I remember what winning feels like. An opening-drive lightning strike, up by three touchdowns midway through the second quarter, the defense an impenetrable wall, scrubs and water boys entering the game at the beginning of the fourth quarter, a game plan so flawlessly executed that there seems to be only one team on the field. Winning is singing exultant taunts over vanquished enemies, a vision of transcendent harmony, an assurance all’s right with the world.
That’s how Alabama football used to feel. There were close games and occasional losses, but even when we fell behind, we felt we always had juice enough to make a game of it. Not this year. True, we won a good bit more than we lost. Alabama ended the regular season 10–3, dealt Georgia their only loss, beat four straight ranked opponents, defeated rival Auburn in the Iron Bowl, and snuck through the back door into the College Football Playoff, where we avenged one of our losses with a 34–24 first-round victory over Oklahoma before getting brutalized in the Rose Bowl by Indianabama.
A winning year by most objective standards, but it didn’t feel good. There were embarrassing defeats at the hands of Florida State, which ended the year 5–7, Oklahoma, Georgia, and Indiana—all losses that left us feeling helpless. There was the non-existent run game. Georgia held Alabama to -3 total rushing yards (really!) in the Southeastern Conference (SEC) title match; we ended with positive yardage against Indiana, barely. Even when Alabama won, we won ugly, outplayed for long stretches. Several wins were of the skin-of-the-teeth variety: Missouri by three, unranked South Carolina and Auburn by a touchdown. Single plays turned tight games into semi-comfortable victories. Zabien Brown’s 99-yard pick-six in the final seconds of the first half catapulted Alabama over Tennessee. Early on in the first-round playoff game, Oklahoma was poised to pummel us a second time, until Zabien Brown (again!) took an interception to the house to tie the game just before halftime.
Used to be, when Bama took the field, I thought: We can beat anyone. Now I’m on edge every week. On any given Saturday, we could lose to anybody.
I know, I know. I sound like every spoiled Alabama football fan. And I get the reasons. Alabama and college football are in transition. Legendary coach Nick Saban retired a couple years back, NIL (Name, Image, and Likeness) and the transfer portal have spread talent more evenly, and injuries weakened Bama’s defense and backfield. Easy wins are hard to come by in the new SEC, what with yesterday’s cannon fodder (can you say Vanderbilt?) rising to the top twenty-five. I’ve read Ecclesiastes, so I know every dynasty is a vapor of vapors.
But like other spoiled Bama fans, I’m not going anywhere. Sports fandom, argues philosopher Nicholas Dixon, is a form of love. I watch most football games as a disinterested Kantian “purist,” delighting in the graceful ferocity of the game itself. With Alabama, my love becomes very particular, as I transform into a fire-breathing, nail-biting “partisan.” A romantic lover may admire the beauty, wit, humor, and character of someone other than his beloved, yet his love doggedly clings to that one particular other. Just so, a partisan refuses to “trade up” when his team sags and wrinkles, and true love endures failure, disappointment, betrayal, abuse. Players and even coaches come and go, but the fan abides. Say what you will about Alabama fans, we ain’t no sports whores.
And that, surely, is one of the chief life lessons of sports, for both players and fans: The course of true love never did run smooth. As Bernard Suits put it, “a game is the voluntary attempt to overcome unnecessary obstacles.” Without rule-governed resistance, there is no game, and the main obstacle to getting the football past the goal line is eleven hostile players, many as competitive, talented, and hard-working as ours. Even when the resistance is light, players achieve the ecstasy of effortless flow sporadically. If it comes at all, it’s likely to turn off as suddenly and inexplicably as it turned on. Sports statistics tell a tale of rare, hard-won success in the face of frequent failure. The best hitters in baseball fail more than half the time, as do the best three-point shooters in basketball. For players on the field, the willingness to get up after getting obliterated cultivates the moral goods internal to sports. Some measure of those goods flow to fans who experience the players’ frustrations, persistence, and resilience from a distance.
At the end of the day, close games are better as games, for purist, partisan, and players alike. In the old days, Alabama’s dominance drained tension out of many games. The University of Louisiana at Monroe might win on a fluke every couple of decades, and Vandy or Arkansas might score first. We all knew they posed no real threat, and on some Saturdays the Tide barely broke a threat. But Old Bama was melodrama, sometimes farce. New Bama is a weekly Shakespearean comedy unfolding in real time, usually (not always) averting tragedy, though sometimes by the thinnest of margins.
Easy winning is a fantasy, reserved for rare magical moments. Most wins include long stretches that feel like losing, and that’s good for us, testing and so deepening our love for both the game and our team. That doesn’t mean I have to like it.
Image by Matt May via Alamy.
