Never Go to the Iron Bowl Posthumously

I was at a loss. I couldn’t think of anything to blog about for today’s post. I did Thanksgiving. It’s too early to talk about Christmas. Neither Diddy, Kanye or a Kardashian had done anything particularly egregious lately. And the Iron Bowl 2013 talk is getting old faster than Harvey Updyke’s Pabst Blue Ribbon hit his TV Saturday night.

Then I saw this tweet from Auburn Turf Team:

Rest in peace: cremated remains dumped on field after #ironbowl2013

Accompanied by this picture:

Lots of folks are probably speculating that some adoring Auburn widow dumped her husband’s ashes on the field to mark the spot where Chris Davis nearly stepped out of bounds. But not me. I’m smarter than that. Here’s what I think happened.

Uncle Willard (let’s call him) was a huge Alabama fan. His front door was crimson. In his den, he proudly displayed pictures of him posing with the Bryants and the Namaths and the Rutledges and the countless others who make up the folklore that is Alabama football. He had Saban’s cell phone number. He had hounds tooth sheets.

Uncle Willard could say Roll Tide, Roll in 19 languages. Fluently.

Before he passed last spring, his death-bed request was to go to one last Iron Bowl with his three nephews. In fact, he requested to be cremated just for that purpose. (No one in has family had ever been cremated, but that Crimson Tide urn he saw while he was planning his arrangements sealed the deal.) Plus, how were his three nephews going to haul a coffin in and out of the stadium?

So there they were on Saturday night: the three nephews sitting alongside Willard’s urn (which had its own seat, no less). One tick remained. We all know how the game ended. And, yes, we all know how Uncle Willard landed on the field. Sometimes you just gotta throw something in disgust — even if it’s your uncle.

So here’s the moral of the story:

If your final request is to go to posthumously to the Iron Bowl, make sure to have your family members haul a coffin to the stadium. That way, if things go terribly (horribly, morbidly, unbelievably beautifully) wrong at the end, your stupid nephew could never chuck you more than 10 or 12 rows. And, even if the lid comes off, the Auburn Turf Team would still have a pretty good shot at IDing you.

About Barry Currin

Barry tries to be funny and poignant, and he's usually satisfied when he succeeds with one or the other. (Being both is awesome. And sometimes that happens.) Email him:

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