No I’ve Never Been to Heaven, but I’ve Been to Alabama

DISCLAIMER: The names and identifying details of certain individuals have been changed as to protect the privacy and employability of those involved. The contents of this article have not been modified for readability or entertainment value; everything below took place exactly as described. 

Though I will be the first to admit the numerous blessings I have been bestowed upon throughout my life, there has been a college football-shaped hole in my heart ever since I started school at Bucknell University back in 2014. We day drank every Saturday and, while I wouldn’t trade those memories for anything, there is something about 11:00am tailgates to country music for a college football game packed with 100,000 fans that always spoke to me. It called my name from afar like the green light in The Great Gatsby, and I was desperate to answer.

It was for that reason that when my friend Fitz half-joked about visiting University of Alabama at the age of 26, I jumped on the opportunity with 0 hesitation.

Within the hour, we bought 4 tickets for $300 a pop, and that’s when it hit us: budget and logistics may be a problem for others throughout the recruiting process.

Though Tuscaloosa was just a stones through away, it required a layover in Miami and then another hour+ drive from the Birmingham airport. Not to mention that flights were going for $600 roundtrip.

These are some of the texts we were met with:

We ultimately decided to cut flight costs by $300 by flying to Birmingham on the way there in order to save time for Friday night, then renting a car for the trip back and flying out of Atlanta (about 3 hours of driving).

Before we knew it, 2 other sickos by the name of Ben and Mike were added to our groupchat, “Alabama Greek Gods 🔱 “, and we were on our way down.

Mike arrived on Friday morning, as he conveniently had an interview in Atlanta on Thursday night. Ben and I were both set to arrive around 6pm Friday (perfect for rolling into an 8:30pm pregame), while Fitz would get in at 11pm because he is on that corporate finance Sigma Grindset. We hoped this trip would help get him back to his roots and realign his priorities.

Friday, 6:00pm

Ben and I touched down exactly on schedule and called an Uber to the hotel. As soon as we stepped foot in that Uber, we realized we were no longer in Kansas, which would become the theme of our trip.

The car reeked of cigarette smoke (sick 🤙 ) and our driver greeted us with that immediate rapport you only get in the South. Ben immediately asked for aux to play some country music to set the tone for the trip; I thought the driver was gonna rope max (that phrase will make sense to you shortly), but he seemed to be vibing with it. About half an hour in, Ben and I were deep in conversation about Horny Goat Weed, Adderall, and foo— wait, did somebody say Adderall?? The driver immediately perked up. Our exchange went a little something like this:

Driver: You said Adderall??

Me: Yeah

Driver: You got a script??

*me and Ben nervously look at each other*

Me: Yeah, I do.

Driver: Nice man. I’ve been trying to get one, I think I got that ADHD. I’ve got that schizophrenia too.

That got all of our attention.

Me: Damn man thats crazy…. so, you a big college football guy?

He went on to tell us various stories about his childhood, how he and George Pickens were in band class together and routinely got into mischief… the ride actually flew by and set the tone for the trip far better than Morgan Wallen ever could.

Friday, 7:30pm

When we arrived to the Comfort Inn & Suites Tuscaloosa, we were greeted with the same type of hospitality you’d expect out of the Ritz. The manager welcomed us by name (without looking), offered us free beverages, and we immediately felt at home.

We went upstairs to the second floor to unpack, and not before long, it was time to send this thing to effing moon. We didn’t have a bottle opener so we went downstairs to get one, and the lady at the front desk gave us her own car keys to use, as long as we “promised to give them back”. Remember what I said about Southern hospitality? Wild.

1.5 beers into our hotel pregame and we were already balls-deep in Xbox Live chatroom level conversation. Mike was generous enough to educate Ben and I on various terms he had learned while perusing the internet. I took the liberty of outlining them below, as they would prove to be a staple of our trip and will help you follow along.

That got us fired up alright. Time to hit the town.

Friday, 10:00pm

We had a long list of bars to hit, provided by various friends and acquaintances who had either gone to or visited the school. Our must-hits were:

Innisfree - “The Goat”. An outdoor spot and premiere bar of the town
Gallettes - The place to go to dance
Rounders - For late night
Waffle House - For late late night

Our Uber there was something of a bizarre one, and was a bit of a buzz kill to be honest. Our conversation with the driver went down like this:

*upon seeing a disco ball hanging from the driver’s ceiling*

Me: Cool disco ball man!

Driver: Thanks. You know what else is cool? Sexual assault awareness.”

This man proceeds to hand us a binder on sexual assault statistics and safety protocols.

While sexual assault awareness is undeniably important, it is not exactly how I hype myself up on my way to the bar. After an awkward yet educational 15 minute drive, we thanked the driver for the information, handed him back his binder, and disembarked.

The night wasn’t not fun, but didn’t exactly live up to our expectations. This is where your cheat sheet will come in handy:

We got completely mogged at Innisfree as there was an hour line around the block, so we were forced to pivot. It didn’t look that great anyways. Cope? Maybe. But perhaps there were some PAWGs at Gallettes, so that was our next move. Mogged once again by a line and a $90 fee to cut the aforementioned line. We ended up at a rooftop spot next door that I don’t remember the name of, but it seemed pretty black-pilled. While it wasn’t on any list of must-hits, it got the job done, but only marginally. We ended the night a bit early to save up for the main event tomorrow, and hit Waffle House on our way back. They were all out of waffles. #RopeMax.

Saturday, 9:30am

I woke up the next morning, red-eyed, spooning a wide-awake Fitzy.

Fitzy, staring into dead space: “I tried to get you off of me 3 times.”

Sorry, Hoss.

It was mother-effing game day.

One last day to get the big SEC school experience, and I’d die before I didn’t make the most of it. With kickoff at 6:45pm, we had exactly 9 hours and 15 minutes to squeeze every last bit out of what this place had to offer, and that’s exactly what we did.

The four of us jumped out of bed and hit the town for some food and gear for the impending tailgates and game. We knew that it would be a long time before our next meal, so we made sure it was a big one. God, was Tuscaloosa a sight to see on the morning of a game day...

It wasn’t even 11:00am and people were barbecuing in the streets, drinking beer. I asked a friend that’s a Bama alum where people tailgate on Saturday, and she responded by telling me that the entire town turned into a tailgate. She wasn’t wrong. You couldn’t throw a football without hitting a tent. It was paradise.

After a quick bite, we loaded up on gear at the official team store and headed back to the hotel for showers and a few drinks.

Saturday, 12:00pm

“The Boys Are Back In Town” kicked off our pregame and we were ready to run through a brick wall. After an hour or so of debating our fashion choices for the day (just guy stuff 💁‍♀️ ), we loaded up into our Uber and headed off to war.

Our first stop was The Quad. This is where the open tailgates were, where you can roll up with a case of beer and be received with open arms, which is exactly what happened.

We cold-approached a group of guys who were grillin’ up some brisket and got to man-flirting. Turns out they were AEPI’s which is funny because a) that is what frat Ben was in (despite not being Jewish), and b) I didn’t even know that Alabama had any Jews. Turns out I was right; they informed me that there were only about 30 of them. Still nice to know I wasn’t the only one. Regardless, they were kind enough to offer us brisket, to which we reciprocated with some Miller Lites. We didn’t need to barter, but we also wanted to be good guests.

After mingling for a bit, we were over the Quad. Though it was absolutely teaming with life, it was mostly families and small fraternities. It was time to move on to our next stop: the tailgate of a Sports Agency that a friend of mine works at.

Saturday, 1:00pm

Though my friend didn’t make the trip down, we were welcomed with open arms (told you that was a theme), and were offered some free drinks. It was significantly smaller than most of the other tailgates, but the guest-list of this tailgate was elite. I don’t want to pull any innocent civilians into the anarchy of this newsletter so I won’t use names, but among attendance was an All-Pro Super Bowl champion former linebacker, a current young phenom running back, a former Barstool legend, and the daughter of a very high profile college football coach. I know I’m the woat for teasing that information but, again, silence and secrecy; these people’s privacy and careers come first.

5-6 drinks in, we decided it was finally time to check out the bars and see if our luck would improve this time around. Fortunately, it did.

Saturday, 2:30pm

Our plan was to hit Gallettes then maybe bounce around, but there was no need: Gallettes was packed to the brim with people raging as if it were 1:00am at a nightclub. We had finally made it.

Yellow Hammers were the signature drink at Gallettes, and people were loaded up on them. For those who want to chef up at home, they are composed of:

Vodka
White rum
Amaretto
Orange juice
Pineapple juice

A waitress informed me that she had been there since 8am to prep for the crowd, and wouldn’t be leaving until 4am that night; this really was their Super Bowl, and it took place every other weekend.

I scanned the bar, taking in the events that unfolded before my very eyes; it was art. People in opposing jerseys playfully talked smack, others danced, others just drank… it was exactly what God intended.

As game time approached, Mike informed us of an exciting new development: his brothers friends belong to a fraternity that was located right across the stadium.

“Yeah we’re probably a little old for that, but what if we went as like, a joke? That’d be pretty funny, haha, right?

…Right??

…..right……?”

Saturday, 5:00pm

The guys at [fraternity redacted] let us in, no name-drop necessary. God, were these houses impressive... a wave of envy rushed over me as I pictured what it’d be like to live in a $13M (real number) mansion with 100 of my friends, balcony staring straight into the heart of Bryant-Denny stadium, though I snapped out of it and shifted into a frame of gratitude, even though I remained an outsider.

Fitzy wandered off as Mike went to say whats up to his brother’s boys, and Ben and I mobbed at the bar that they had set up. We were served immediately as we conversed with some alum who had come back to visit. That is one thing that really stuck out to me: there really is no such thing as “too old” to visit this school, as Alabama alum are constantly making the trip back for games, if they ever left in the first place. Cope? Probably. But that still made me feel better regarding my place in the social ecosystem of the weekend.

The game was set to begin in 30 minutes and Fitzy was no where to be found. We soon found him playing a game of pickup with a group of undergrads.

We corralled our friend, thanked the guys, and headed off to the main attraction: Alabama vs. LSU.

Saturday, 6:55pm

The walk to the stadium was something straight out of a movie and was nothing short of exhilarating. We were working off of limited sleep and had been drinking all day but, in this moment, nothing else mattered. If “Spirit In the Sky” wasn’t playing out loud, it was certainly playing in all of our heads.

We got to our seats a little after opening kickoff, but that was only because they were located in the literal last row of the highest deck of the stadium. They were at the 50-yard line, however, and with no one behind us, they felt like something of a VIP booth. I wouldn’t change a thing.

I will be the first to admit that, despite the tremendous lengths in which I went to to go to this game, the money I spent, and the pedestal on which I placed this experience in my head, I am not a college football fan. I’ve long been obsessed with the NFL and wasn’t in love with the style of play of college; it felt amateur to me. I would soon be proven wrong.

Alabama and LSU basically went blow for blow scoring touchdowns (my previous gripe with college football), but what I overlooked was the reaction and engagement of the crowd. Each score was celebrated as if it had just won them a bowl game, and I couldn’t help but feel the same electricity as I screamed my tail off for a team that I didn’t at all follow; the passion and energy was was contagious (the fact that I parlayed Bama ML with the over also helped).

Around half-time, we got up to get some food, and that is when father-time inevitably began to reach his arms around us. After mixing my nachos with peanut M&Ms (do not at all recommend), I was running out of gas. Hard.

The game was winding down and an Alabama win felt imminent. Regardless, I wasn’t proud of my decision to leave early with Ben to catch a quick nap before the night out. We prioritized a night at the bar over a once in a lifetime football experience, and I will forever look back on that decision with regret. Regardless, I watched my parlay hit on the Uber home, and we made it back to the hotel around 10:00pm. The plan was to take a 15 minute nap then head back out.

Saturday, 12:15am

Sh*t.

Rookie mistake. Because of my negligence, mind numb from the miles I put on it over the last 48 hours, I was faced with a difficult decision: Give up on the night, or sack up and make it back out. Ben was cashed and decided on the former. I didn’t blame him. We had really gotten everything out of this school that we came here to, there wasn’t much left to prove. Besides, we had a 3 hour drive to Atlanta early in the morning, it wouldn’t hurt to get a good night sleep.

I was moments away from kicking my feet back up, turning off the lights, and calling it a night, when the impetus of this trip hit me, giving me the clarity that the grog of the nap attempted to blur: we didn’t come here to watch the Alabama college experience. We came here to live it. And if there was one thing I learned from my time at Bucknell, it’s that sometimes the best moments were located where you least expected them. So I put on my Trinidad & Tobago Hockey hat, threw on my Derrick Henry jersey, and called myself an Uber. I’ll sleep when I’m dead.

Saturday, 1:00am

The bars close at 2:00am on Sundays, but daylight savings gave us an extra hour of play. Thanks Benji.

I pulled up to Gallettes to meet Mike and Fitz, and was met with a disappointing surprise: it was half empty. I guess Alabama students are human after all, and the events of the day tuckered them out, despite the close win over one of their rivals. Whatever. Wasn’t going to let it stop me. I tapped out Mike, and me and Fitz embarked on a solo mission.

Saturday 2:00am, Round 2

Hours of dancing and mingling went by, and it was clear that only the creatures were left standing this late. Fitz spent half the time chatting with a girl whose Mom watched on the periphery like a hawk. Yeah, it was time to go home. But not before another attempt at Waffle House.

As Fitz and I waited for our Uber, we were approached by a 20-something year old undergrad. He had definitely had himself a day, but didn’t seem that drunk. Through conversation, we started to suspect that he was black-pilled, but invited him to Waffle House with us anyways, as there were not many people left standing at this point of the night, and figured it could be entertaining. On the ride there, he informed us that his friend was kicked out the night before for standing on a table, exposing himself, and screaming the n-word. Yikes. Tough night.

There was a line out the door when we arrived at Waffle House, however it flew by, and we were soon greeted by an armed guard at the door. Tuscaloosa Waffle House does not mess around.

We were soon seated and perused the menu. For whatever reason, I decided to go with a hamburger, another culinary mistake of the weekend. The kid continued on with more out-of-pocket stories, which we loosely entertained, though I was growing very tired of his presence. While we waited for our food, Fitz offered him a Zyn, which he accepted and proceeded to swallow. Moments later, he was throwing up in a trash can in front of the entire restaurant, and was promptly escorted out by the armed guard. I’m still not entirely convinced that it wasn’t he who was kicked out of the Waffle House the night before for standing on the table, exposing himself, and screaming the n-word, and not “his friend”. Guess we’ll never know.

Saturday, 4:30am

After a few hours of pillow talk with the boys, it was finally time to go to bed. (say what you want, I love sharing a bed with the homies). When I look back on college, it is not the parties that I miss or the big events, but all the little seemingly meaningless moments in between, and that was the perspective our trip to Bama reminded me of.

As I drifted off to sleep, I finally got it. The whole college football thing, that is. The tailgates are unreal, the game is exhilarating, but it’s not about that. It’s about a group of people from 1000 different walks of life coming together under one cause, one common interest, to get away from life for a while and feel like a part of something. The result is the unmatched energy of Alabama football culture. The Quad, Galllettes, the frat houses, and Bryant-Denny stadium are the arenas in which allow and foster this camaraderie, but the people are truly what makes this place special, and the little moments in between the chaos in which we share.

Feel free to mog me in the comment section for ending this on a soft note but, after my experience, nothing is more clear. For the foreseeable future, catch me at the bar on Saturdays, wearing my Derrick Henry jersey, loaded up on Yellow Hammers, cheering with all my heart: Roll Tide.

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