Why it Matters...a blog in three parts

The first of three parts on 'Why it Matters'

I have a friend that's not a football fan.

Hey...It happens. 

Even in the South. 

Her name is Liz. I've blogged about her before.

One year when Miami, her husband's choice of college football team, was struggling she honestly asked me:

"Why can't we just cheer for whichever team is good?


I mean, in the grand scheme of things why does it matter?"

I was speechless for a moment.

Because it was the first time I had ever heard the question asked...

But then again...

Why does it matter?

Who wins, who loses, who is good...

I mean, the truth is...It doesn't. Matter, that is.

But...

When I was four we started getting season tickets to the football games.

My parents wanted a hobby that the family could enjoy together that my brothers would still enjoy as they got older.

We would load up on Friday afternoons in my Grandparents RV and drive the four hours down to Auburn.

There was a hump in between my parent's seats that I would lay on. It would lull me to sleep as it heated up.

Dad would point out the major landmarks as we rattled down the highway.

Over the river, through the big city of Birmingham, past the gigantic peach at Clanton and finally on to the rolling plains of Auburn.

We sat in Section 53 of the stadium. It was twelve rows from the very top.

There we met Ernie and Mary Baker.

He had played for the team back in the fifties. Apparently that doesn't get you seats any better than anyone else's.

They sat next to us for thirty years.

Every time I thought about complaining I'd look at them tirelessly sitting through:

 the heat,

 and the rain,

 and the late nights,

 and the losses,

 and I'd stop.

I teared up last year when I read the letter saying they just couldn't make it to the stadium any more and had dropped their season tickets.

We got word last week that he passed away. Cancer.

Sunday mornings as we packed up and left Auburn the first place we stopped was at the gas station to get newspapers.

Mom would read to us about the games as we drove.

Elation and glee if we had won.

The same if Bama had lost.

Spare me the lecture.

To this day when I read the newspaper I hear my Mom's voice reading it.

I'm sure my brothers feel the same.

For away games my Mom's sister's family would come over.

We'd get barbecue and watch the games together.

Like every other Auburn fan we turned the announcers on the television down and listened to Jim Fyffe on the radio - delay and all.

So, back to the original question:

Why does it matter?

It matters for the memories.