by Brian Oliu
Week Five: Alabama 25 – Ole Miss 0
Here, we know hubris–the belief that every city that tries to run ours will fall faster than an eagle plucked out of the sky, that we are a factory that specializes in a slow crush: we will strap your cleats to the conveyor belt & you will have nowhere to run. And yet we have no tolerance for a bad egg; a cog that attempts to disrupt the process with bold claims and jagged edges: we scoff, we cast judging eyes. You do not use our name in vain or else you will be struck down in a way that makes your words seem hollow. After the machine warms, after we melt all that you have, break down entities to a less ordered state, we will say your words back to you, as if you have forgotten. You will cool, and you will harden into your new shape, the one that we have given you. Your loved ones will count the scores on your sides: the gashes in metal will help them remember you were not always this treated.
Week Six Preview: Georgia State at Alabama (Homecoming)
Consider this a favor curried: a panther for the poaching, a lamb to the slaughter, a cupcake for the taking. Here, we remind ourselves how beautiful we are: how unstoppable we can be when we wish to be, when the opponents on the other side of the line are taking photographs of themselves on the field–asking assistant coaches to snap shots with their arms around each other so they can send it to their family that are not here to watch them pick dirt from their teeth. When our opponents are older, they will tell their children that they rolled with them Bama boys the best they could; that they broke a tackle or two, that they swatted a ball away from someone who does this for a living–someone they can still see on the television. They are heroes for just showing up, and we recognize them as such: we are painting the buildings, we are building the floats out of tissue paper–this is the home that they’ve imagined since they could crawl.