a near religious experience at bear's shrine...

from the 9.25.07 edition of the herald-gazette. photo by neil leifer.

They call Tuscaloosa, Alabama the Capstone.
I’m not sure why.
Tuscaloosa is first and foremost a shrine to Paul W. (Bear) Bryant, the late, legendary coach of the Alabama Crimson Tide.
Those of us in red and black intrepid enough to journey into the shrine Saturday parked on the sidewalk bordering a street named for the Bear. Just across the way was the Paul W. Bryant museum. Alabama fans - male and female, alike - sported various versions of the Bear’s trademark houndstooth hat on their heads despite oppressive humidity.
Those fans - estimated at 125,000 strong at tailgate time - were in their cups and ebullient over the arrival of their supposed savior Nick Saban, the anointed second coming of the Bear, and his unblemished record.
They dismissed we Dawgs as a meddlesome speed bump on the superhighway that would carry them back to national championship glory.
ESPN’s Gameday crew was on hand, adding to the frenzy. Bama fans in gleaming RVs watched the preliminary bouts of the day on the flat screens and roasted offerings to the Bear in sprawling grassed lots. They were in a feeding frenzy and Dog meat was the evening’s featured entree.
It was an electric atmosphere unmatched in college football.
Still, as I climbed high into the menacing black sky toward my perch overlooking the endzone of Bryant-Denny Stadium, I felt confident. That confidence was rewarded as the Dawgs took the opening kickoff and drove the length of the field for a touchdown and 7-point lead. It was the first time a Saban era Alabama team had trailed.
The deafening roar of the Bama crowd, previously generated at decibel levels high enough to make one plug one’s ears, diminished.
Georgia added a field goal in the second quarter for a 10-0 lead which Bama cut to 10-3 with a field goal of their own as time expired in the first half.
A Tide return man fumbled the opening kickoff of the second half and Georgia recovered deep in enemy territory but could not score. It seemed a gust of wind pushed a UGA field goal attempt wide at the last second. It was almost as if the Bear himself had blown the ball off course.
The Bama faithful roared back to life. A chill ran up my spine.
The Tide tied it up at 10-10 at the 10:15 mark of the third quarter. The crowd did what seemed impossible - it got louder still.
Then, the Dogs made a statement drive of their own - the most impressive yet in a largely unimpressive season - to take a 17-10 lead with 6:08 left in the period.
With time starting to wane, Georgia made it 20-10 with another kick and my confidence returned. The crowd quieted.
But, Bama would not go away. They added a field goal to move to within a touchdown. Georgia could not hold the ball to run out the clock but pinned Bama deep in its own territory with a booming punt. Things looked good for the Dawgs but I could feel the inevitable coming.
“We’re going to overtime,” I announced to the intrepid. They scoffed but I was dead on as Alabama scored with just 1:09 left to tie the game.
It seemed my clairvoyance would be proven inaccurate as Georgia perfectly executed its two-minute drill only to have the Bear’s breath blow aside yet another field goal attempt and guarantee free football.
Georgia’s defense stoned Bama in the first series of overtime, forcing a field goal.
The Dawgs then got the ball and did something very unusual for them in the Mark Richt era or any era preceding it in fact. They went for the throat!
Quarterback Matthew Stafford hit wide receiver Mikey Henderson with a perfect strike in the corner of the endzone and it was over.
The Bama crowd gathered their things and headed for the house while we whooped it up. I lit up a celebratory cigar in honor of Larry Munson who was not there to rasp out the game-ending drama as he has so many times before.
Later we sat in our red and black chairs on the sidewalk hard alongside Paul W. Bryant Drive and watched as the Bama faithful motored mournfully by on their journeys back to hamlets like Sylacauga and Alexander City.
They were quiet - real quiet.
It was a near religious experience - a funeral cortege for the still-dead Bear and the national title hopes of some mighty haughty fans.