You'd Better Watch Out, Satan's Coming to Town

It's has been a while since I have blogged. So much living, so little time. I had a feeling that the return of Saint Nick Saban to South Florida would provide much food for thought. Who is Nick Saban, you ask? Oh just the greatest football coach of our generation.

Of course, some in Miami don't see it that way. No, they see him as the man who left the Miami Dolphins after saying he wouldn't. Couldn't. Shouldn't. Except for a gazillion dollars and free reign to tell his players what to do. Sort of the F-you Pat Riley gave to the Knicks. Only Knicks fans actually wanted their coach, unlike Dolfans who were calling for Nick's noggin.

So now, after coaching the Tide to two national championships our own St. Nick returned to SoFl to take on some team of religious zealots who pray to a Jesus mural in their end zone. Sounds like some kind of dogma thing if you ask me. I had heard about this team from none other than the Miami Hurricanes who apparently hate them very much. This team is named after the French "Our Lady" but goes by the Fighting Irish. Their uniform colors are navy and gold but they wear green and four leaf clovers. A short man dressed as a Christmas elf is their mascot. Confused? So was I. Clearly a un-American team with all this Franco-Irish stuff going on.

I didn't know much about this team because a) they are not in the SEC and b) they are not in the SEC. So I had to go by what I heard and read. The first place I turned was ESPN and a man who looked like Granny Clampett claimed to be their former head coach. Other than that I couldn't understand a word since his dentures don't fit and he was spitting everywhere. Then I heard a movie was made about a student janitor who played for the Franco-Irish and made me wonder how exactly they recruit. Still eager to learn more, I discovered a book called "Things Notre Dame Students Like" and found this quote "They like things that are related to their religion and using Catholicism to guide their actions (even if for the sake of appearing more Catholic than they really are)."

So weird, right?

Anywho, after a pre-weekend of more strangeness like a Jewish Miamian telling me he preferred Hitler over St. Nick, my local newspaper proclaiming my university's most famous graduate was George Wallace (and all those disgraced priests come from where?), and being called a racist, trailer park resident and guilty of marrying my cousin which we all know is SO not true (my cousins have six toes, Mario has five) I was ready for some good old fashioned smash mouth football.

Except it didn't happen.

Apparently the Franco-Irish team opted for a religious trip to Lourdes or Bethlehem or maybe Wal-Mart. Because the team St. Nick took on came from some high school in Indiana.

As we took our seats deep in navy/gold/green territory, their fans were ready to rumble. Screaming louder, humming the words to their fight songs (which either have to no words or are in Latin), this French team kept yelling GO Irish before their team came on the field. The fans around me grumbled when I sat down and I began warming up to cheer and proudly sing "Yea Alabama." The lovely girl in front of me, a young French/Irish lass of about 20 years, turned her head slowly around. Suddenly I had visions of Linda Blair in "The Exorcist." Snarling she said "Aren't you in the wrong SECTION?" Help me Father Damien! "Uh, no," I said, "are you?" I could see one of her eyes was shut and the other open and bloodshot. Oh this was going to be fun. So I said "You know, Alabama is still the national champion until the game is over." Heresy! At that point a full on scene from the Da Vinci Code took place. Rosaries and holy water were quickly disbursed among the crowd and I was treated as the true Scarlett Letter, since I proudly wore my A on my chest. Any minute I was thinking the Inquisition was to take place and I at the center of the trials.

Several minutes into the game Alabama scored and phone calls to the Vatican were placed so extra novenas and Hail Marys could be said but as you all know the former Cardinal Ratzinger is more concerned with banning gay marriage and instituting pre-Vactitan II reforms than football. Communion was replaced by hot dogs and beer and the Tide rolled on. Was I the only one who thought the game callers were saying "STIGMATA" (from the Latin "can't tackle) when they were saying Zeke Motta's name?

While Alabama continued to slay the little high school team, shouts of "SEC" came from the stands. The Franco/Irish continued to file out of the stands, more disgraced than Cardinal Ralph De Bricissart in the Thorn Birds. A few times, shouts of "Put Rudy In!" were called out to no avail. By the end of the third quarter, Linda Blair was in rehab and cars were headed north for parts of Indiana only Granny Clampett has heard of.

As the crystal trophy was raised, thousands cheered for Miss Terry wearing white pants after Labor Day and Brett Musburger making sexual remarks about AJ's girlfriend. A few thousand friends and I sang Ramma Jamma. What a night! Until our 16th Championship, Roll Tide!