Bleacher Report - Articles by Clayton

You Stay Classy, Morgantown: An Auburn Fan's Experience

Clayton — Fri, 24 Oct 2008 07:51:30 -0400

The day I found out that Auburn was going to have a home and home series with West Virginia, I was very excited. Within the hour, I was on the phone with friends planning the trip to Morgantown.

We searched all the travel sites, booked the flights, hotels, and rent-a-car. We were all set to witness and experience a treasured football tradition and exciting game day atmosphere. We boarded the flight early Thursday morning for Pittsburgh, PA and drove to Morgantown, WV from there.

As we arrived in Morgantown, we decided to first drive around campus to see what it had to offer. Naturally, we had brought an Auburn flag to put in the window. That is when it all started.

We had been in town for a total of five minutes. We were stopped at a red light when I looked over to see some WVU fans in the neighboring car all giving us the finger. We laughed it off, and when the light turned green, drove away.

We then found a parking area for $20, paid the fee, and began walking around the WV tailgating scene. That is when it started to get a little out of hand.

WV fans were screaming at us and shooting us the bird again and again. They were shouting in curse words from every corner. I couldn’t believe how they were acting. We weren’t doing anything to provoke them. It was an absolute disgrace to their university that they were representing.

Now with that, there were some WV fans that just said “Go Mountaineers” or even “Welcome to West Virginia,” but they were very rare. As a whole, I would say that WV is just as bad as or WORSE than LSU fans. My friends and I have never felt so unwelcome or as if we were trespassing.

Thank God that we were sitting in the Auburn section. I would have hated to sit next to some hillbilly redneck from Deliverance, WV the whole game, put up with their crap, and listen to all of their insults.

Even after beating us soundly, it wasn’t enough for them. Men, women, and children alike were going crazy saying, “Damn, we really kicked your a$$. Y'all suck something bad. How'd y'all like watchin' a real football team play?” It was never ending.

When we finally got back to the car, we found it vandalized. The Auburn flag had been burned, causing paint damage, and the car was covered in damp baby powder. Thank goodness I got the insurance on the car. We had to wait an hour for a cop to come to make a police report.

We finally got on the road and headed back to Pittsburgh, spent the night, and came back to Dixie.

A trip to LSU is a breeze compared to going to West Virginia.

I am sorry if this offended the few good fans that WV has to offer. We welcome you to travel to Auburn in the fall. You will love it here.

As for the rest of the Hatfields and McCoys, go back to your shanties and stay in West Virginia.

Three Strikes, You're Out: Why Tommy Tuberville Might Be Done at Auburn

Clayton — Wed, 15 Oct 2008 08:36:04 -0400

These are the three points that have cost Tommy Tuberville the respect that he built in the 2004-06 seasons.

Strike No. 1: Sept. 8, 2007—South Florida @ Auburn

With 49 seconds left in the fourth quarter, Auburn took over on offense on their own 36-yard line, tied 20-20 with the South Florida Bulls. Auburn had one more opportunity to win the game and get into range of Wes Byrum’s magic freshman leg.

Wes had already kicked two field goals in two tries that game. The first one was a monstrous 49=yarder in the middle of the first quarter. The second was from 46 yards and came with 2:54 left to play in the game. Both of them could have easily been good from 55 yards out.

Now all Auburn had to do was drive the ball 32 yards, from their own 36 to USF’s 32, to get to the same distance kick that Wes Byrum had made early in the game. They also had two timeouts to work with.

The first play of the drive was an eight-yard out route just off the fingers of Tommy Trott. After the crowd exhaled in disappointment, it was time to run the next play.

In that next moment, the Auburn family was stunned. Auburn was in the victory formation about to take a knee. They were looking at each other wondering what Tommy Tuberville was doing taking a knee with 44 seconds left and two timeouts.

He wasn’t even going to try to win the game in regulation. He was giving up.

Nobody could believe it. The Riverboat gambler had finally docked. The Auburn family quickly showed their disagreement with a deafening blast of boos.

Tuberville’s head shot up from looking down at the grass as if he was shocked that the Auburn faithful were disagreeing with him. His facial expression was saying, “How dare you second-guess me after all I have done for this program.”

Even the players behind him were looking at each other with hands and forearms parallel to the ground, asking each other, “Why aren’t we trying to get into field goal range?” The same look of puzzlement was on the face of Wes Byrum.

Auburn later went on to lose in overtime 26-23, where Byrum kicked a 39-yard field goal.

That is when Tommy Tuberville’s stock began to drop. The following week Auburn lost to Mississippi State, the reason yet again being poor coaching decisions.

Things were looking grim for the Auburn Tiger football season as they were about to travel to the Swamp to face the fourth-ranked Gators. Auburn QB Brandon Cox played the game of his career that night, and none other Wes Byrum kicked the game-winning field goal...TWICE, from 43 yards out with four seconds left. (Note: The drive was 35 yards.)

Strike No. 2: Dec. 12, 2007—The Spread

One day after Tommy Tuberville publicized the resignation of four-year OC Al Borges, Auburn announced Tony Franklin as the new OC.

The reaction by most Auburn fans was, “Oh yeah, the spread. We are going to put up some major numbers next year.”

The fans that knew football, though, said, “Auburn is going to run the spread, but they are Running back U.”

When someone says Auburn, people think of Bo Jackson, Joe Cribbs, Stephen Davis, Rudi Johnson, Carnell Williams, Ronnie Brown, and Kenny Irons. They think of the great culture that Auburn has had running the football over the years.

To put in the spread was just madness from the get-go. Auburn has five running backs that would contend for a starting job at every other SEC school.

Tony Franklin wanted to bring his own staff to coach and teach the spread. Tuberville said no and to just teach the techniques to his staff to teach to the players. The Auburn staff had no experience in running the spread...at all.

Hugh Nall knows how to coach out of the three-point stance, not the two-point holding hand stance. Eddie Gran knows north and south, not east and west. Greg Knox knows how to recruits and nothing else. Steve Ensminger knows how to teach tight ends, and there are no tight ends in the spread.

How was this offense supposed to work without the proper coaching?!?

Then when it doesn’t work, Tubby fires Franklin.

Strike No. 3: Oct. 11, 2008: Arkansas @ Auburn

Tony Franklin is gone. Steve Ensminger is calling the plays. Auburn is a 17-point favorite. Arkansas has the worst rushing defense in the SEC and has lost its last three games by a total of 108 points.

Auburn runs for 33 times for 56 yards. Arkansas’ rushing defense was allowing 208.4 rushing yards a game. Auburn never got into the I-formation to run the ball with power.

The play calling was given away every time by the O-line. When Auburn would rush the ball, the line would be in a three-point stance, and when the play was to pass, they would be in a two-point. A JV middle school coach could have picked up on it, much less Bobby Petrino.

Tuberville was outcoached in every aspect of the game by his Jet-Gate nemesis.

Auburn went on to lose the game 25-22 after missing a first and goal opportunity late in fourth quarter and one last chance with 1:21 left on the clock, only to turn the ball over again.

I AM Auburn....

Clayton — Mon, 25 Aug 2008 08:31:02 -0400

I came across this article this afternoon. It deserves to be republished.

I am Auburn

Written by: Robert L. Gillette

I am Auburn.

I am the 30-year old couple coming back to campus for the first time with both little ones in tow. One wears her first blue and orange cheerleader outfit; the other wears #34 even though he is too young to understand why.

I am the 50-year old man who hoped no one saw tears in his eyes when the eagle circled the field. I was too choked even to say 'War Eagle'. For a moment, I felt foolish and then I didn't care. God, I love this place.

I am the 60 year old woman meeting her freshman granddaughter who is now the 3rd generation of AU students in our family. Despite my age, I'd strap it on Saturday and hit someone if it weren't for my gender and this blasted arthritis.

I am Auburn and I have always believed I was different. You can see it when you look up into the stands. My orange is not the same as Tennessee’s and my blue is not that of Florida. But the differences go much deeper than my colors. Read my creed. What other school has one? I genuinely believe in these things. To be a real Auburn man or woman speaks of character, not of geography. All are welcome to walk though my gates, not just the wealthy or the elite.

Georgia and Alabama may have their nations, but we have always been family. Make no mistake, we loathe defeat, but even in defeat, we would rather be an Auburn Tiger than anything else. We are family and you are the sons of Heisman, the sons of Jordan and Dye. You come from a long line of brothers whose names include Burkett, Sidle, Owens, Sullivan, Beasley, Jackson and Rocker. It is a great heritage.

So this Saturday, when the warm ups are over and the prayers and amen spoken, when you hear my thunder growing in the stands above you, when you stand in the tunnel and the smoke begins to form, listen for my voice when you run onto my field. Behind the frenzy of the shakers and deafening roar, I will tell you something in a whisper you may miss. I will be telling you that you are my sons and I am proud of you for the way you wear the burnt orange and navy blue. I am telling you that you are my sons and I love you.

Auburn is so much more than a city or a school or a team or a degree. It is something that, once you have experienced it, will live inside of you forever and become a part of what makes up who you are...

It is driving into town on a game day. You may have come from hundreds of miles away and as you get closer and closer to the city limits, you feel it rising inside of you. Other cars on the highway proudly display their orange and blue flags, magnets or car tags, and you honk and wave at them, because, for that one day, you are all on the same team.

It is the smell in the air and the ritualistic act of tailgating...catching up with old friends, making new ones, and invitations from perfect strangers to try their ribs or watch their satellite TV showing all of the day's important match-ups...of course, all being secondary to the one that will occur in the great cathedral of Jordan-Hare later that day.

It is the Tiger Walk...where you might just see 300 pound men overcome with emotion and weeping with pride because you have come there to cheer them on. As they walk by, you might exchange a glance with one or two of them and you can see it in their eyes...it is going to be their day.

It is the students...dressed in their best, because going to an Auburn game is like going to church for Auburn people....you show the same respect as you would if you were in God's house. Those students remind you of the days when you were walking in their shoes and Auburn was your home...but then you realize, in many ways, it is still and always will be HOME.

It is that lump that rises in your throat when the band plays the Alma Mater as the eagle is soaring over your head during pregame.

It is walking around on a "foreign" and sometimes hostile campus. You are easily identified (Auburn people always are) and the enemy jeers and shouts things at you to mask their feelings of intimidation. But just then, you happen upon a friend you have never met before. You know they are your friend by the colors they wear or the shaker in their hand. You exchange a "War Eagle" and a confident grin because he/she knows what you know.

It is when your heart leaps with every touchdown, field goal, sack, and interception...because those are our boys. And win or lose, they will always have our undying support. After all, it is those boys that you are really there for, and not a coach or a logo or a trustee or a president.

It is the complete and utter exhilaration of walking away victorious over a worthy opponent...that feeling of pride and accomplishment as if it were your own feet that had crossed the goal line scoring the last points yourself...that feeling of wanting to scream War Eagle" at the top of your lungs and hug complete strangers...and then there is the ultimate high of defeating your most hated foes from across the state.

No words can describe what this feels like, but you know because you have experienced it.

It is the sheer agony of defeat as the last minutes tick off the clock and you realize that all hope of a victory is gone. You feel like crying and maybe you do...then you hear the faint sounds of a cheer that grows louder and louder...."ITS GREAT TO BE AN AUBURN TIGER."

It is knowing that year after year, no matter how things change in our hectic lives, you can always come back to "the Loveliest Village on the Plains"...the place where you came from...your home. It will probably look a little different and there will be new names on the backs of the jerseys, but deep down, no matter what, it is still the same.You still love it as much as you always have because Auburn is as much a part of you as your arms, legs and the orange and blue blood that runs through your veins.

And, finally, it is the feeling you have right now as you read these lines....the anticipation inside of you because you know it's almost time....It's about to start all over again...but then it really never goes away, does it?
--
Robert L. Gillette, DVM, MSE

(END)

War Eagle All and I’ll see you Saturday!!!!!

'Tis the Season for SEC Football...

Clayton — Mon, 18 Aug 2008 05:45:30 -0400

To the Pac-10, it’s a social function. To the Big Ten (or Eleven), it’s the season before basketball. To the ACC, it’s a way to pass the fall Saturdays. To the Big 12, it’s a way of life.

But to the SEC, it is a dedicated religion.

Down here things move a little slower. People are nicer. Fried chicken is tastier, and sweet tea is a little sweeter.

But when July rolls around, a fever takes over its inhabitants. It starts very slowly barely a faint whisper: “Yeah, it’s going to be quite a season. What does the schedule look like? When do the preseason polls come out?” The questions begin.

Soon the whisper becomes a casual conversation at the water cooler. “So UGA's the preseason No. 1 eh, too bad they won’t end there. Their schedule is just too tough.” “Saban is going to take the state back this year. Yep, this is the year we take the state and then take the nation.”

Then SEC Media Days takes over. The inside scoop is all the rage, and tones begin to rise. “They picked Florida and Auburn to win the divisions, but they're ranked behind UGA and LSU in the national polls?!?! What kind of sense does that make?”

Then with one word from a radio sports talk show, the battle of words breaks loose, and the fever has turned into a virus. It has infected millions of people across the Southeast.

Offices and friends divide. People that once said hello to each other walking down the hall now turn away, because they are faced with an enemy. Conversing with them would be high treason to your team. You just give them a simple downward nod and go about your business.

Walking down a street, you’ll see friendly allies or vicious foes and have you pronounce your school’s battle cry. Screams of War Eagle, Roll Tide, Go Dawgs, and Go Gators echo in public places.

The battle lines are drawn. The fields have been picked. The Battle for the SEC Crown has been begun.

You wake up early and dress in the armor of your school colors. You race to the TV to turn on ESPN College GameDay to hear the words of wisdom that Kirk Herbstreit and Chris Fowler say, plus the occasional lucky statement by Lee Corso. It then goes back to the studio for the strategy enlightenment of Mark May.

But then it cuts to Lou “Sylvester the Cat” Holtz, and you run to the kitchen to fix yourself a bowl of cereal, because he’s old and senile and doesn’t know what he’s talking about or even where he is.

After the GameDay predictions are over, you get in your car and drive 90 mph to get to the game four hours before it starts to wish the players the best as they walk to the hallowed cathedral of a stadium. You then return to your tailgate to a buffet of chicken wings, potato salad, hoagies, gumbo, tenders, and carefully selected beverages.

Two hours before kickoff, you find your seats in the stadium to watch warm-ups. You study the rosters in the program and scout the other team for a weakness that hopefully will be exploited while watching the scoreboard clock make its way to zero.

The stadium starts to fill. The knot in your stomach grows tighter in anticipation for kickoff. The band takes the field and plays the fight song. Everybody is singing in unison. The pump-up video fills the jumbotron. The stadium shakes under your feet with screams and cheers.

Smoke starts to fill the tunnel that your team will soon explode from. Deafening roars of cheers erupt as the team takes the field, shortly followed with a blast of boos for the opposing team.

You are suddenly friends with everyone around you, slapping hands and sharing player wisdom. The players take the field ready for kickoff.

The time has come. The wait is over. The kicker approaches the ball. The fans are chanting as one. The ball is blasted down the field. The game—the season—has begun.

The game concludes, and you head back to your car or tailgate in one of only two scenarios.

You listen to the post game radio program for keys of success or failure. You travel home, embracing every word that is uttered through the radio. You prepare yourself for a weeklong debate about the next game. You have the rest of the day to celebrate or mourn the game.

Come Sunday...it starts all over again.