I'm guest blogging again today at Courting Destiny. It's a post many of you have probably already read, as Pia picked her favorite story out of my archives. And it's about eight thousand times better than what I'm posting here today.

I think I started writing lyrics sometime in high school. There is a red folder in a bookshelf at my house which long ago came apart at the seams. It contains hundreds of these handwritten lyrics. And a very large majority of them are, admittedly, crap.

Today, I've decided to share one of these early lyrics with you. It's your basic story of small town love lost. Hopefully, it will be good for a laugh. And hopefully, my writing has shown at least slight improvement since... this.

Now, for your reading pleasure, I present Bone, before he was famous. It's called "The Cows."

One little phone call, and I took the big fall
In love with the girl of my dreams
Her name was Julie, she was a cutie
Sweetest thing I'd ever seen
One night in the pasture, I turned and I asked her
How long her love would go on
She promised she'd stay, until the day
The cows finally come back home

Well the cows will be comin' home tonight
She left me today, just drove out of sight
She never said forever
But I thought her love was gonna last that long
And now that she's gone
I guess the cows will be comin' home

One little mistake, was all she could take
She was gone in the blink of an eye
She didn't cry, gave no reason why
Never even told me goodbye
Thought we'd stay together, forever and ever
But she said I took it all wrong
She said she never, did say forever
Only till the cows come home

And the cows will be comin' home tonight
She left me today, just drove out of sight
She never said forever
But I thought her love was gonna last that long
And now that she's gone
I guess the cows will be comin' home

It'll be good to see 'em
I've kinda missed those bovine since they've been gone
I won't be alone for very long
Cos tonight, the cows are comin' home...

Labels: lyrics

My activities last evening consisted of dinner, playing one half a game of Mattel football (Visitors were leading 17-16 on difficulty level PRO2), playing a few games of Texas Hold 'Em online, watching the episode of The Jeffersons where George donates a kidney, watching parts of Monday Night Football, and writing a couple of poems/lyrics.

Quite the bachelor utopia I've created, no? This is why I usually answer "nothing" anytime someone asks me what I'm doing.

I started thinking, what am I holding onto? What about this single life can I not bear to give up? And from that, I started thinking about what I'm looking for in a girl. And do I even know?

I dated a girl some years ago who had made a list. Of things she wanted in her future husband. She had come up with fourteen things, and I matched all but one of them. We dated for a couple of years, broke up, and she married someone else.

But as I've travelled on, I've come to find that many girls have a similar list. Maybe even most girls? Qualities and characteristics of their ideal man.

Now for the record, let me just state here that my ideal man would be Bruce Willis. He's tough, yet sensitive, did movies and TV successfully, and went bald proudly, all the while remaining popular and attractive. But I digress.

Where does this idea of a list come from? Is it from some movie? Or something your mother tells you? Is it something you start at slumber parties? Or does it come from some teen magazine? Is this what girls do when you go to the restroom together, unfold your pieces of paper and compare lists?

The lists that I've been privy to contain such things as physical characteristics, what kind of job he would have, to even more trivial things like he has to be able to play the guitar, be able to drive a stick shift, and must like football. OK, so the last one isn't trivial at all. Actually, let's make that the last two.

I've never written out a list. (And clearly that's working out well for me.) I think with guys maybe it's more of a mental list. I remember when I was a kid, my ideal woman was Farrah Fawcett. (And kinda still is.) I always thought blondes were prettier than brunettes. I even liked Bo Duke more than Luke because he had blonde hair.

But when I think about it, as I've grown up (physically if not mentally), I've hardly dated any girls with blonde hair. Only a couple come to mind, and they weren't naturally blonde.

My thought is that our lists change over time. Some things we're looking for stay the same. But as we mature, hopefully we realize trivial things aren't important. Some relationships might even open us up to new things and make us realize we were limiting ourselves before.

I won't attempt to make a list here. But there are some things that I look for, and I've always looked for, that I know deep down I couldn't be happy without. Honesty. Trust. Respect. Similar interests and beliefs. Interesting conversation.

I always pictured a relationship where we would stand by each other thru thick and thin. An us against the world mentality. That no matter who or what was against us, as long as we had each other, we would make it. You know, kinda like Luke and Laura.

Do you have a list? Or did you? What was on it? And how has it changed over the years?

"If my break never came like I thought it would, Honey would you stand by me?"

rain sliding off the rooftops
hardly anybody on the street today
anybody who is is running for cover
except for me, but i'm not exactly sane

i ain't worried about getting wet
that's the least of the thoughts in my head
i'm just thinking about what we had
what we did and what we said

pour down on me
wash these blues away
cleanse my soul and my memory
make me forget
on my knees i pray

thought of stopping at a payphone
then i realized who i would call
gave my change to a homeless man instead
then emptied my pockets and gave him all

pour down on me
wash these blues away
cleanse my soul and my memory
make me forget
on my knees i pray

and i stare at the lights in the windows
and i wonder what secrets they hold
and i know i've done bad bad things
all i'm asking for is one more chance now

"I've loved like I should, but lived like I shouldn't. I had to lose everything to find out..."

Labels: lyrics, poetry

I went to a county fair last night. Actually, had to work there. No, not operating the Zipper. There's a lot to like about a fair. Many-colored lights, spinning rides, games, and of course, the food. Cotton candy, corn dogs, funnel cakes, and my item of choice last eve. The candy apple.

I also enjoyed a live performance by 1980's country superstar Earl Thomas Conley. Go ahead, google it, I'll wait...

Fairs signal the arrival of fall. Or something. People always ask your favorite season. And I can't remember what I usually say. I like winter because of Christmas, and the ever-dwindling hope of seeing a snowflake. And summer for the beach. But if I really think about it, there's more I like about fall that probably any other season.

There's football, of course. And long sleeves. And the changing colors. And did I mention football?

The only problem with fall is that it doesn't really last three months here. More like three weeks, maybe. The first part is usually still hot. And the last part is cold. There are only a few weeks of that perfect crisp coolnees in the air.

If the year was compared to a day, to me, fall would be the sunset. The most beautiful part. But far too short.

I'm getting out of town this weekend. I've been a bit melancholy at times this week. Still missing something. Still recovering. Driving helps. Somehow.

I like the thought of putting miles behind me. Even with no destination in mind.

"I could have been anyone you see. She's nothing but porcelain underneath her skin. American girls, all weather and noise..."

(Ms. Sizzle wrote an amazing post yesterday. I'm not often moved to tears when I'm reading, but... Read it if you have a minute.)

Each week, I will post three (or more) random words. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write something using all of those words. It can be a few lines, a story, a poem, anything. Don't spend too much time on it. It doesn't have to be perfect. The idea is to let your mind wander and write what it will. I'll also write something using the same three words.

Be sure to leave a comment if you participate.

This week's words are:
initiate
holiday
snow

I picture a December 23rd. There's a fireplace. A slowly dying fire crackling. And a big picture window. With snow falling from heaven. And a girl. Lying on the sofa. Sleeping.

We've been out shopping all day. Getting last minute gifts. Then had dinner with friends. Friends we won't see again until after the holidays. When we get home, we decide to watch Miracle On 34th Street, my most favorite of all Christmas movies. She is asleep before the parade is done. Poor thing. She must be exhausted.

The movie is over and I get up to turn off the television, careful not to disturb her. I decide not to wake her. Just let her sleep. One last night of peaceful rest before I initiate her into the production that is my family's holiday routine tomorrow.

I put out the fire and take one long last look outside. Living in the South, it's only the second white Christmas I ever recall. The snow is so peaceful. Cleansing. Silencing God's creation.

I get a throw from the chair and steal a pillow from behind her on the sofa. Then I sit down on the floor. My back against the sofa. And put the pillow behind me. I'll sleep here tonight. Wanting to be there whenever she wakes up. Not wanting to be away from her even for a moment.

I turn and watch her for awhile. And wonder what she's dreaming. And wonder how I got so lucky. Then I turn back toward the window. And pull the cover tighter around me. Wanting to stay awake as long as I can to watch the snow. I remember thinking just before I doze off that miracles do still occur.

"Thru the window I can see snow begin to fall. Knowing you're in love with me is the greatest gift of all..."

Labels: 3WW, Christmas, fiction

What's the deal with brunch? I mean, if it's a combination of breakfast and lunch, how come there's no lupper? Or linner?

Had dinner Sunday with the family. Or lunch, as the case may be. One time I said I was going to explain the whole lunch/dinner/supper thing and proper uses of each in the South.

It's not that difficult really. Lunch is always the meal in the middle of the day. Supper is always the last meal of the day. Dinner can refer to either, depending on day and circumstance.

Since we did eat at a sit-down restaurant Sunday, it may be called dinner. But can also still be called lunch. Had we just gone thru the drive-thru at McDonald's, that could only have been called lunch. You can't have dinner at McDonald's at 12 Noon. Make sense?

Likewise, if you're going out to a nice restaurant in the evening, you may say "I'm going out to dinner." Rather than "I'm going out to supper."

However, if your mother is cooking for the last meal of the day, it is more common to say, "Momma is cooking supper." If she's cooking lunch on Saturday or Sunday, it is more common to say, "Momma is cooking dinner." Got it? If you have further questions, you may ask them in the comments. Or, we could just call it linner.

My sister's husband got pulled over and given a warning for having the tint too dark on his truck. Is that just an Alabama thing? I'm not really sure. I don't do it, but a lot of people do.

Every small town and county around here seems to have a tint guy. He does it in his garage or under the shed out behind his house. And he usually has a nickname like Rock, or Peanut, or Bear. No one knows what his other job is, or if he even has one. And no one asks.

Driving to lunch, I passed a house with a hand-painted sign in the front yard that read: "Chickens 5 for $5." Is that a good price? I wonder if I could haggle and get a better price.

I miss haggling. We went to a high school football game a couple of weeks ago, and I talked the lady selling programs down from $3 to $2. That's something. I guess.

In other news, since marriage is so obviously imminent, I have been thinking about baby names lately. For my children, whenever I may have them. I've always liked my Dad's father's first name, Taylor, for a girl. However, my Dad's mother's name is Myrtle. And that just doesn't work.

But I found out at linner Sunday that her middle name was Sarina. I really like that and I thought it a cool name for someone born in the early 1900's. (Teddy Roosevelt. Mount Rushmore. Trustbusters. Represent!)

So I'm thinking if and when I have kids, I'll name the girl Taylor Sarina. And of course the boy will be named Seven. Pending approval of their mother.

"Smiling in the bright lights. Coming thru in stereo. When everybody loves you, you can never be lonely..."

I'm guest blogging over at Pia's this weekend. She's taking a blogging break to write her first book. Once she gets her book deal, I believe she is taking me out to Caridad's for some delcious flan to show her appreciation. It's my first time to guest blog anywhere, so check it out when you have a chance.

So I was kissing a girl the other day...

I pull back, thinking we're done. She moves in for two more small pecks. I pause, then curiously ask, "Did you just count to ten?"
"Yes," she admits, sounding as if she's wondering where I'm going with this.
"You were counting kisses! And you couldn't stop at eight."
"I had to get to ten... and how would you know unless you were counting, too!"

She was right. Yes, my friends, I'm afraid it's true. My name is Bone. And I count kisses.

It's all part of my OCD. Perhaps you remember. The volume on my TV can't be left on 13 or any multiple thereof. My bedroom and closet doors have to be closed before I go to sleep at night. And on and on.

Let me tell you a little about our organization. Numbers are very important to us. I can give one kiss. Or three kisses. Or five kisses. Or ten kisses. But not six kisses or seven kisses. Why? Well, I'm not sure. Research is still being done in these areas.

And the acceptable numbers are different for different people. Although ten is usually a safe bet with most any OCD'er. In our example above, I was OK with stopping at eight kisses. I felt it was a nice even number. But my partner was not. Therefore, she moved in to push the kiss count up to ten. And in turn, give balance to her universe.

So think about that the next time you're kissing someone and they move in for an extra peck or two. It could mean they really like you and can't get enough. Or, they could just be counting to ten. Or five.

That's all for now. I'm off to bed. Right after I turn off the computer speakers, make sure both doors are locked, check to make sure the iron is unplugged even though I haven't ironed in days, make sure the bedroom and closet doors are closed, make sure the volume on the TV is not set on 26, and triple check the alarm clock to make sure it's on and set to AM and not PM.

"There's something about her. And you don't know why, but you're dying to try. You wanna kiss the girl..."

Labels: OCD and me

Each week, I will post three (or more) random words. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write something using all of those words. It can be a few lines, a story, a poem, anything. Don't spend too much time on it. It doesn't have to be perfect. The idea is to let your mind wander and write what it will. I'll also write something using the same three words. Be sure to leave a comment if you participate.

This week's words are:
drop
slow
arms

Her movements were slow. Almost painfully so. It broke my heart to see her like this. I remembered so many days before when she was active. Vibrant. But not now. Now she walked in small steps. Careful. Measured. Her hands tightly gripping the silver metallic walker.

We began up the sidewalk. A determined look on her face. Tears behind both our eyes, I was sure. Then she tripped. The walker caught on a raised place on the sidewalk. She began to fall. Following closely beside her, I reached out and caught her.

I saw her countenance begin to drop. I wrapped my arms tightly around her and kicked the walker to the side. "Let's just go inside. That's enough for today."
"No," she said weakly, tears in her voice. "I have to do this. I have to get better. Will you please pick it up for me?"

I leaned over and brought the walker back to an upright position. And she began again. More determined than ever. One foot in front of the other. I thought how easily we take that for granted. Or at least how easily I had. But not now. And not ever again.

"If you're lost, you can look and you will find me, time after time. If you fall, I will catch you..."

Labels: 3WW, fiction

I took off work yesterday, because I had to work Labor Day and well, that's just not fair. I mean, because I wasn't feeling well. Yeah, that's it. *cough cough* And I took a break from the computer, too.

It's nice to remember there is a world outside the parameters of my flat screen monitor and my bed. And that occasionally, if one doesn't look too closely, it can appear that I have some semblance of a life.

Haven't been around blogs much the past four days, but things should be back to normal soon. And you can look forward to more of my witty, insightful, and/or sensitive comments.

To recap, let's try and hit the high points of the weekend... Alright, well thanks for reading :)

Lots of football was watched this weekend. I went to the Bama game Saturday. Then watched the last part of Texas/Ohio State when I got home. Not sure where Larson Buckyeye Fan has been lately, but I was pulling for OSU.

My Cowboys lost Sunday, and I know more than one of you are happy about that. Then Sunday night was Manning bowl. Which, if I must pick one Manning, I pick Peyton. (Sorry, Heather, but it's true.) Actually, I pick the third brother who doesn't play football. That's kinda like asking who is my favorite Judd. I gotta go with Ashley. She's hawt!

Then there was Monday night football. Which is now on ESPN. And has apparently been divided into two games. Also known as the ESPNization of Monday Night Football. Oh for the glory days of Cosell, Meredith, and Gifford.

Then there was poker. Playing and watching. Playing heads up Monday night, I had a King-four. A King, Queen, and Jack came on the flop. So I went all in. Unfortunately, my opponent had an Ace-ten, and therefore she flopped a straight and immediately called. Fortunately, the turn brought me a third King. And I got a four on the river for a full house! Unfortunately, that would never happen to me at the World Series of Poker.

And when I got home from work today, I had a missed call from the eye place. Yes, I got my new frames. Now, I'm not sure how I feel about them yet, but the girl who worked there and the girl I brought along really liked them. So what does it matter what I think? In poker terms, if you're wondering, that's a pair of Queens beats a King high :)

That's pretty much my weekend. Nothing but football, poker, and... eyeglasses.

"If I'm bettin' on a loser, I'm gonna have the devil to pay. But it's the only game I know to play, it doesn't matter anyway..."

I have an appointment with an optometrist today. Looks like there'll be no black market contact lenses for me. For at least a year anyway.

My main reason for wanting to go is so that I can get a new pair of glasses. As I've mentioned before, the ones I have now are too big for my small face. And have come to be affectionately called my Harry Potter glasses. I only wear them around the house.

I got my first pair of glasses in ninth grade. A horrid pair of yellow-gold colored frames. This was also the year I earned the Elvis nickname, due to my haircut and curled lip smile. At least I think that's why they called me Elvis. It was a tough year.

I stopped wearing them after a year or so. They laid in my car and eventually got broken. After that, I gradually forgot about my bad vision. Except when I was driving at night.

I was in my early twenties before I went back to the eye doctor. This time I got glasses and contacts. And have worn them ever since.

It's amazing how great peer pressure can be when you're young. Seemed like no one wanted to have glasses in high school. I'd like to say I didn't give in to peer pressure. And on many things, I didn't. But I never wanted to stand out too much.

In seventh grade, which was the last year of our middle school, I won the highest average award. Which was the seventh grade equivalent of valedictorian. My parents were so proud, but I was so embarrassed.

By the time I graduated high school, I had slipped to sixth in the class. Still in the top ten, but not showing out. Yet somehow, good grades had suddenly become the in thing, and everyone was bragging about their ranking.

We'd have an awards ceremony at the end of every year. And one of the awards given out was for perfect attendance for the year. I specifically remember asking a teacher one spring if I'd missed any days. She said I hadn't, so I checked out for half a day just so I wouldn't be recognized for perfect attendance.

There was also the Scholars Bowl team, which was the school quiz bowl team that competed against other schools in the area. I quit in tenth or eleventh grade because I thought it was too nerdy.

Then came college. I tanked freshman year, skipping classes, and ended up with a 2.7. But after that, something changed. I began to excel. I tried. And began to stand out. Except now, I enjoyed it.

I've never been comfortable in the spotlight, and never will be. But I was no longer intentionally trying to avoid it. And in things I was passionate about, I even became a bit of a perfectionist.

I'm not sure how this turned into a post about the evolution of Bone. Oh yes, the glasses. It's just funny how at 15, I thought wearing glasses was the worst thing in the world. And now, I'd almost prefer to wear them.

I've been wanting to get a stylish pair for sometime now, so that I don't have to wear contacts all the time. I've just been putting it off. Tuesday, I finally called and made an appointment. I will have a girl along to help me pick out my frames.

No more black market contacts. And no more Harry Potter. Besides, that look really wasn't working with the facial hair.

In other news, I also got my first-ever laser pointer yesterday. Companies send us pens all the time to try and get us to order them with our business name on them. The one they sent yesterday has a laser pointer in the end. People around the office love me more than ever now. Oh yeah. I think I might win Employee of the Month. If we had such an award.

Hope you all have a great weekend!

"Leave the sad guitar in its hardshell case. Leave the worried look on your lover's face. Let the orange embers in the fireplace remain..."

Tuesday, I got a call at work from Keisha, a girl I dated in... 1994. You rememeber 1994. Tonya Harding. OJ Simpson. Kurt Cobain. Ace of Base. Yeah, that 1994.

Keisha asks me how I've been and if I'm married yet or dating anyone. Then proceeds to tell me that she'd like to see me sometime. She's apparently really straightened up her life, and I quote, "I'm off drugs now and everything."

What?! I never knew she was on drugs! How did I miss that? I guess that explains a lot. There's got to be a funny line in there somewhere about addiction and Bone. Who knows.

She goes on to say that she has her own place now. It's just her and her daughter Courtney, who was a baby then, so she's probably twelve now. And then throws in the fact that she has a 64-inch TV.

What, is that supposed to magically lure me over there? Am I supposed to be hypnotized by all the pixels? "I have no interest in dating you or even seeing you again, but I couldn't resist your 64-inch big screen. Now please get out of the way, halftime's over."

Next, she volunteers her phone number, which for some reason, I write down, then throw away. Why can't it ever be that easy with a girl I like?

Then she tells me to give her a call sometime and she'll cook me dinner for me one night. And we hang up.

What? What? What... causes a person to call someone out of the blue that they dated for two months twelve years ago? Why? I'm confused. I mean, I've called exes before. But twelve years? Maybe it's the detox.

Ladies, if you've been drug free for at least 30 days, or have just completed a 12-step program, please don't call a guy you dated more than ten years ago. Especially if his name is Bone.

And would it make me a horrible person if I just started saying I was engaged?

"I, I gotta new life. You would hardly recognize me. I'm so glad. How could a person like me care for you?"

OK, I'm switching the meme to Wednesday. And which name do you like better? This one, or Exercises in Composition, or something else?

Each week, I will post three (or more) random words. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write something using all of those words. It can be a few lines, a story, a poem, anything. I'll also write something using the same three words and post it here. Be sure to leave a comment if you participate.

This week's words are:
trampoline
barrette
tears

One of my favorite memories of my four years with Lily is the night we fell asleep on the trampoline in the backyard.

I still lived at home. But there was no security light. No street lights nearby. The backyard was bordered by a neighbor's fence on the west side, a line of trees on the north and east, and of course, the house. All that, and a rather large tree right in the center of the yard, provided a measure of privacy.

It was a cool night, but not too cool. Actually, it was the perfect temperature, whatever that is. We laid there talking, looking up at the stars. Eventually we began to kiss. It was soft and sweet.

She began to undo my pants, as we continued to kiss. She always seemed to have a barrette or ponytail holder or something handy to pull her hair back. Lying on my back, feeling the cool night breeze against my face and arms, as she went down on me, I could think of nothing better.

After a few minutes, I stopped her. Gently pushed her over on her back and held my hand beneath her head until it came to rest on the trampoline. It was slow and passionate. Probably more because we were trying to be quiet than anything else.

When it was over, I collapsed on top of her. We both fell asleep for a little while. As many times as we made love, that was the only time it ever happened on a trampoline.

It's funny how something can make you both happy, and sad. But memories like that are worth a few tears.

"Scent of pine drifting by. Her hand traces lazy on your neck. Sunlight through the trees, recalls a better time..."

Labels: 3WW, Lily

Thanks to Pia, who nominated me for a Perfect Post Award for my Introduction post last month. I think I'm supposed to be guest blogging for her sometime this month. Stay tuned...

The signs had been increasing. The talk had been building for weeks.

"What do you think we'll have this year?"
"I think our new quarterback will be fine."
"Yeah, but if he gets hurt, we're in trouble."
"I'm not worried about our defense."
"You got any extra tickets for Saturday?"

By Friday, when the secretary came to work in a Bama shirt, with a red and white shaker, crimson purse with a white "A" on it, and a wooden box which when opened played the fight song and had a picture of a football field on it, there was no doubt. Football season had arrived!



Saturday was the first Bama game in the newly expanded Bryant-Denny Stadium. We played Hawaii. Not exactly a football powerhouse. But I guess if you can't go to Hawaii, the next best thing is bringing Hawaii to you. Or maybe not.

It was exciting to see the new stadium and all the new sights. And to be sitting there with 92,137 of my closest friends. A few of whom I'd like to introduce to you today. Hopefully enhancing your vicarious experience of being at a Crimson Tide game.

Having season tickets, there are many of the same people sitting around us each year. I have the distinct pleasure this year of sitting next to a guy I can only describe as the Dick Vitale of college football. This expert-in-his-own-mind has something to say after every... single... play. And he says it loud and proud.

Not only that, but there are two new screens this year at the far end of the stadium. One shows play-by-play and replays. The other acts as a scoreboard and occasionally during breaks will show game stats, other scores, and such.

Well, Dickie V here is evidently a bit nearsighted. He has to pull out his binoculars to read the scoreboard. And I guess he assumes the rest of us are nearsighted as well. As he chooses to read loudly every single stat and score off the giant screen. Every. Single. One. Did I mention he was loud?

By some point in the third quarter, I was seriously contemplating jabbing a shaker in my eye socket, just to see what he would say. He makes me want to nick my jugular and watch the blood slowly spurt out of my neck with each pulse of my heart, until I black out. It could be a long year.

Directly behind us is a guy my sister and I call Nacho. He and his wife sat in front of us last year. Nacho is a very large mammal. I actually like him. He's not loud and he makes decent comments during the game.

He earned his nickname during one particularly hot day last season when a malodorous emanation overtook our olfactory senses. My sister said it smelled like nacho cheese. And after some consideration, I deduced it must have come from him. And Nacho was born.

Directly in front of us are two ornery older couples. They don't like to stand. They don't like to cheer. And the men gripe and complain the entire game. Even after good plays, they can be heard saying things like "It's about time" or "Where has that been all game?"

Another of their trademarks is leaving the game early. It's rare to see them still in their seats with under five minutes left in the fourth quarter, even in a close game. And they never stay until the end. I'm not sure why they purchase tickets, really. And I haven't thought of a nickname for them yet. Not one I can say on a family blog anyway.

Behind us and to the right is a guy we refer to as DUI, who is probably in his twenties. Alcohol is not allowed in Bryant-Denny Stadium, so DUI brings his own. Every single game. He has sat around us the past two or three years, and wreaks of alcohol every game.

DUI makes frequent trips to the concession stand and/or restroom each week and mixes his Jack & Coke in the stands with the end of his shaker. He also regularly spills his alcohol, as he did this past Saturday, which serves to enhance the smell as well as the overall enjoyment of the game for the rest of us.

Final score Saturday: Alabama 25, Hawaii 17.

After each win, the crowd does a victory cheer called Rammer Jammer. As time ran out the other night, they began the cheer. Dickie V turned to me and said he wasn't doing it this week because he didn't think we deserved it.

As we were leaving, I turned around to see what DUI was doing. He was yelling something. Waving his shaker. Looking like he might fall over at any second. I think he knew we won. But I doubt he knew the score.

Hope your team won this weekend, too.

"From Carolina down to Georgia, smell the jasmine and magnolia. Sleepy sweet home Alabama, Roll Tide Roll..."