For any Ole Miss Rebel, football isn’t just a game we watch on Saturday. It is a religious experience, a spiritual journey. This weekend, the Rebs took us on an emotional rollercoaster ride I will probably tell my grandchildren about.
Have I recovered? Not yet.
But that’s okay, because, based on Parker Barrineau’s tweets, Alabama hasn’t emotionally recovered after a stunning Rebel Victory. How can one really describe the feels experienced during Saturday’s game?
Everyone is tense. I had spoken to my father earlier on the phone, and he assured me Ole Miss has a good, fighting chance at victory. Secretly, I am telling myself that it doesn’t really matter if we win or lose, all that matters is that we play a good game. But deep, deep down in my heart I am praying that we crush ‘Bama because ‘Bama sucks.
We are blasting Drake, trying to get pumped up, watching the Ole Miss/Alabama snapchat story, and I’m kicking myself for not going to Tuscaloosa because everyone looks like they are having so much fun.
I’m trying to maintain some level of maturity as things are getting started but every time I open my mouth I’m just shouting curse words. And what is up with the game day signs reading “Ole Miss girls are easier than…” How is that supposed to make me feel? It’s just tacky.
Speaking of tacky, why don’t Alabama fans dress up? I see people on TV with T-shirts, do other schools do that?
Things are getting pretty heated. I have punched a ceiling fan and accidentally hit someone with my elbow. There have been so many ups and downs, and it’s only the first half. Can we beat Bama? This obviously isn’t a cupcake team, so, we probably won’t score 1,000 points. But I am really hoping the Rebs show the Crimson Tide we mean business. Forget just playing a good game, I want to win, damn it.
Holy Cannoli, you guys. What is happening, is this real? Can we beat Alabama again? Can we beat Alabama in Tuscaloosa? Are those magic powder blue helmets working some kind of magic? Is it the hover boards? Are the hover boards working?
I have made my way back to my apartment because I apparently cannot handle watching the game in public. But that is probably for the best because as the clock counts down I am literally on the floor pencil rolling and screaming with excitement. Every time Alabama has the ball I am convinced they are going to take the lead, and we’ll run out of time, and everything will be bad. I keep picking up the pillows on my couch and throwing them on the floor. I feel like I haven’t exhaled in 80 years.
Rip the goal posts down again! Rip them down! It is 1 a.m. and I am calling my Dad to tell him that we beat Alabama for the second time in a row! The hover boards are working! What a game! What a team!
The Next Morning:
I wake up spooning a bag of chips, my dead phone in my hand. After charging it up, I recall messaging and snapchatting pretty much everyone I’ve ever met to tell them all about how the Rebels defeated the Crimson Tide in Tuscaloosa for the second time in the history of the world. I am so proud to be a Rebel and I am so joyous that we won. My throat hurts from screaming at my TV, but I don’t care because Hotty Toddy!