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Every summer is hot, but this one takes the cake. It’s the subject of most discussions around the watercooler, in line at the grocery store or on the phone with anyone who cares. Despite the heat, we have so much to love about summer, not the least being the awesome Blue Angels Air Show on Pensacola Beach. This year was extra special. Our family did the usual—load everyone up on the boat and anchor in Little Sabine. This is a show in itself and you try really hard not to think about what is actually in the water that you spend hours in waiting for the main event. Our philosophy is that maybe enough of whatever you are sipping will give your immune system a boost. People fly all sorts of flags from all sizes of watercraft at this show. Some are political, most are sports related. Usually the view is dotted with a zillion “A” flags. As in the opposite of Auburn. This year—nada. There were several Auburn flags flying and a lot of LSU ones, too. But “A” flags—zero, none. It was glorious. Amazing how two losses scatters the fans. Not us Auburn people. We have lost so many games that simply having a winning season is our dream.

As much as I love college football and autumn on the Gulf Coast, I hate to see summer go. I try not to complain about the heat and humidity because without them I wouldn’t have the regular opportunity to hear the rumbling thunder that announces an oncoming late afternoon storm. I love the swarms of butterflies that are drawn to the beds of pentas in our yard. The flowers continue to flourish, even in this heat, but the butterflies are starting to bail out and head south. I love every visit to Joe Patti Seafood, especially if Frank is calling the numbers. We are so fortunate to have stress in our lives that involves the difficult decision of fresh shrimp or grouper for dinner. My skin has paid dearly for my love of the sun and beach and yet I wouldn’t trade one minute of seashore therapy for all of the ivory skin in the world. My dermatologist certainly has job security as long as I am around. It is surely no coincidence that I was born on the last day of summer, soaking up every bit of my favorite season as we move into my next best season of fall. I know I don’t need to explain football fever to anyone who has gone to a college with a team, or who has had a child who has attended a college with a team. And, of course, there are plenty of people out there who can claim neither and yet still are passionate about the game. Listen to the Paul Finebaum show sometime. So, this is for those who don’t share the love or understanding of the bizarre craziness that follows college football. It’s not meant to make a fan or convert out of you. It’s only to offer a meager justification for the absolute insanity that overtakes anyone who cares. Stress is undoubtedly at the core of all misery and disease. But who can avoid it? The best we can do is take care of what we have and try our darndest to exercise and eat right, hoping that is enough. Global Warming, Covid, crazy people who won’t vaccinate, airline cancellation, cancer, gangs and drug dealers. Where does it end? We are surrounded 24/7 with plenty of things to keep us up at night. But mercifully, in the fall, we have one reprieve, one glorious distraction. College football. There ain’t nothing like it. I have never exactly been what you would call a politically correct person, if politically correct means avoiding taking sides or offending anyone. I love Auburn football, though I was not raised to bleed orange and blue. I grew up in a home where Friday nights meant high school games, Saturday was all about college ball, and Sundays included a pro game. But Saturdays were the best. One game on the television and others on the radio, though often they were one and the same since my parents thought, and still feel, the University of Alabama is the only school in the universe that matters. When you get all wrapped up in support of a team it has a way of blocking out everything crummy in your life. Unless you lose, that is. Even then, it’s a different kind of misery that you know you share with everyone else wearing your colors. And it’s not the kind of disappointment that changes the world like war and disease. It’s temporary. There is always next year and a clean slate with new players and if it was a really bad season, most likely new coaches as well. Other than maybe a Jimmy Buffett concert, where can you go to hang out all day drinking with people dressed in costume for the cause? I packed up recently to head for Auburn and stopped by my office before getting on the road.

I work in a place where almost everyone has declared loyalty to a team. But there is something screaming like neon about a lone car in a parking lot adorned in magnets, shakers, flags and yes, a tiger tail. What kind of normal person does this? It’s another story altogether when you hit the interstate with your brethren. Fight song blaring from the radio, onward to the game! Tailgating is a culture of its own. Don’t try to find logic in leaving at daybreak to find a good parking spot, only to have an entire day to fill with revelry before taking the party into a stadium. Beer at 10 am? You bet. When you are there it seems so right. The day after is another story. The tailgate parties at most campuses are legendary, with Ole Miss probably topping the list. Stake your territory and set up camp is what it’s all about. Once upon a time these gatherings included a couple of ice chests and some pom poms. Now they have television, catering, full bars and party favors. If as much effort went into solving world problems as goes into planning an SEC game weekend, there would unquestionably be peace and harmony among the nations. And it’s not all restricted to actually going to the game. Every bit as much goes into a stay –athome -and -watch, because then you follow all of the games. Not that I am one of them, but many are said to take as much joy from another’s loss as they are from their own win. You don’t say this out loud; you just keep it deep inside where some sign of it does occasionally show it’s ugly self in horrible ways like poisoning trees. But even alone with my television, I am wearing team support gear as if I was ready to suit up and take the field. And when the marching band struts out and fireworks precede the team bursting into the arena, nothing else matters—not terrorism, not war and certainly not politics. Not for three and a half hours anyway. It’s only a game you may say? Not a chance.

August Birthdays

7 Cherry Fitch

11 Jenny Noonan

14 Corbett Davis, Jr

27 Sharon Duplantis

28 John Griffing

28 Jim Neal

31 Milton Ussry