LSU-Appalachian State: Death Valley Ain't the Big House

It's here at last—a new season of college football.  Campuses across the nation are bustling with doe-eyed freshmen, long lines at the bookstore, parking permits, student IDs, and the ghostly echoes of past gridiron battles lingering around the Holy of Holies...the football stadium.  A second church for most—at least down South anyways.

One such church where all respectable South Louisianans attend on Fall Saturday nights is Tiger Stadium, aka "Death Valley"...the original, mind you.

Since 1924, the LSU Fighting Tigers have been playing on this hallowed ground where commitment runs deep, prayers are audible, and memories are rich and sweet and drip like molasses.  You see, LSU Football is Louisiana.

This Saturday, Mr. Mountaineer, welcome to Louisiana...welcome to Death Valley.

You’re a long way from Boone, Dorothy.

When kickoff commences about 4 pm Central time, Death Valley will not be a moniker and venue to showcase your Heisman wannabe quarterback Armanti Edwards.

A noise you have yet to witness—much less fathom—will swarm your senses and bring fear to your soul.

To say that Tiger Stadium is loud would only provide a sliver of understanding to those who have yet to enjoy 92,400 voices dancing on their tympanic membrane.

Don’t take it from me...the legendary coach Paul “Bear” Bryant said it best: "Baton Rouge happens to be the worst place in the world for a visiting team.  It's like being inside a drum."

In 2001, ESPN sideline reporter Adrian Karsten said, "Death Valley in Baton Rouge is the loudest stadium I've ever been in."

Against Auburn in 2003 during a nationally televised game, ESPN recorded a noise level of 119 decibels during many points of the game.  On Oct. 6, 2007, at a game against the Florida Gators, CBS recorded 129.8 decibels.  We’re talking rock concert status.

So, Mr. Hillbilly Mountaineer Appalachian State Football Team...I can assure you of one thing.

You may arrive in Baton Rouge with a prideful strut after earning a third consecutive FCS (DI-AA) championship, and the helmet of a U of M Wolverine may be mounted on the wall of your double wide back home—but your walk will not exactly be the same when you leave Tiger Stadium Saturday night.

You’ll be heading back to North Carolina with a different swagger—not one of euphoria after taking down the Div. I defending national champion, but more like a gentile hobble...after getting your coonskin hat shoved up your musket.

Eat’m up Tigers...eat’m up.