By David Glenn Cox
It is a difficult relationship to understand. Sometimes, I’m not sure that I understand it myself. I guess it’s like having an alcoholic Uncle. You want to see the good in him, while the rest of the world only hears his slurred speech and sees his loose gait.
Alabama has no professional sports teams. For generations, they have followed and adored college football. Being a college football player at Auburn or Alabama, comes with a lot of perks. If you don’t make it to the NFL, you’ll always be a celebrity at home. If you played for Gene Stallings or St. Nick of Tuscaloosa, I’ll bet, you can sell some cars or sell some insurance Bubba. Bet you could get hired on as a football coach somewhere.
But there is just that one thing that spoils the tea. That star imbedded in the steps of the state house forever in Montgomery. The star where Jeff Davis took his oath of office. You could take a jackhammer and rip it out, but it would still be there. So proud to stand in rebellion in defense of human bondage, they memorialized it. The war was over, and they lamented that they lost, but didn’t lament fighting about it in the first place.
So, they took out their revenge on those they thought had brought this misfortune down on them. It was all the Black people’s fault. Everything was wonderful, until you know what. A fantasy belief, in a fantasy world that never really was. Well, Abe might a freed you, but that don’t mean nothing to us.
There is a duality of hidden rules and invisible lines in the sand. Friends on one level and strangers on another. You’ll never find a more honest, genuine, and charitable people who would help you anyway they can. These people, however, are largely not involved in state government.
Devout followers of the carpenter from Galilee. The same one they wouldn’t let into the Country Club, if he showed up at the door with his clubs. “Tell him, its on account of the Fire Marshall.”
Being the head football coach at Auburn is (was) a big deal to the home folk. When you live on the prairie, it don’t take much mountain to look impressive. College football is about tradition and pedigree and so is Alabama politics. This state has a long history of support for the plantation owner and the landed gentry. And if their daddy’s voted Republican, By god, so will they. It’s all in the good book you know, “Thou shalt not question the Chemical Company.”
Church and state are wedded together so tightly, the Bible thumpers play the drum solo from In a Gadda Davida thumping on their Bibles nightly. So, it stands to Alabama reasoning. Democrats are for baby killing and dirty filthy books, while Republicans are for Jesus. So, following that logic, you vote for any moron the Republican Party puts up there. Any football coach or pedophile, or self-taught primitive Baptist preacher or alcoholic will do. Just someone who knows how to take orders, like they’re working at Denny’s.
Wedded so tightly together, why a good honest Christian man would never suspect good Christian Republicans would use your faith, as a tool to impoverish you. As a means to shift the tax burden away from those own things and on to those who work for things. Jesus said, “The poor shall always be with you,” and Alabama Republicans want to make certain, that Jesus keeps his word on that.
Underfunding Alabama education is a tradition that goes back to the beginning. After all, all you need is to know how to read the Bible and the three Rs, reading, writing and beer drinking.
So, an entitled former Auburn football coach goes off the rails on a racist rant at the rally of Mr. Entitled himself, exposing the sad ugly truth. Red meat for the crowd, talk about Reparations. I’ve been gone a while, is there a bill pending in Alabama or anywhere else in this country, offering reparations? Just pulling it out of his butt to rile the crowd. Just set em up to knock them back down. “THEY want US to give THEM money, because THEY are all thieves!”
Svengali predicts; someone in the Green Room told him, he didn’t need another drink.
But at the same time, a Los Angeles city supervisor was caught on a hot mike, also involved in a racist rant. Only in Los Angeles, it was said in semi-private conversation. Which while not acceptable, is still better than taking to the podium and saying it on the public address system and then not apologizing for it. But instead being defiant in support for sedition and in support of treason, as well as being a racist.
Der Fuhrer isn’t a racist, but I think some around Der Fuhrer are. Trump gives his quiet acquiescence with a nod and a smile. He doesn’t speak a word against it. His stocks are starting to ebb, so he needs for Coach, to gin up the crowd some. By running close to the surface with his remarks and quit trying to be so subtle. Tell em, how you really feel.
It really is a beautiful, beautiful state with much to offer, but for the stain. Mountains in the North, the Gulf of Mexico in the South. A warm congenial climate, lots of rivers and nature. A state that deserves better than it gets, but the Bible thumpers rule. Along with the utility companies and the out of state business Interests and of course, the landed gentry and old money.
Harper Lee wrote her immortal novel “To Kill a Mockingbird” there in Alabama. And she told the truth about things. There are men like Atticus Finch there, and there are men like Tom Robinson. Good and evil seen through the lens of holy bibles and melanin . Convicted before trial, just like your daddy was convicted before trial.
Tuberville perpetuates the stereotypes that have held Alabama back for 100 years. The stereotype that made her America’s favorite trash dump, landfill operator, and the butt of toothbrush jokes worldwide. “Mama says, life is like a box of chocolates. But sometimes, there’s a dirty frigging Nazi in the box!”
“Sometimes the Bible in the hand of one man is worse than a whisky bottle in the hand of (another)… There are just some kind of men who – who’re so busy worrying about the next world they’ve never learned to live in this one, and you can look down the street and see the results.”
― Harper Lee