Words and Images by Al Blanton
A few weeks ago, my wife and I decided to do something spontaneous.
After it was announced that Alabama would be facing Michigan in the Rose Bowl in Pasadena, California, on January 1 as part of the four-team college football playoff, we decided to go. Let me say that this is not something we typically do—knee-jerk a big, expensive trip all the way across the country—but the motivating force behind the decision was our five-year-old son. This would be his first Alabama game, and what better way to introduce him to Crimson Tide football than attending “The Grandaddy of Them All” in the most iconic college football venue in the land?
Certain that bankruptcy was in my future after purchasing game tickets, plane tickets, rental car, and hotel, I immediately wondered how people could afford to travel with the Tide year-by-year. Alas, they do. And all I could hear leading up to the event was how I was going to “spoil” my son by making this his first game (I mean, really. How do you get fired up for Western Kentucky after this?).
Please allow me to back up for a moment. My love for Alabama football goes way back to 1984. That year, a restaurant in Jasper, Alabama, called Kopper Kettle was having a drawing for tickets to the Alabama-Georgia game at Legion Field in Birmingham on October 6. And who do you think won? You guessed it. Six-year-old Al Blanton. I even got my picture with the restaurant manager in the local paper, Daily Mountain Eagle. Shoot, I thought I was in hog heaven.
Through the years, my love for Alabama football continued to grow. I remember stopping at the Green Top in Dora for a barbeque and a Coke on our way to the Legion Field games (one time, there was a guy wearing a trucker hat, walking around from table to table asking, “Y’all goin’ over?” There was no doubt where ‘over’ meant). I remember parking in the same exact spot at 9th Court North and the excitement I felt as a young boy as I walked side-by-side with my father.
I remember the iconic moments of that era. The sack by Cornelius Bennett on Steve Beuerlein of Notre Dame. The Thomas Rayam block against Penn State. The battles with Tennessee on “The Third Saturday in October.” The first Iron Bowl in Jordan-Hare Stadium. And facing the dreaded Miami Hurricanes in the Sugar Bowl. Through it all, I learned about the joys of victory and the agony of defeat. I was making memories that would last a lifetime. And I was experiencing moments that would turn into stories I could share in perpetuity.
I’ve often wondered why Alabama football matters so much. And I think it’s the history. It’s our own history of being a fan—the games and the memories—but it’s also the history that made us, flashing like montages in our mind. It’s the courage of a run in the mud. It’s the heart of a goal-line stand. It’s the iconography of a long field goal to beat your archrival. It’s the electricity of a high-stepping interception. It’s a houndstooth-hatted man mumbling in a low voice. It’s remember the Rose Bowl we’ll win.
Now, it was my time to visit that historic venue with my wife and son.
Arriving at the game, I tried to drink in all the pageantry that the Rose Bowl offered. I wanted a record of the game, so one of the first things we did was purchase a game program for my son. Then we walked around for a while and cheered as the Alabama buses caravanned into the stadium. It was going to be a great day.
Settling into our seats, I thought about how incredible it was to sit in the same venue that first welcomed the Alabama football team on New Year’s Day, 1926, against the mighty Washington Huskies. Indeed, had the Crimson Tide not won that contest so long ago, I might not be enjoying my visit to the Rose Bowl almost a century later. I thought about how blessed I was to be able to attend such a remarkable event, to share this moment with my family, and to transmit this adoration of Alabama football to my son.
The game began, and my wife and I did our best to explain the spectacle that was in front of him. The coach’s name is Nick Saban, the quarterback is Jalen Milroe, when we have the ball, we are on offense, and the band is called the “Million Dollar Band.” Mostly, though, my son was concerned with a large elephant parading up and down the sideline. “There’s Big Al!” he exclaimed as he first espied the Alabama mascot, clad in crimson and lumbering happily to and fro.
We stood for much of the game, my son standing between us on the folded-out seat, cheering on his favorite team as best he could. I’ll admit: joy swelled in my heart as I drank in these beatific moments with my family. Nowhere in my mind did I anticipate what would happen later.
The game was back and forth as we cheered for the Tide under the warm California sun. In the second half, the stadium swayed with ‘Bama fans singing “Dixieland Delight” in unison, shakers snapping back and forth as momentum began to fully swing the men in crimson’s way.
By this time, my son was getting tired and slumped back in his seat. To pass the time, my wife filmed videos of Big Al with her cell phone and let our son watch them throughout the entirety of the fourth quarter.
In the end, Michigan was not to be denied, and victory would slip through the good guys’ clutches. Admittedly, I was in complete shock after the final play in overtime. We came all the way out to California—and Alabama lost. Good grief.
Because my son was caught up in his Big Al videos, I had to explain to him that, unfortunately, our beloved team didn’t win. But nothing that happened that day was going to steal his joy. As we left the stadium, he was skipping through the streets, holding his crimson-and-white shaker, saying, “Go, Alabama! Go, Alabama!”
In that moment, I thought about how spoiled I’d become as a fan. Through the years, I’d become so hyper-focused on winning championships that I had forgotten to appreciate the entirety of the Alabama football experience. My mentality had become like many: anything less than a national championship was considered a failure.
For almost any other fan base, a 12-2 season with a conference championship would be considered an enormous success. But many Alabama fans believe that unless we raise another banner and tack another number on our hats and decals, we’ve somehow lost.
Alabama football has become such a big deal and so idolized in this area that it’s become like a god. Don’t get me wrong: it is a big deal and is something that has given us reason to celebrate.
But walking out of the stadium— a loss in tow, the hopes of a national title gone—I simply could not be miserable. Yes, we lost, but I gained something that could never be taken away: sharing this moment with my wife and young son. Passing the baton to the next generation that my father once passed to me.
Though we lost the game, let’s not forget how special it is to experience what we’ve experienced as Crimson Tide fans through the years. Let’s not let one loss steal the joy of our experience. Let’s not allow one game to wreck what those boys accomplished, how far they came, the games they won, how they grew as men, and what that will mean to their future.
I look forward to many more games and saying “Go, Alabama!” with my son. I hope this is the start of something special. And maybe, Lord willin’, we’ll return to Pasadena one day and cheer on the Crimson Tide.
Remember the Rose Bowl, we’ll win then. WL
