Astrid on Walt Maddox, College GameDay moved inside Coleman Coliseum, the cancelled Elephant Stomp and the way a football game can rearrange a whole town
Saturday 10 October, 11.15am, a porch in Tuscaloosa that is currently not recommended for porch sitting, a mug of tea and a view of three neighbours in crimson shirts carrying folding chairs through light rain with the confidence of people who have no plans to be sensible.
Dear Diary. Tuscaloosa on a football weekend is a strange place, and Tuscaloosa on a football weekend with a hurricane on the doorstep is something that the town does not have a word for. I have spent the morning reading about how the city and the university are managing it, and I would like to set it down as plainly as I can.
The Numbers
WBRC reported, in a piece published on 7 October and updated the next day, that Tuscaloosa Mayor Walt Maddox said the city would host about 100,000 visitors on top of its roughly 115,000 residents, and called the weekend an all hands-on-deck assignment. The report says he named flooding and an isolated tornado as the main concerns, and that in a flooding event crews would shift assets from central Tuscaloosa to affected areas and bring in equipment from other jurisdictions. It adds that Saturday, with the largest crowds, could require first responders and street crews to adjust quickly, and that the forecast could change over the next three days. I read that last sentence as the most honest in the whole piece.
A second report, from WBMA via ABC 33/40, dated 7 October, quotes Maddox saying he could not think of anything like this and that it was a first in his career, but that the city welcomed the challenge. It says the University of Alabama had not announced any change to the game, that kickoff was set for 6.30pm Central at Saban Field at Bryant-Denny Stadium, and that the city would react very quickly and accommodate whatever the university decided. It quotes a student, Max Medero, saying he was 100 percent going. I find that line deeply moving and a bit alarming.
The Changes
Since those pieces were written, according to Yellowhammer News, the plans have been trimmed. The report says No. 6 Alabama and No. 2 Georgia remain scheduled for 6.30pm on ABC, that ESPN’s College GameDay has been moved inside Coleman Coliseum, and that the university cancelled the Elephant Stomp and all activity on the Quad. If you have never seen the Quad on a game weekend, imagine a town square that has been given a very long vacation and a great many tents. Its absence is itself a story.
An Outsider’s View, From Within
I was not born in Tuscaloosa, and I have learned the football calendar the way one learns a second language, by immersion and embarrassment. I know that the stadium is named for Paul Bryant. I know that the field is named for a coach who retired a few seasons ago. I know that 6.30 means that people will begin arriving at dawn. I do not know, and have never really understood, why a person would wear a houndstooth hat in the rain, but I respect the commitment.
Visitors from Britain often struggle with the idea that a university can be a civic religion. My colleagues at prat.uk explored a related puzzle in Americans treat football like a networking opportunity, which has the sharpness of a good observation and the cheek of a good insult. It is true that on a game weekend in Tuscaloosa, half the conversation is business and half is superstition, and the two halves are not always distinguishable.
Watching From Across The Water
The British have had a slow, wary romance with American football, and I enjoy reading about it. Watching American football describes the experience of trying to follow a game with a manual in one hand, and London NFL games confirm Americans will watch football anywhere suggests that the sport travels better than its fans. I hope that is not true of the rain.
I should say that I speak of the game with affection. It is a spectacle, a ritual and a way for a community to feel itself for a few hours as one thing. Whatever you think of the sport, it is difficult to watch a town prepare for such an occasion and not feel something. Even a hurricane cannot spoil the tailgate; it can only move it indoors, usually into a garage.
Limits Of This Entry
I must be clear that I do not know what has happened since the reports I read. I do not know whether the storm has weakened or whether the kickoff time has changed. I certainly do not know who will win. I have a view, which I will keep to myself, partly because I am a coward and partly because several of my neighbours own large trucks. If you are travelling, follow official guidance, avoid flooded roads and do not drive through water, however crimson your commitment.
A Small Observation
There is a pattern in this state that I find lovely, and I notice it every autumn. When something big arrives, whether a storm, a game or a visitor, the town does not panic. It reorganises. People bring chairs, extension cords, casseroles. The mayor goes on television in a calm voice. Somebody finds a tent. By evening, everything has been rearranged and no one remembers who suggested it. That is a kind of civic literature, and I would read it if somebody wrote it down.
Closing Entry
I file for Bohiney Magazine, and my readers in Britain have asked what a football weekend in Tuscaloosa feels like. It feels like a wedding, a revival and a flood drill happening on the same lawn. For a map of the comic tradition that tries to capture such scenes, my guide to news satire sites is a decent start, and for a wry finish to a rainy morning, the Daily Mash is a trusted friend. The tea is finished and the neighbours have found their chairs. Goodnight, Diary. Bring a poncho.
SOURCE: bohiney.com