A Weird Win in a Lovely Village
Auburn, AL
September 25, 2022
“SWEET AUBURN! Loveliest village of the plain.”
– Oliver Goldsmith, The Deserted Village
This is Homecoming and “Parents Weekend” at Auburn. We aren’t alums. But we do have a son who hopes to be one in about a year. So with his younger brother, Rita and I came to campus.
It was a beautiful day: lots of sun, no clouds, warm temperatures, and a slight breeze. Tailgaters filled the fields beside the stadium and around the town. Amid the white-topped tents, we found ours. We met a few folks, grabbed a few bites, and mingled a bit before heading inside.
As he always does, the “war eagle” opened the ceremony in unique fashion, by flying from the upper decks to the middle of the field. Bands marched, pom-poms waved, and the governor was on hand to crown the Homecoming Queen. We reveled in the pageantry of SEC Football, and watched a close contest between two awful teams.
Both squads looked like the Republicans heading into the mid-terms. Each seemed hell-bent on reviving an opponent so appalling that it should’ve forfeited any reasonable right to be in the game.
For four quarters, Auburn tried desperately to lose, and Missouri doggedly refused to let them. So they went to overtime, where Missouri thwarted victory by gifting Auburn the win. We marveled at the mind-blowing mastery of astounding ineptitude.
With a couple minutes left in a tie game, Auburn was driving. On third down at the edge of field goal range, the quarterback ran for what appeared to be an easy first down…yet slid one yard short.
Rather than kick the field goal to take the lead, Auburn opted to go for the first down. Naturally, against one of the worst defenses in the world, they failed.
Missouri, whose abysmal offense ordinarily operates with the alacrity of a snail moving backward atop a turtle going forward, punctuated the ensuing drive with a quick strike to just outside the Auburn end zone. With time expiring, a chip-shot field goal would win the game.
They missed.
So we received free football at the end of a game the teams should’ve paid us to watch them play. In overtime, Auburn got the ball first. They threw an apparent interception that replay overturned. With the reprieve, they’d kick a field goal to take the lead.
They missed.
But Mizzou committed a penalty that provided another chance. It was amazing…like the fix was in with both teams on the take. Yet Auburn took advantage of its second chance, and took a three-point lead.
For Missouri, a touchdown would win the game. Like a frightened matador dodging an intoxicated bull, the Auburn defense cleared a path. But, as they’d proven all day, Missouri is plenty capable of getting in its own way.
A hand-off from the twenty brought the ball to the brink of the end-zone, where Auburn had all but set-up a celebratory buffet for their visitors from Missouri. But despite red carpets, rose petals, free valet, and a Maître d’ all but pleading for them to come in, the guests refused the hospitality. It was like Auburn had prepared a spread of steak and champagne for a caravan of teetotaling vegans.
As the runner approached the goal, he dropped the ball. It rolled into the end-zone, where Auburn recovered it to secure the “win.” Relieved cheers came from 80,000 shaking heads. They seemed almost ashamed to have won. As one exasperated fan said with a shrug after what felt like an unwarranted win: “War Eagle?”
It was one of the strangest games I’d ever seen. Incompetence ran rampant. Poor strategy on both sides. Bad execution all around. Both teams wanted to lose, but only one could. And that one made the dejected trek back to the Show Me State.
Here in Auburn, fans had seen enough. Mercifully, the game was over. Yet they felt their team could still somehow find a way to lose it. So they got out of the stadium, and did what seemed appropriate after such an uninspiring showing: they toilet-papered their own town.
Actually, Auburn does this after every win. And not just football. And not just Auburn. After the Atlanta Braves won the World Series, Toomer’s Corner and Samford Park were coated in paper from depleted rolls.
The tradition of “rolling Toomer’s” apparently harkens to the days when Toomer’s Drugs posted tickers to track the score of Auburn’s out-of-town games. If they won, employees would announce the victory by tossing the tickers from the telegraph to the overhead power lines.
Toilet paper is said to have been used since the 1972 “Punt Bama Punt” game, before which an Auburn player promised (in the quaint restraint of an earlier era) his team would “beat the number two” out of the second-ranked Tide. They did, and TP has been tossed ever since.
As Rita, Alexander, and I walked through the reams of white, David found some high school friends who are now Auburn freshman. While he joined them for their post-game tailgate, the three of us enjoyed an early dinner at Tekila on Magnolia.
As everywhere on game-day, the place was lively, and packed. But the food was great, and we were happy to have a couple extra hours with our son before he went to work and we returned home. As it is anytime we visit, it’s hard to leave. We miss our elder son, and love his college town. But not as much as he does. And we understand why.
Auburn advertises itself as “the Loveliest Village on the Plains”. And unlike some local monikers that feel more ironic than accurate (“Brotherly Love”, Charm City”), this one holds up. The town is pleasant, the people delightful, and everyone seems happy. Even today, when their team looked terrible.
Because despite feeling like they’ve been consoled by collecting insurance on their totaled Mercedes, Auburn fans realize a “bad win” is still a win. And these days, we’ll take them wherever we can.
JD
