December 31, 1973. I had just turned 8. Parents had a party and watched the game downstairs. I had already decided to pull for Alabama that year, but not in any serious way - you could say it was fate, like being drawn by the Force. Everyone was drinking downstairs and watching the game - I had to stay upstairs and get updates when mom or dad would come get more food. The game ended, and I wanted to know what happened - the Johnsons were Auburn fans, and I'll never forget the glee on her Mrs. Johnson's face as mom and dad walked upstairs with her, dejected.
"Who won?" I asked, so hopeful.
"NOTRE DAME!" exclaimed the evil Auburn fan, as if she had won the lottery.
That day I became a true Alabama fan, steeled in my love of the Crimson Tide, and in my disgust, not hate, of Auburn and its fans.
I would later explain to my children, who were raised to hate Tennessee, but lived thru 'The Thumb' and the verbal abuse from the little barners in their school, and therefore have always hated Auburn, that Auburn never mattered when I was a kid-they were simply irrelevant (I was too young for 17-16, but anytime an Auburn kid would yell that at us Alabama fans we'd smile and yell back "35-0.") Tennessee was our competition back then, and the rotten oranges pelted on you by drunk, unruly Tennessee fans after they would lose at Legion Field to us, the ensuing years with Phat Phil snitching, and Peyton leading the band; only solidified that hatred.