The Best BBQ in Louisville?

In my quest to find the best BBQ in the Louisville area, Alice, Kelly and I ate at Shane's Rib Shack this afternoon. I prefer South Carolina style BBQ, cooked in vinegar and pepper with the sauce on the side, but for pork cooked in sauce, Shane's was not just the best in the Louisville area but perhaps the best I've ever had. The meat wasn't slathered in sauce, but had just the right amount and the sauce was very tasty. Appropriate sides were Brunswick stew and fried okra. The sweet tea wasn't up to par, and the perfect topper would've been banana pudding (which they didn't have), but in my 27 years here I haven't found a better place to eat BBQ, yet. Until and unless I come across something better, Shane's is king of the 'ville...

A Preacher's Bible

I only wish I had written this, but I am reading through one of his Bibles (maybe this one) in my quiet times now. I take it to church with me and use it during my home Bible studies with Jehovah's Witnesses:

I do not look particularly special or imposing; just an old King James Bible with a somewhat battered cover and pages worn with time and much use, and with verses underlined and notes scribbled in the margins. I am not his only Bible – many of my brothers, older or younger than I, were carried and read and studied and used by him, for the better part of six decades. But, like all of the others, I was loved and honored and believed by him…and most of all I was preached by him.
For Clyde Hartley was a preacher, and that makes me a preacher’s Bible. In the 12 churches he pastored from one end of Alabama to the other, he preached. Revivals and supply preaching, he preached. Every opportunity he got, he preached. Without boasting, I say there is something special about a preacher’s Bible. All Bibles are precious and powerful and important to the saints of God who believe them, but I was privileged to be owned by a preacher – by an old soldier of the cross.
I have ridden in his car with him, walked into pulpits with him, accompanied him to gravesides, kept watch with him on long dark nights, listened as he said, “You may kiss the bride,” and helped him give counsel and comfort to those seeking it.
I don’t know how many sermons have been preached from my pages, but it is many. I could not say how many souls have come to Jesus through my Gospel, but the number is great. I do not know how many lives have been influenced or how many people helped by the preacher and me, but it is a vast multitude, for he preached many years and touched many people.
He preached about Jericho and Jerusalem and Jabesh-Gilead.
About Samson and Samuel and Saul of Tarsus.
About Heaven and hell, and the rich man and Lazarus.
About blind Bartimaeus, Peter, John the Baptist, and doubting Thomas.
Little Zacchaeus in the sycamore tree, and John on the Isle of Patmos.
About Moses, Daniel, the three Hebrew children, Abraham, Joseph, Nicodemus, Elijah, Noah, Solomon, and the woman at the well.
He preached salvation, and said, “All have sinned,” and, “The wages of sin is death but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord,” and, “God commendeth His love toward us in that while we were yet sinners Christ died for us,” and, “I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father but by me.”
He preached about sin and the second coming.
About love and holiness and power.
About hope and peace and mercy.
About grace and goodness and glory.
About The Great Commission, The Great Physician, and The Great Shepherd.
About David and Goliath, Paul and Silas, Ruth and Naomi, Cain and Abel, and Jonah and the whale.
And most of all, above all, he preached Jesus. His birth, life, death, resurrection and return. His beauty, power, wisdom, and His ministry at the right hand of the throne of God.
And because I knew the man personally, I can say: he lived what he preached. He walked with God, had great faith, looked for a new Heaven and a new earth wherein dwelleth righteousness…and in so doing left a legacy for those who follow.
And now the preacher’s voice is silent, and his form is stilled.
But his work remains, and in that City he preached about so often he has found that every word I gave him was true, for he knows now the One who wrote me.
So now we’ll say our amens and goodbyes and depart, but we will expect to meet again soon, because he and I have told you to expect that.
If he were here he would take me and open me and read me and tell you one last time: “God loves you,” and, “Ye must be born again,” and, “For me to live is Christ and to die is gain.”
Now I’ll go home with someone, and be put in a place of safekeeping, and perhaps be used very little for the rest of my days. But that is all right with me. Like the preacher who owned me I have finished my course. But when you take me out and look at me and handle me, treat me with the honor and respect due God’s Word, and with a little more besides.
Because in my younger days…
I was Clyde Hartley’s Bible.

By Ricky Emery, Baptist preacher and Clyde Hartley’s son-in-law, for his funeral Aug. 1, 2008.

Sunday in the South (Feb. 28, 2010)

As we drove over the mountain from Arab (Ala.), beautiful Lake Guntersville came into view. A wave of nostalgia hit 14-year-old Kelly, and suddenly she was 5 again and on her way to hear “Pox” preach at his church.
We arrived at the church, Mt. Carmel Baptist (on Georgia Mountain), between 10:30 and 11, went in a side door and began to run into people who recognized us simply because I do look like my dad. For me, it took a while for some of the names and faces and their positions in the church to fall into place, but before the day was over I had connected most of the dots.
Sandra Preston came up to me and hugged my neck, then burst into tears. “You look so much like your dad,” she said.
We took our seats near the front of the sanctuary, where we had always sat when we visited the church and where my mother sat to listen to my dad’s preaching.
The current pastor, Dean Timbes, was new to me, but he talked about how in his nearly five decades of ministry he had never been in a church where the name of the former pastor came up as much as Clyde Hartley’s name did. My dad loved his church, and they loved him in return.
I had never heard the choir, led by Jennie Clark and accompanied by Mandy Chandler, sound better. Seeing Jennie reminded me of the time she approached Alice and me after Sunday School and told us Faith and Kelly were going to be singing “Amazing Grace.” Kelly was maybe 4 at the time. Alice and I looked at each other and both said, “Kelly doesn’t know ‘Amazing Grace.’” But she stood there anyway with Faith and pretended to sing. Her lips were moving but nothing much was coming out. She’s since become a pretty good singer and does solos in the church quite often. She even knows “Amazing Grace” now.
Chuck Knight was the guest preacher for the morning service. Chuck had been a member of my dad’s church in Albertville, Union Grove Baptist. My dad had baptized Chuck, had given him his first position in a church as his youth minister at Mt. Carmel, and Chuck helped preach my dad’s funeral. He wouldn’t let us pay him for that, saying it was an honor to preach Clyde Hartley’s funeral and he couldn’t take money for it. In his brief message from Philippians 1, he talked about how he had been a Timothy to my dad’s Paul. I noticed further on down in that chapter the words my dad quoted in the days shortly before his death, in verse 21, “For me, to live is Christ and to die is gain.”
After Chuck’s sermon the original building committee was called forward to read the plaque that dedicated the new educational building and fellowship hall to my dad’s name, and they burned the note to the building since it was now officially paid for. In part the dedication read, “In gratitude for the labors of all who love & serve this church; in remembrance of those who have finished their course, we celebrate this note burning service this morning.”
The deacon chairman, Don Campbell, spoke of a time that he felt the need to be re-baptized. My dad counseled him about it and told him he knew he was saved, but if being re-baptized would make him feel better then he would do it, and he did. I think Sunday was a pretty emotional day for Don.
The associational director of missions, Randall Stoner, said a prayer of dedication.
The Sunday School superintendent, Johnny Edmonds, shook my hand at least three times. He didn’t have much to say but he did seem to really appreciate that we had made the drive down.
The church provided a pitch-in lunch in the fellowship hall following the service. A few of the members commented to me that my dad always found a way to be at the front of the line when lunch was served. I pointed out that he was usually the one to say the prayer, and he’d position himself by the table at the front of the line to do it. When I was around I’d usually stand next to him, because I knew his tricks…
Bro. Timbes, Bro. Stoner and I talked some and discovered we had mutual friends, some I had gotten to know through the campus ministries at Jacksonville State, and some from other places.
While we were talking to one of the church members, Joan Hughes, Kelly mentioned that the only thing missing from the day was the Juicy Fruit gum that “Nana” used to give her during the worship service to keep her occupied.
One new couple in the church introduced themselves to me. They had family from Roanoke, in east central Alabama where I had grown up. They asked if I knew any Brooks. Dave Brooks has been my best friend for 39 years and this was his cousin. So we talked for awhile.
Until a cute little 20-year-old girl stood in front of me and I asked, “Am I supposed to know you?” I knew who she was. Alex Hughes is the same age as my oldest daughter, Faith. They somehow had maintained a friendship of sorts over the years even though they hardly ever saw each other. The way she stood there and smiled as she talked to me, I knew she had to be smiling because I reminded her of my dad.
Alice, Kelly and I had our picture taken holding the dedication plaque close to where it’s supposed to be placed. Then we changed clothes and went on out to the car.
We drove by my folks’ old yellow brick house on Lindsey Lane across the road from Lake Guntersville just to see the old homestead, and then we began the seven-hour journey back to Southern Indiana. Kelly bought some Juicy Fruit gum along the way…

Redeeming the Time

A devotional on the importance of maintaining a daily quiet time:

Colossians 4:
2 - Continue in prayer, watching in it with thanksgiving, 3 - praying together also concerning us, 4 - in order that God may open to us an opportunity to spread the word, to speak the mystery of Christ, the cause for which indeed I have been bound, in order that I may manifest it as it behooves me to speak. 5 - Walk in wisdom toward unbelievers, redeeming the time.

We are commanded in 1 Thessalonians 5:17 to “pray continually.” According to John Pollock, Billy Graham was once asked how often he prays. He answered, “All the time.” While I served as a counselor in two Billy Graham Crusades (in Louisville and Indianapolis), I never had the opportunity to meet him. But I don’t believe Billy Graham prays “all the time.” I think that more likely he has an attitude of prayer at all times.
In Colossians 4 we are urged to continue in prayer. Prayer should be a part of our daily quiet time, as we seek God to direct our steps. It should also be a part of our daily walk, and we should continue in an attitude of prayer throughout the day. We are likewise urged in verse 2 to “watch in it with thanksgiving.” As we study prayer in the Bible, it can be noted that thanksgiving is the proper way to approach the throne of God. We don’t go in with our petitions, and list everything we want and expect from God. We go in with a right attitude, approaching Him as the Supreme Being of the entire universe, and as our close friend, being thankful for what He has already supplied us with.
“Watching in it” – the first circumstance that brings to mind is Gethsemane, where Christ prayed before he was crucified. And all He asked his friends to do while He prayed was to watch and wait. And of course they fell asleep. That’s what this is conveying to us to avoid. Rise, be awake, stay awake…
The apostle Paul here is asking for the prayers of the saints so that he may have an open door to spread the Gospel, to testify about Christ, which is exactly what got him into trouble in the first place. He still yearns for chances to speak about Jesus as the Spirit moves him.
Verse 5 is the focal point of this study. We are to walk in wisdom as we witness. “Redeeming the time” in this instance is an imperative to make the most of what we have, in time and in opportunities, to rescue the time from being lost. There are 1440 minutes in a day. We don’t get any of them back. Use them wisely…
God expects us to tithe our money. We know that. We’re expected to give at least a tenth of what we have. But tithing should include not only a tenth of our money, but a portion of our time as well. Jesus spent time, and lots of it, in worship, thanksgiving, prayer, meditation and spreading the Good News. Shouldn’t we follow His example?

Take Up Thy Cross and Follow Me

One weekend, when I was 25 years old, I was invited to go to a Missions Conference with a vanload of students from the Baptist Campus Ministries group from Jacksonville State (Ala.), where I was in my first year there as a student. I wasn’t interested in the conference, but I was interested in getting out of Jacksonville for the weekend, so I rode along.

That Friday night, 30 years ago today (Feb. 20), I committed my life to the Lord. Until then, I didn't know what having Jesus as the Lord of my life meant.
As the son of a Southern Baptist pastor, I had grown up in church. I knew all the Bible stories. I knew all the right answers. I had the head knowledge. But Jesus did not rule in my heart as the Lord of my life. Then, at Binkley Chapel on the Southeastern Seminary campus in Wake Forest, N.C., through the preaching of William Hendricks and the music of Ken Medema, the scales fell from my eyes, and that knowledge was opened to understanding.
I didn't know what the future would hold (still don't), but I knew I didn't want to face it without God. And I promised Him I'd go anywhere He wanted me to go and do anything He wanted me to do. And I've tried to follow that promise since. I'm still open to going anywhere He wants me to go, and doing anything He wants me to do.

I wish everyone could have that same experience, to come to the point in their lives where they understand what really following Jesus means. It gave me a sense of purpose and direction I had never known before, and turned my life completely around.

Matthew 16:24 immediately became an important verse to me, where Jesus said, “If anyone wishes to come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross, and follow me.” Simply put Jesus is asking us to forfeit our lives to Him and let Him decide how we’re to live them. Of course that’s easier said than done, but studying the Bible as often as you can, every day if you can, and praying makes it a more attainable goal. As Christians we shouldn't make decisions without God's guidance.

Another passage from Matthew that soon became important to me was The Great Commission, in chapter 28, verses 18-20. Jesus assured His disciples just before He ascended into Heaven, “And lo I AM with you alway, even unto the end of the world.” I took that assurance to heart.

Ironically, of course, these are considered to be “missions” verses, and even though I wasn’t interested in missions before I left for that weekend, I am now, and have been since. I may not get paid to be a missionary, but I certainly feel called and ordained by God to be a missionary, and feel that call is meant for every other Christian as well.

Job Well Done Auburn Staff

I wrote the following and posted it to Facebook over two years ago (Jan. 9, 2009). Re-reading it made me realize how well this "new" staff has met my expectations as an Auburn fan of some 50 years. It was previously entitled "Welcome New Auburn Staff":

Now that Gene Chizik's new football staff at Auburn is practically complete and all in place, I'd like to welcome them to the Plains and give them a few pointers that will make life easier for all. For those who have worked at Auburn before these are mere reminders. For those new to the staff, these are the basics - the requirements of the job.
For starters, Auburn's reputation and tradition is smashmouth. So any talk of a new spread offense (that may or may not be a spread) needs to be tempered with the realization that the offense needs to be able to pick up a yard at the goal line or on fourth down by running the ball right down the esophagus of the opponent. Auburn fans won't stand for less. The defense also needs to be smashmouth. It's expected on both sides of the ball...
Having said that, if you wanna pass the ball like Utah did against Alabama, that's okay. Alabama didn't seem to have an answer for Utah's offense, so the spread offense can't be all bad. And speaking of Alabama, that's a must-win on the schedule. You can lose to other teams and it won't matter as much (don't lose too many though), but you HAVE to beat Alabama. Every year. Or it could cost you your job. Tommy Tuberville was 7-3 against Auburn's cross-state rivals. The second time he lost to them (about eight years ago), there was a little plane ride to Clarksville, Ind., and an attempt to hire the Louisville coach to replace him. That failed. Then he caught on and beat Alabama six years in a row. The next time he lost to them, this past season, he "resigned" and there was an opening for you...
Let me re-emphasize: You HAVE to beat Alabama. Auburn fans live with Alabama fans 365 days a year - some in the same household (these are referred to as mixed marriages). So the Iron Bowl (dubbed that by former Auburn coach Shug Jordan when THE GAME was played in Birmingham every year) is a topic of discussion every day. All year long. It's called braggin' rights. But, as Frank Broyles once commented while covering the game for TV, "It's not a matter of life and death. It's more important than that." The Auburn family doesn't want to beat Alabama just on the field. It would be nice to beat them in recruiting too.
Which brings me to my next point. It's NOT the Auburn nation. It IS the Auburn family. Nation is so impersonal. And pertinent to other schools. Auburn is family. Always has been.
You may wonder, what does "War Eagle" mean? It's what Auburn fans shout when the ball is kicked off. It's what Auburn fans chant when the mascot is circling the field in an emotional pre-game ceremony. It's what Auburn fans say to each other as a greeting, whether in Auburn or in an airport in Tokyo. You see an Auburn t-shirt on another family member and there's an instant connection. There are many legends, but the one I believe says that a young man came across a wounded eagle at a civil war battlefield. The eagle appeared to be the only survivor. He nursed the eagle back to health, and later became a professor at Auburn. During Auburn's first football game against Georgia, in 1892, the professor was in the stands with his eagle when it broke free. The students, who recognized the old eagle, chanted "War Eagle" as it circled the field while Auburn marched its way to the game-winning score. The eagle then collapsed and died, having given all its effort in ultimate victory.
There's also the Auburn creed, which you'll need to learn. It ends by saying, "I believe in Auburn, and love it."
The bottom line is you're expected to win. Don't ever cheat, but win. Now. Auburn has the talent. The talent needs you - coaching. As much as you don't want to lose to Alabama, don't ever lose to Vanderbilt. Auburn had never lost to Vanderbilt in my lifetime, and I'm 52, until this year. Had Auburn been able to score from the 1-yard-line against Vandy, that streak would be intact and Auburn would've gone to a bowl. You'd probably still be coaching somewhere else. Don't EVER lose to Vandy. And don't forget, every recruit you sign, every preparation you make, during the season and in the off-season, needs to be something that will help Auburn beat Alabama. It's time to get another streak going there...
Hope this helps in your transition. Do these things and you will be an Auburn man.

Make the Best of What You've Got

I got to be friends with another stay-at-home dad when Faith was in elementary school. One day we decided to get together at the house and write a song. At the time our house and car were pretty much in the shape mentioned in this lyric. Not so much now. The lyric still lacks a melody:

This house has been around awhile
And you might say it’s getting old
The plumbing needs a lot of work
The garage door won’t stay closed
The roof leaks and the gutters
The AC’s out again
Every time I turn around
Got to call a repairman

But if you can’t have the best of everything
Make the best of what you’ve got
Be thankful that you have a house
And don’t live in a vacant lot
Sometimes we keep on searching
Always wanting more
While what we have may be
What others are longing for

This car has been around awhile
Might get me where I need to go
Cross my fingers when I turn the key
‘Cause you just don’t ever know
She needs a carburetor
The tires are wearing thin
Seems every time I turn around
It’s in the shop again

But if you can’t have the best of everything
Make the best of what you’ve got
Be thankful that you have a car
And don’t push a shopping cart
Sometimes we keep on searching
Always wanting more
While what we have may be
What others are longing for

Copyright 1997 by Ken Biggs and C. Randall Hartley.

Leaving the Dead and Wounded

I was living in Muscle Shoals (Ala.), the hit recording capital of the world at the time, trying to make it as a songwriter, when I had dinner at my cousin Norma Jean's house one evening. I was laying on the floor listening to the TV news when the correspondent said, about wherever the battle was going on in 1978, "The fighting was so intense they were leaving the dead and wounded behind." That comment sparked this lyric about war, the old West, love, trying to make it in the music business, and/or growing up in a small town. Reader's choice:

LEAVING THE DEAD AND WOUNDED

Challenging Boot Hill one more time.
Challenging the law of averages
By now the odds should be mine.
Going up against the lone one
This time I've got to win.
Hope it's not the wrong one
Just can't do it again.

Leaving the dead and wounded
Only the dead and wounded
Leaving the dead and wounded
Behind

The dead they just won't live
Ain't no use in trying
To change the way things are
Inside I think I'm dying.
The wounded keep on trying
But soon they stop believing
Thinking it's not worth the pain
The dream is deceiving

But I'm leaving the dead and wounded
Only the dead and wounded
Leaving the dead and wounded
Behind
Leaving the dead and wounded
Only the dead and wounded
Leaving the dead and wounded
Behind

Maybe it’s the strong that survive
And make it to the next cattle drive
Never look back over your shoulder
If you can’t weather the storm you get colder
Tomorrow fades into the sunset
Yesterday’s time to forget
A tenderfoot duped by fool’s gold
In this world a young man is old

So I’m leaving the dead and wounded
Only the dead and wounded
Leaving the dead and wounded
Behind

Copyright 1978 by Randy Hartley

Over and Done

The morning after
World War III
Fallout has settled again on you and me
Stone cold silence
Comes creeping in
When you slip out, you leave me sleeping in

(CHORUS)
Over and over and over again
I try to reach you but you just won’t let me in
You turn your back and you walk away
It’s just a foolish game, no way to win
I guess it’s over and over and done

Another morning
And it’s still cold
Buried in your paper with your cup of cappuccino
What has happened
To you and me?
We promised better or worse for all eternity, but

(REPEAT CHORUS)
Over and over…

(BRIDGE)
If reality
Matched our fantasies
Then all the dreams that we once shared
Would still be coming true

(REPEAT CHORUS AND FADE)

Copyright 1994 by C. Randall Hartley and Turley Richards.

National Champs

Early in the morning of Jan. 8 I was looking out my back door. I’d never been in a blizzard before, but what was happening outside resembled what I thought a blizzard would look like. The wind was blowing hard, the snow was coming down, and the flight I had booked for later in the day to Phoenix through Chicago for the National Championship game looked less likely to happen. So I went to bed. When I woke up, the snow was gone, the weather was clear at about 15 degrees, and pieces of the trip started to fall into place.

Alice and Kelly dropped me off at the Louisville airport. I made my way through security, where the guard noticed my Auburn shirt, and we talked a little about the game while he frisked me. By the time I got to my flight gate I still had 90 minutes to waste, so I went to a nearby food stand and bought a soft drink to nurse for about an hour. On TV was the news story about the Arizona congresswoman who had been shot that morning in Tucson, just south down the interstate from where I’d be staying in Chandler. At the time they were reporting she had been killed.

At some point while I was people-watching from my table in the food stand I noticed a new legwear I’d not seen before. I would see this on women in every airport I went through for the next few days. It was a material that looked like sweat pants, but a little tighter, and yet not as close-fitting as tights. Kelly would later inform me that these were “jeggings,” a cross between jeans and leggings.

In Chicago’s O’Hare Airport I had to change planes, and the walk from my gate to the next ended up being about a two-mile jaunt. Once I found my gate for the Phoenix-bound plane I was pretty sure I was in the right place, since most everyone else had on Auburn gear. There had been two women with a couple of kids on the plane from Louisville dressed in Auburn outfits. This plane was gonna be a little different.

We boarded the plane and I remarked that it looked like the “Auburn express.” I called Alice to let her know I’d made my flight, told her I had looked for some deep-dish pizza in the airport but hadn’t found it, and the guy next to me informed me, “It was good.”

After all the ticketed passengers got on the plane they closed the doors, and a couple of minutes later a crowd of Auburn fans appeared at the window in front of the pilot, banging on the pane and pointing at him. He asked what they wanted and was told they were the standby passengers. Many of them had spent over four hours in Atlanta trying to get out, and were about to miss their connecting flight. The airline had told them they’d put them up in a Chicago hotel, but they responded, “We don’t wanna be in Chicago! We wanna be in Phoenix.” So the pilot let them on the plane, and it went from comfortable to crowded, with about 90 percent of the 280 or so people on the plane being Auburn fans, on a flight from Chicago to Phoenix.

As the plane taxied out onto the runway to depart, a voice from the back of the plane yelled, “Give me an A! Give me a U! Give me a B! Give me a U! Give me an R! Give me an N! What’s it spell?”

We had all yelled each letter along with him and then we shouted, “Auburn!”

“Who’s gonna win?”

“Auburn!”

“Warrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr Eagle! Hey!”

A brief silence followed and the stewardess took the opportunity to get on the microphone and announce, “Y’all are gonna hafta hold it down. Federal regulations. If we actually have something important to say, you need to be able to hear us.”

That was it for the community yelling, but the plane was loud all the way, with conversations taking place between Auburn fans who were four or five rows apart. Just in front of me was a co-ed from Cullman (Ala.) who has a bright future in stand-up comedy if she decides to go that route. When the plane landed at Phoenix, we all sang the Auburn fight song, “War Eagle,” because we figured by then all they could do was kick us off the plane, and we were at the site of the big game…

I heard an old man telling the stewardess, “I just wanna get home to some peace and quiet.”

“I’m sorry,” she told him, “but they’re just having fun.” I took a shuttle to the Holiday Inn Express in Chandler and got myself checked in. On the local news I learned that Gabbie Giffords had survived that day’s shooting. Several other people didn’t. It was being called the worst tragedy in Arizona history. I’m sure the reporters didn’t recall the gunfight at the O.K. Corral 130 years earlier.

The next morning I took a walk after eating the hotel’s “free” breakfast. I wanted to familiarize myself with what was within walking distance of the hotel since I hadn’t rented a car. And it was close to 70 degrees in the desert. I was also trying to formulate a plan to get from Chandler to Glendale, about 40 miles across Phoenix, where the game would be played Monday night. I made mental notes of the nearby restaurants, noticed a little barber shop in a shopping center and stopped to read the info at a bus stop. Looked like I could buy an all-day pass for about $5 and would be able to get from where I was to where I wanted to be the next day. I was guessing it might take five hours, but I figured if I left at noon or 1 that would give me plenty of time.

As far as eating, there was a Cracker Barrel two doors down from where I was staying and I wound up eating there four times. I called it the Cracker Barrel diet when I got back home. One meal a day there will fill you up, you don’t need to eat again, and I lost three pounds. Of course I did walk a few miles too. Didn’t have a steak, but I did eat a couple of bacon grilled cheese sandwiches, and I tried the roast beef.

On Monday I got my hair cut at the little Quality Barbershop I’d discovered the previous day. It was owned by a Russian. He shaved my head, then wrapped a hot towel around it. For a while I couldn’t breathe. I figured The Russian did this in case he needed to kill someone in the chair. Of course he had sharp razors with which to finish the job. He spared my life, then gave me a shoulder rub with a wonderful massage machine, but it only lasted a couple of minutes, far less than the back rubs I get from Alice.

About 1:30 I walked down to the bus stop to begin my trek across town. (I would later learn that Phoenix is the nation’s fifth-largest city and is about a hundred miles across.) I had called the bus company and asked how to get from Chandler to the stadium. The bus I needed arrived as soon as I walked up to the bus stop. I bought my all-day pass, which cost me $6 since I didn’t have correct change (would’ve been $5.25). We rode for about 40 minutes, through a seedy looking place called Guadalupe, through Tempe, where Arizona State University is located, to the last stop, where I got off the bus, crossed the street and waited for the “light rail.” Since it went above ground and wasn’t elevated, it wasn’t called a subway or el-train. But it was clean and quick. Wasn’t on the light rail for very long but probably went at least five miles on it.

Once off the light rail I spotted the nearest bus stop about a half-block away. A bus pulled up but I decided I wouldn’t hurry to it, even though it was the one I needed. The driver waited on me. There were a couple of Oregon fans on there who probably told him to wait for me. We went about 90 blocks on this bus but never made a turn that I can remember. Saw a couple of Auburn billboards along the way, likely paid for by Under Armour, the apparel company that outfits the football team. More Oregon fans got on, and even the non-partisan fans were leaning to Oregon. Finally one of the Oregon fans, who I had become friendly with, said, “This is a tough crowd for you.” I just nodded and said, “I’m used to it.” Other fans tend to crow before the games. This Auburn fan reserves his crowing for after the game, when it counts. The ride across Phoenix was about three hours, and not a bad way to see the city…

As for the game, if you didn’t see it you probably don’t care, and if you did see it you know the outcome. For the University of Phoenix Stadium, where the Arizona Cardinals play their home NFL games, it was a record crowd of 78-thousand in a stadium that holds 72K. And that wasn’t enough for a game of this magnitude. That’s one reason the game ticket was the hardest ticket in history to buy. Stub Hub shut down five days before the game because they couldn’t guarantee tickets anymore. Many tickets were double- and triple-sold, and I heard about many fans that got scammed. I insisted the ticket agency send mine to me before I left the Louisville area. At the game, I found out from the guy who sold it to the ticket agency, who was sitting next to me, that he’d gotten twice what I paid for it from them. They took a bath on my ticket, and it was probably a good thing I insisted on delivery before I left for Phoenix. The game had the highest TV ratings in cable (ESPN) history.

I had a good view, enhanced with my “monocular,” which is actually a Cam-ouflage rifle scope just right for Duck hunting. In one of their nine comebacks, Auburn had gone the entire length of the field against Kentucky earlier in the season to win the game at the end. Auburn fans were going to celebrate at the end of the National Championship game anyway, but the fact that it came down to a field goal to win it on the last play of the game, following yet another patented “Kentucky drive,” caused the entire building to erupt in an explosion of noise. I high-fived everybody sitting around me, doing a complete 360 in the process. There were over 50-thousand Auburn fans in the stadium, so even standing on the Oregon side I was surrounded by my people. That’s right, we stood the ENTIRE game, except for halftime. Each play meant that much and we knew it.

After the game, I stayed around and watched the presentation of the crystal football, the National Championship Trophy. While others were leaving I watched Cam Newton go into the stands and hug his father, then run around the stadium slapping every hand on every front-row seat. I watched the post-game press conferences on the stadium’s big screens where Oregon’s coach Chip Kelly vowed they’d be back and Auburn’s national coach of the year, Gene Chizek, proclaimed the Tigers the best football team in the country. The last bus from Glendale into the downtown area had departed hours earlier, and I knew I was gonna have to cough up some big bucks for a cab back to my hotel.

I walked back out to the main road, texting family and friends as I walked. I met Michael Dyer’s uncle along the way. The freshman Auburn running back had been the most valuable player of the national title game. I saw a guy holding a leg up in the air announcing that it belonged to Wes Byrum. The Auburn senior kicker had won the game with a chip-shot field goal with 2 seconds left on the clock. Back at the main road I started looking for a taxi. There were about 50 other people there with the same idea. The cabs were over-charging, naturally, so I quickly accepted an invitation from two other Auburn fans to share a cab back to the light rail, which was still running. The cab driver we hailed told us he’d take us that far for $60. We agreed and hopped in. Along the way the other two guys realized we were near their motel and asked to be dropped off there. When the meter read $41 and change at their stop, they started trying to figure out what that would be divided by three. “How much do we give him?”

I was up front and looked around at them and sharply said, “You give him $20 a piece. That’s what we agreed on.” They quickly pulled out two 20s and handed them to the driver. I also handed him one. I had asked him along the way how much more it would cost to get to Chandler. He was just guessing that it would be another $60, but he reset his meter after dropping the first two guys off and we headed for my hotel. I didn’t really wanna take public transportation after midnight, especially back on the bus that went through Guadalupe.

The meter was approaching $65 by the time we got back to my hotel, but the driver who told me he had moved here from Africa a few years back honored the $60 agreement we had without insisting on the difference. I had, after all, secured him an extra 20 at the last stop.

I spent most of the next day in the lobby of the hotel watching the weather channel. After I had memorized the weather for the whole country, I asked for the remote at the front desk and took control of the TV. It was on sports channels until my shuttle back to the airport arrived early that evening.

The Phoenix airport was already selling National Championship memorabilia with Auburn’s name on it. I considered buying a t-shirt but wanted to get through security first, and there was no store on the other side that I could find selling what I had seen there. I got a Coke at the Burger King across from my gate, and admired the National Championship cap on the head of a fellow Auburn fan in there. Half the folks in BK were Auburn fans. The airline woman at my gate said because of the weather on the east coast they were advising folks to get as far east as they could, whether their planes were connecting or not. She said the crowd and the air-travel problems reminded her of 9/11.

The flight I had from Phoenix to Milwaukee had its share of Auburn fans on it. But I sat next to a 3-year-old boy named Dominique from a Wisconsin farm who, after I showed him a picture of my kitty (Kobe) and he realized I was harmless, wanted to play “Connect Four” all the way across the country. He had his own set of unique rules. And he’d have to get in the floor with his flashlight which looked like a cow and look for the playing pieces every now and then, but we kept each other occupied till he fell asleep in his mother’s arms.

I had to spend the entire night in the Milwaukee airport. We arrived there about midnight and my connecting flight to Louisville wouldn’t leave for another eight hours. I finally finished reading a mystery book I had started years earlier. At 1:30 in the morning I noticed the Milwaukee airport had nothing but a bunch of Auburn fans in it, and one really busy Quizno’s, the only restaurant that was open all night. We all eventually sacked out in a chair, a couch or on the floor. I laid down on the floor and used my carry-on bag as a pillow. There was enough security that they were keeping us safe, and we were all family anyway. About 4:30 the airport started to come alive with other people. I bought a breakfast sandwich at Quizno’s, then went through security again and found my gate. I got X-rayed and frisked. Don’t know what they thought they saw on me. At my gate I was alone, so I watched TV for a little while then went to find a part of the airport that had other people in it while I waited for my flight. By the time I reached home I hadn’t slept at all in 24 hours (I just closed my eyes but didn’t sleep on the airport floor). And I had slept about four hours in the previous 48. I spent the rest of the week catching up on lost sleep. If we had lost the game, I would’ve felt I wasted a lot of time and money. Since we won, I feel it was worth every penny and minute of my time…

War Eagle!

The Promised Land

Love – is a promised land

Something seen but never gained

Wanted, desired, rarely attained

Love – is a promised land

Hope – that’s a promised land too

A karat dangling on a string

Chasing a rainbow, chasing your dreams

Hope – is a promised land

Moses led God’s people – out of Egypt

Wandered through the desert – 40 years

Took them all the way – to the brink of Canaan

But was never allowed – to enter in

Heaven – is a promised land

You do what’s right, but in the end

While others go their own way

Heaven – is a promised land

Heaven – is a promised land

Will I ever be allowed to enter in?

Will I ever be allowed to enter in?

Copyright 1995 by C. Randall Hartley (11/14/95)