BAMA, Then and Finally Now.

    I didn't realize, or want to admit, how far our team had fallen under Coach Shula. I tried to be an optimist as seasons came and went. We still filled stadiums and teams celebrated beating us, while I searched for silver linings, and prayed for three star recruits to put on a Bama hat. I rationalized about recruiting classes and finding diamonds in the rough.

     I knew though, that he wasn't our saviour, even after that Cotton Bowl squeeker and the false hope that winning brings. Part of his future, and ours too, died with Prothro in the most bittersweet victory I can ever remember. It was more of the heartache we had been fed a regular diet of for a long, long time. It killed us all, in different ways, and ruined a football career that seemed destined for greatness. We seemed so ready to grab the brass ring again, and settle back in to a familiar place in football's hierarchy.

     I didn't want to believe how undisciplined we were, even while seeing it play out, game after game and loss after loss. I didn't want to believe how weak our players were as they struggled against no-bodies. I didn't want to aknowledge the infighting amongst our boosters, as one group fought another, for power none of them should have. We were all dying a slow death as the very program that carried the South on it's back crashed and burned into a sea of mediocrity.

     We fired Coach Shula and became the media's favorite whipping boy. We were the butt of jokes from coast to coast. They laughed at everything Bama. They piled on like bullies smelling pocket protecters. We suffered as we searched, and I prayed for Spurrier to take our hand. We needed to shock the world and shut them up. It was a national joke to say this guy or that had turned Bama down. I was relieved that we were getting Rodriguez. I just wanted to stop the bleeding and instead he spurned us and burned us.

     We became late night joke material. Weeks went by and still no hire. I started to believe as HIS name was whispered. The Dolphins missed the playoffs and time stood still. I began to think the unthinkable as we suffered through the last stumbling blocks. He chose us and we adored him in waves of gratitude that will wave long after he's gone.

     I honestly believe he's the only coach that could save us. I think we needed him even more than when Coach Bryant came home to Momma, those many years ago. We needed his strength and attitude and willingness to pay the price. We needed his plan and prowess in recruiting. We needed his mental toughness and we needed him to take the reigns of power and unite the Bama Nation.

     He's our "sumbitch," as I heard someone say, and his disdain for the media scores points from Dothan to Decatur. I hate the sons-of-bitches from Birmingham to Bristol and they hate he chose us. They hated 92,000 at his first A-Day and the message it sent wherever football is played. They laughed at that too, as vols and gators and aubs made jokes as they hid their jealousy.

     It's the hardest job in college football. Nearly thirty years later and Coach Bryant's shadow still lingers. Only one man since could hold those reigns, and Coach Stallings earned his own statue and immortality. Others crumbled under it's weight. They're the heaviest in college football.

     The statue waits. The shadows hover. He came to us for the biggest prize in college football. Not the trophy. To sit with the Man. To cast his own shadow and walk with giants and live in Bronze forever.