. After all, I don’t follow college ball.
Chasity says
I feel you, my friend. Dan isn’t into college football either. We just look at each other when exuberant fans are rallying hard, and shout, “Yay, sports ball!”. Just not our thing, but we’re all for people having something they’re excited for.
brieann.rn@gmail.com says
Totally! I wish I did love it.
Jacqueline says
Our homeschool group had team spirit day this past Friday…guess which family had no team gear?! I actually enjoy football, when I have someone to pull for, so my hubby tells me which team we are cheering for each game. Haha! ?