Your Semi-Final Playoff Hoodoo/ Sweetheart Thread

December 31, 2014 - garden totes

Here we are folks…just a’ standin’ during a gates of this here College Football Playoff Promised Land…funny how it kinda looks usually like New Orleans, no?

After a dear Crimson Tide positively crushed a also-rans from a SEC East in a Championship Game, we had all nonetheless punched a golden sheet to this, a final four, a plot of quintessential football powerhouses. Fortunately for us, a Tide group managed to not usually enter this final widen of a 2014 pretension race, nonetheless they did so with flair, as a lead horse, mind you. It is many unequivocally a good time to be a Bammer, y’all, so go ‘head and get’cho Gump on.

Enjoy it while we can, as we mount during a mountain of a new epoch in college football, one we wish to see a Crimson Tide browbeat as many has it has dominated a final decade of collegiate gridiron action. It all starts here, and it starts with those God-forsaken Orcan ingrates to a North, a Ohio State Buckeyes. Surely this demon-spawn was expel in a burning armpit of Mordor famous as Columbus, OH, and it is my wish that we will see them dispatched as such come a initial day of this new year.

With such a daunting competition before us, it is a pursuit as a loyal to, as we have many times before, offer a pride, a open character, even a unequivocally bodies to Football Loki in hopes that he will hear a cries and show on us football mass and good fortune. we had to puncture low this week to find something fitting, as this deteriorate has compulsory many in terms of Hoodoo calm and material. However, your loyal narrator’s good springs almighty when it comes to a annoyance of youth, so please, come representation a cooling waters as we spin this common tale.

Now we contend this story stems from a annoyance of youth…but that’s not altogether true. As many as we wish it to be true, this is something that is distant some-more new in my memory than I’d like to admit. Though I’ve given foregone a desire that led to this hapless circumstance, we will contend usually that this sold chronicle is spun from a nap of a many new 5 years of my ever-lovin’ life.

Without serve adieu, here go my Hoodoo…

Now we people good and damn good know that your child OWB has been famous to lift a bit of ruin any now and then. And by “raise a small hell,” we meant I’ve been disposed to siphon down a quart or dual of tough licker in an evenin’ (damn nearby adequate to boyant a ole USS Alabama around) and get usually plain ole “’bout-it, ‘bout-it” to steal a parlance of a Pulitzer Prize winning commentator Master P.

I mean, we could tell we a story of Goldschlager. we could tell we a story of Jager. we could tell we all about how many Jim Beam one male can receptacle in his throat nonetheless puking, and we can tell we how many will put a man’s throat good over a top.

I’ve told many of these stories here in yon Hoodoo bill over a final dual seasons, and as we know, many of them accost to a time in my life we wistfully impute to as “college.” we also impute to this time support as “the mislaid years” for simply graphic reasons, for we remember of this epoch usually what my few remaining mind cells will concede me to recall. That said, many of those recollections core around a imbibing of, or issue following, thriving amounts of ethanol (among other substances of a distilled variety.)

Now I’ve never fanciful myself an alcoholic, as being such takes distant some-more loyalty than we was peaceful to deposit in any endeavor. No, let’s usually contend we was an “alcohol hobbyist.” As a years wore on, my evenings of customarily murdering an 18 container of Miller High Life dwindled, and by a time we began creation babies, we was immoderate even reduction of a devil’s elixir. That said, however, we kept malted hops and corn licker tighten during palm some-more mostly than not, as one never utterly knows when a fast entrance snowstorm of an alcoholic faint lies usually over a horizon.

My wife…well, she tolerated my giddiness in good adequate spirits. You see, she’s not a drinker herself, never had some-more than a splash or dual during a time in a 15 years I’ve famous her. Of course, there was that night when, after being wined and dined by Alabama Power executives during a Alabama Press Association convention, she felt froggy adequate to lift her dress adult over her conduct as we sped behind down Beach Blvd. to a hotel room. That said, I’ve never famous her to let a piece get a best of her. Why she tolerated my visit trips into a bottom of a bottle I’ll never know.

Regardless, a conditions worked out perfectly, as we always knew we had a designated driver, and could gulp openly even in a participation of my children nonetheless carrying to worry about putting anyone in danger. You see, I’m not a realistic drunk, I’m not a cryin’ dipsomaniac (despite my Irish bloodline), I’m not a meant drunk. I’m a happy, loud, boisterous dipsomaniac who likes to sing during shrill volumes and controversial intonation while dancing like a damaged drudge (you know, all herky-jerky like, kinda a approach a Tin Man moves before they strike him with that greasy salve.) All this contingency have been impossibly annoying for those around me honest adequate to care…but it usually so happens in my sold circle, pronounced series unequivocally represents a minority.

Alas, adequate backstory, on to a story during hand. For those of we unknown with Mobile, AL and a “MARDI GRAS ALL DAMN YEAR, Y’ALL!!!” lifestyle, New Year’s Eve is a special time in a Port City. For we see, so dedicated are we Mobilians to a Mardi Gras-staple, marshmallow-filled break cake famous as a Moonpie that we have combined events usually for a jubilee of pronounced confection, as if a scarcely 3 week per annum Mardi Gras jubilee itself was not copiousness tribute. Several years ago, a “leadership” of Mobile motionless it correct and advantageous to spend something like $40,000 annually on a “Moonpie Drop” on New Year’s Eve.

“Moonpie Drop, we say?…wtf OWB?” Yes, yes, we know, it unequivocally is utterly silly. For a uninitiated, there is a roughly 20 foot-in-circumference bright Moonpie that creates a trek down one of Mobile’s tallest buildings any New Year’s Eve during midnight, finish with fireworks popping and live song personification (this year it will be a Village People….YMCA, y’all.) It unequivocally is utterly Biblical, we see, reminds me of those tales of Ba’al and a Golden Calf and such. we half design somebody to circle out a Wicker Man and light that sumbitch on fire. Thousands of Moonpie-worshipping rednecks and scalawags rally in downtown, chanting in a streets in a whiskey and weed driven frenzy, a absolved examination from high atop a Battle House as a contaminated masses applaud on Royal Street below. we know I’ve embellished utterly a portrait, nonetheless we unequivocally contingency see it before we die…or a Mobile City Council pulls a funding, whichever comes first.

So as a local and lifelong Mobilian, we felt a ever-increasing call of a Moonpie sketch me downtown notwithstanding my best attempts during resistance. For a initial dual years, we was means to giveaway myself of a tractor lamp draw, denying a urges of my legacy and bucking my Mobility…but then, that third year, they advertised that they were going to have an ACTUAL GIANT MOONPIE! from a Chattanooga bakery from origin all Moonpies stream and past have been birthed.

“You bastards,” we remember thinking, “you win.”

So with my family in draw (and intensely vehement about a eventuality to boot), we packaged a automobile and finished a approach downtown to a stage of many a desire past (debauchery…can we use that as a noun?) We parked underneath an underpass nearby Fort Conde and finished a approach to a feet of Royal Street, where a evening’s shenanigans were set to begin. But before withdrawal a car, we finished certain to things several canned beers in my pocket, along with a quart of my best crony during a time, Evan Williams. By God, we was going to see this effin’ Moonpie dump in style!

We rendezvoused with friends, who like my wife, do not drink, and hung out for a while as a kids played in a travel (parenting to a standard, y’all.) All a while, we was pouring that rusty brownish-red into Solo cups half full of lemonade. While we found myself increasingly some-more expressive and decorous as time wore on, we could tell by a peers of my honest using friends that my difference were commencement to stir into one another and my thoughts were commencement to hang deficient like ever-so-many swinging airborne Moonpies in a wet Mobile air.

But, we was undaunted. we continued to sip…and sip…and sip. Imagine my warn when, after unzipping my backpack, we found there was a grand sum of dual fingers value of whiskey left in a once-full quart bottle. Also to my surprise, we parallel detected that we had lost to splash even one of a 4 bottles of H2O we had carried along as good to sentinel off a effects of a demon licker. Now, nonetheless not a veteran alcoholic, as a seasoned ethanol hobbyist, we was good wakeful of a belligerent manners of drunkenness, during slightest as told to a fleshly body. (1. Drink copiousness of water, 8 ounces of H2O for any 8 ounces of licker…2. Never splash on an dull stomach…3. Refrain from powerful activity like singing, dancing and passionate intercourse.) Despite my believe of pronounced rules, it occurred to me that in a march of a evening, we had inaugurated to abandon dual of those 3 (and hoped to abandon a third after on in a evening, if we know what we mean.)

But hell, we didn’t care. After all, how many times do we get to see a cotdang 20 feet Moonpie dump out of skinny air? Well, true, we did contend it is an annual event, so maybe that indicate doesn’t resonate. Regardless, being a guard that we was, we motionless to infantryman forth, violation out a canned splash and going to town. we did, in fact, partially rectify my prior mistake by eating 3 Moonpies that were being handed out by proprietors of a event. (Pro tip: Don’t ever eat an empty-stomach Moonpie on a quart of licker…the formula will pronounce for themselves.)

I could hear a performers banishment up, and a song was underway. The countdown time had begun, a O’Jays (or some incarnation of a same) were playing, and we felt a titillate to “get adult off offa dat thang,” to quote eminent astrophysicist James Brown. we started doing a Broken Robot in a street, churning and skittlin’ like a wind-up-motor-driven MC Hammer, poppin’ and lockin’ (admittedly, mostly lockin’) and moonwalking between a lifted petrify curbs. Folk were laughing, an aged bag-lady form came over and skitter-popped a cabbage patch in front of me in a brief nonetheless explosve “Bring It” character dance-off (I won, of course.) My mother and friends were horrified, my children weren’t aged adequate to be frightened so they usually giggled and laughed.

Finally, a impulse we had energetically awaited…the guest of respect had arrived. That large ole Moonpie glittered atop a aged bank building like a Ark of a Covenant. Organizers drew behind a disguise that lonesome Lady Moonpie high atop her roost on a aged bank building as fireworks, driven by a sardonic wind, were blown behind onto a petrify edifice in a gorgeous arrangement suggestive of Mordor’s burning wrath. The bright Moonpie began a descent, as we (and my associate Mobiliacs) screamed regularly “THE MOONPIE IS COMING!!! THE MOONPIE IS COMING!!!”

It proceeded down a building in due time, which, after all was pronounced and done, was rather anti-climactic. You wouldn’t have famous it from my demeanor, as we had worked myself into a non-believer stew during a steer of a fake marshmallow idol. When all was pronounced and done, my friends (eagerly) split ways with my contingent, and we walked (nay, skitter-popped) behind down Royal Street to a parking area.

It was during pronounced skitter-popping that we remembered we had never taken so many as a sip of a water. Rather, my loss ability to change and a churning inlet of my stomach sensitive me that we had damaged a honest manners of drunkenness…and make no mistake, there would be a reckoning.

I insisted we was means to drive, notwithstanding a careening inlet of my vision. This was not good decision-making. we gathering for approximately 14 seconds before we satisfied we couldn’t figure out that of a 8 lanes (on a 4 line road) we was ostensible to be pushing in. At that point, with a peaceful poke from my wife, we gladly stopped a automobile in a center of Dauphin Street, bailed out of a driver’s seat, and incited over a circle while holding a navigator’s position.

Now my mother is no Earnhardt, and she damn certain ain’t no Petty. About median down Dauphin Street, we began to feel a quease creepin’ adult into a bottom of my esophagus, and we was in a precipitate to get home. She, however, was some-more prone to “grandma” it all a approach to WeMo (West Mobile, y’all…try to keep up) since of some giddiness about “everyone on a roads being drunk.” To wand off a rising vomit, we guzzled dual bottles of water, nonetheless such was same to putting out a four-alarm glow with a garden hose. we knew a explosve in my swell had a timer, and we had no suspicion how prolonged we had nonetheless we could suppose it clicking down digitally, all “24” style.

For non-Mobilians, Dauphin Street is true and flat, that worked to my graphic advantage. That is, until we reached a tip of a hill, where we would generally cut by a circuitous approach that flowed around a Country Club of Mobile, an area abundant with trade tables, turns and bends. We didn’t make it distant into that area before a stomach demanded to be emptied like an ornery infant.

I yelled to a wife, “PURLOBER NAOW GOTTA RAAAOOWWW!” we had no earlier gotten those difference (or syllables, rather) out than we swung open a doorway of a still-moving (albeit slowly) automobile and let onward with a bombardment of rusty-brown marshmallow-loaded missile puke that positively contaminated a primitive highway of those some-more advantaged than me. we knew another call was coming, nonetheless moments from a house, we motionless to cowboy adult and reason it in check…you know, for a kids.

That final mile and a half was like a Bataan Death March, usually with, we know, like some-more puke and fewer Japanese. It was horrible, we suspicion we would die. We finally incited onto a street, and we don’t consider we even let a automobile come to a hindrance before bailing out like Batman and dispatching a tidal call of puke on a hunger straw in my side yard. we couldn’t move, nonetheless rather usually hung there, focussed during a waist, anticipating all of a sinister poison would usually go forward and empty right on out of me.

After a few moments, we collected myself and sucked down another bottle of water. we finished my approach to a vital room, and soon undressed down to my skivvies and undershirt. we reclined on a cot nonetheless for a impulse before we once again felt a titillate and ran out a front door, this time creation it usually as distant as my porch before branch a’loose of a vomit-reins. Again, we pulled it together and went behind inside, where to my chagrin, when we finally sealed my eyes, we felt a room spinning like a Tilt-a-Whirl.

Again, we ran outside, and this time, we motionless to lay on my side on a grass, that was surprisingly lovely in a cold night air. To my horror, however, after we close off a puke-valve, we could not get up. we was spread-eagle on a front weed in my undergarments, incompetent to pierce some-more than a bit nonetheless exploding underneath my possess weight like a baby lamb, my change shot to ruin by my (former) good crony Evan Williams. Worse yet, we had lost my dungeon phone, so we couldn’t even shamefully serve assistance from my mother inside.

Resigned to my short-term fate, we usually stayed put, enjoying that cold toy of a weed blades on my cold, clammy face. we don’t know what time it was when we dozed off.

But we do know what time we woke up, since a object had risen on me. we had stayed there all night, as a ground-facing side of me was bone dry, nonetheless a sky confronting side was dripping by with morning dew. No one had even come out to check on me…unless we count a neighbor lady who was peering over during me as we shook off my doze and satisfied that yes, we had indeed SPENT THE ENTIRE NIGHT IN MY FRONT YARD IN MY UNDERWEAR!

I don’t even unequivocally splash anymore, y’all, and this is usually one of a quills in a porcupine of reasons because we don’t. we once bowled for a hobby, until my bend started spiteful like ruin all a time, so we quit. Same here, usually it was my liver and a cotdang gout that forced me out of that rut. Some hobbies usually ain’t value it, y’all.

Roll Tide Roll. Buck those cotdang Buckeyes and keep that all-time record perfect. Championship Game (and haters), here we come!

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