Since the beginning of our courtship, Tim and I have enjoyed going to Tuscaloosa for Alabama football games. Shortly after we were married we bought season tickets and have done so ever since.
At first, they were alumni seats in the end zone. We kind of got used to that perspective and we loved the guys who sat behind us. They were humorous, fun spirited and energetic to say the least and we enjoyed cheering, celebrating and commiserating with them for several years. I could not tell you their names or anything much about them, except that we looked forward to being around them at each home game.
When the new Tide Pride club was announced we immediately joined, thinking we would upgrade our tickets. Instead we were put on the 10 yard line on the third row. They were awful seats and we missed our game buddies whom we never saw again.
The next year we were upgraded to aisle seats on about the 25 yard line, 35 rows up and we have stayed there ever since. The people around us have come and gone over the years, but for about 25 years we keep returning to the same seats every September.
Yesterday was the first home game of the season and when a young man and his date sat a few rows in front of us, my son Jon and I did a little reminiscing about the people around us.
When we first got these seats, we also had two more seats right in front of us. Our dear friend Mr. B and his son sat there for several years. We included those two seats in our package for him to use and he bought us UAB basketball season tickets each year in return. Going to those games with him became a huge part of our lives and he became part of the family.
Mr. B had an old Cadillac that we called the Land Yacht because of its massive size. It was indestructible. In those days, several of the University’s “home” games were played at Legion Field, the old stadium in Birmingham. For those games we would pile in the Land Yacht and head towards the Tide and Tiger, a bar across the street from the stadium where you could park, get a cold beer and eventually mosey on over to the game when you were ready.
For games in Tuscaloosa we would take our motorhome the night before (back in the day when you could kind of park anywhere, when it was less congested, less regulated and life was simpler.) Mr. B and others would show up a few hours before game time and we would cook, eat and relax until it was time, once again, to mosey on over.
All of that has changed. Mr. B (and his son) have passed on, the University has all home games is Tuscaloosa, motorhome parking is miles away and limited to people with the big bucks and we have relinquished the two seats in front of us.
For a time we had a couple who sat in front of Tim who were faithful game attendees. We chatted with them and Tim discussed the game with them. They seemed a bit older than us and one year they weren’t there as much. The next year, the woman attended a few games without the man, sometimes bringing a woman who appeared to be her sister. And then a couple of years ago, different people took those seats.
For years the people behind us have been a parade of whiners, complainers and armchair quarterbacks. Having an actual sports commentator beside me makes for some humorous observations as this group predicts plays, yells at the coaches and referees and predicts doom and gloom for every game from the one we are watching to the next ones to come.
My son Jon has gone to games with us since he was 4 years old. He remembers scores and statistics from then until now and although I saw that as a sign of things to come, he was in college before he realized his mastery of all things sports was his calling.
For most of the years that we have been sitting in these same seats, another family has been in front of us and over to the right. They started out as what appeared to be two brothers and their wives and often they would bring a young man who seemed to be the son of one of the brothers. They were very faithful and were there for almost every game. The two men got up and took “smoking breaks” way too often while the two women would talk and cheer.
The couples seemed a decade or more older than Tim and I, the son seemed a decade or so younger than us.
At this point I have to say that I love to watch people, to listen to snippets of conversation, to observe mannerisms and dialects. I tend to take the snippets and observations and create stories for these people I really don’t know, but feel like I do.
As time passed, the younger son began to bring his two sons who were again, about a decade or so younger than our son Jon. The boys were probably 3 and 5 or thereabouts when they began to come to the games. Over the years, the older generation began to come less and less. Sometimes it would be one of the couples or just the guys, then it was just the son and his boys.
The older “little” boy quit coming to the games, but the younger one was always there with his dad. And last year in the heat of the first game, the suit and tie of the young man gave away the fact that he was now a student of the University and had probably pledged a fraternity.
This year, the young man came in to fill the seats with his dad and a young lady who appeared to be his date. Seeing these people after months of the off season really makes the changes in them apparent. Jon and I looked at each other as the boy helped his date to her seat and we felt old as we remembered this boy as a small child, now a college student with a girlfriend.
It reminded me of one more story from the bleachers.
For years there was a woman who sat on the row behind us and over to our right probably 6 or 7 seats. The only reason I noticed her was because of her super short, spiky, very striking gray hair. Having short hair myself, I tend to notice others with really short hair and the gray would shine in the sunshine of the stadium.
Every game all I would have to see was her in her seat, the couples in front of us passing out snacks and the complainers behind us complaining, and I knew that all was right with the world. I was sure that the gray haired lady never saw me or realized that she was one of my touchstones for the season.
Several years ago when my friend Julia died, I attended her funeral at our church. It was a rough time for me and I feel sure I cried during the funeral. Afterwards, as I am prone to do, I just wanted to quickly slip out and deal with my emotions in private. As I headed across the Narthex, there was the lady from the stadium with the short, gray hair.
I am sure I stopped for a moment. It is always odd when you see someone out of context, away from the place where you are used to seeing them. And lo and behold, she also stopped. She pointed to me and said, “You go to all of the Alabama games and sit near me!” She then felt odd about her outburst and began to apologize, thinking I probably had no idea why she would know that and that I had no reason to have ever turned around to notice her.
I told her that I did recognize her and asked her how she knew Julia. She told me that she had gone to church where Julia had grown up, known her parents. We chatted a few moments and with a quiet “Roll Tide” we left through opposite doors.
Every game after that we would wave to each other across the crowded row, but we never actually talked again. I felt I knew her, that she was a fellow Bama fan and faithful game attender. She also knew my friend that I missed so terribly.
A few years ago she quit being in her seat behind us. There is no way to know if she got upgraded to better seats, quit coming for health reasons or is no longer on this earth to attend games. I will never know. But I will always look back at her seat before I settle in for the game.
People come in and out of our lives. Sometimes long enough to spill a drink on you or high five you after a touchdown. Sometimes you make a connection that is superficial, yet somehow real. Sometimes you watch people from afar and feel like you know them, sometimes you actually have a short conversation in the darkest of times.
With tens of thousands of people in that stadium, there is no way to know every one of them. And yet there is that bond. Whether it is when we stand to honor a veteran being recognized, whether cheering together for our team, whether it is merely the fact that we all took the time to attend the same event while cheering for opposing teams, somehow we are all there together.
Other than the two guys that sit on either side of me, whom I know extremely well, there are usually people I know throughout the crowd. I don’t know where in the stadium they are, but we have friends from church and other areas of our lives who are there every game day just like we are. With such a big crowd we usually don’t see them, but sometimes we do. I know they are there.
With that said, I look forward to going to the game, seeing what people are wearing, what crazy thing their pins and stickers say, what strange hat or earrings people have found for the new season. I love the speculation about what the team will be like this year and what the souvenir cups will look like.
I look forward to seeing all of the people I don’t know, but might connect with when we find a fan in the bathroom by the sink and joke about wanting to listen to the game from in there, or happen to see the son of friends as he walks up to his seat.
When we are all sweating so much that we have to laugh at ourselves or when we all jump up as the ball is in the air, only to sit down as a group when it is missed by the intended receiver.
When we all collectively hold our breath as the place kicker attempts a field goal, knowing that we can’t expect it to actually go through the uprights, celebrating when it somehow does.
I have a memory of a little boy who wanted popcorn, but none had been bought yet. So he turned around to the guy behind him, a total stranger, and began to eat popcorn out of his bucket. And the stranger smiled and let him, strangers no longer as they shared the treat.
I was embarrassed and sent Tim for popcorn, but Jon had made a new friend. A connection that eventually we could all laugh about.
That is why I love sports and why I enjoy being around these people I do (not) know. Because if you look around and open yourself up, there are all kinds of people around you that are worth having a moment with, who are just passing through your life for an instant, but an instant worth sharing.
