Some people are students at the University of Alabama. But many, many more people are NOT students at the University of Alabama. This TFM school review is for those in the latter group.
The University of Al-a-bam-a. The Capstone of Higher Education. The refreshing spring scented urinal cake in the piss covered trough that is Tuscaloosa. You ever walk around the Outdoor Center of a Walmart? The petunias are withering away from the rollback sign being in the direct path of sunlight, daisies have been plucked clean of petals by juvenile delinquents, and mulch is spread throughout the concrete patio as the majority of bags have been ripped clean open. It’s not exactly a harmonious stroll through Central Park, but compared to the attached Supercenter, it’s the fucking garden of Eden. That’s the University of Alabama’s campus in relation to T-Town.
Tuscaloosa is a culture void junkyard with the architectural inspiration of a Darfur refugee camp. Buildings are held together by toothpicks and duct tape, and the entire local economy as well as the emotional well-being and self-worth of every citizen hinges solely on the success of an impersonal, robotic, soulless dictator who doesn’t care about the students of the school, much less the crimson wearing townies that punctuate everything with “RAW TIED.”
We’re talking about a guy that walked over a convulsing Miami Dolphins lineman in the locker room to go into his office and show leadership. His own fucking player! So if Billy Bob — who pumps gas down at the local Shell — was slowly crawling to death by dehydration in the desert, and he came across Old Saint Nick driving a water cooler jug delivery truck, what makes you think Saban would do anything but run flat over the poor bastard to stay on schedule? Yet these cretins’ lives would be devoid of any and all meaning without coach and Alabama “FootBAW.” All hail the supreme leader.
Like a billion dollar Olympic stadium built in the middle of a South American slum, your school is both a giant middle finger and the sole inspiration to the area around it.
35,000 students full of southern pride, despite the majority of them being from out of state and a good portion of those kids being from the Northeast. Just grow out those Bama bangs, throw on some khaki pants, slide on a pair of Chacos, learn the chorus to “Dixieland Delight” and you’ll fit right in, Vinny. Don’t worry about that “Carpe Diem” tat on your ribcage. You’re ahead of the game, there.
Hey girls, maybe dress up for me one time. Going with the oversized pocket tee and norts look again, huh? To the bar? What about your hair? Oh, you’re just going to keep it in a bun all haphazardly like that? Cool. At least I don’t have to worry about losing any of my shirts in the morning. Actually, I’ll call you a pledge ride. I hear you women don’t have the best control of your bowels. Sorry ladies, but one time’s an accident, twice is a coincidence, but then it just starts to become a trend after that. We just don’t have the same interpretation of “freak in the bed.”
Student government is supposedly run by some playtime Illuminati called “the machine,” but apparently they’re starting to slip as they lost the SGA Presidential election back in March for the first time in over two decades. To a black man, no less. If you’re even remotely familiar with Alabama’s COLORFUL history, you’d realize how significant that is. George Wallace ain’t standing in that schoolhouse door no more.
If poachers came across Big Al in the wild, they would put him down out of sympathy rather than their own personal agenda.
Look, a bell tower! They don’t have that anywhere else. Alabama students have the biggest hard on for Denny Chimes. Calling it a campanile tower doesn’t make it that much more special. It just makes you sound like assholes. This fucking thing rings every fifteen minutes because that’s necessary. Is this some type of classical conditioning the administration does to control students? I’m on to you, Alabama.
The tower is named in honor of George H. Denny, who served as school president during Jim Crow, so he’s probably racist or something. This thing will be renamed, whether that’s true or not, because that’s where we’re at as a society now.
The Walk of Champions. So parents can take their kids to high five the players as they walk into the stadium and so authorities can keep tabs on the whereabouts of Harvey Updyke.
If Alabama won a national championship in every other sport they participate in but missed out on the College Football Playoff, boosters would be calling for the athletic director’s head. No wonder Saban hates this fan base.
“Coach, what steps are you going to take to make sure a colossal failure like this never happens again?”
“We beat Arkansas by two scores.”
“So we should axe Kiffin?”
With that being said, Saban could win twenty national championships and he’d still play second fiddle to Bear Bryant.
Chris Fowler’s much less developed clone, Rece Davis, the last Alabama quarterback to not look completely lost in the NFL, Joe Namath, and one of the greatest college football coaches of all-time, Bobby Bowden, who you jilted for some dude named Bill Curry. I’m sure that decision doesn’t still haunt you to this day.
Oh, and one hit wonder, Harper Lee. She drops the highly overrated “To Kill A Mockingbird” on the world in 1960 and just coasts off that the rest of her life, putting every white high schooler in America in an awkward spot any time they have to read the N-Word aloud to a multicultural classroom. That was until the sequel — fifty years later. What happened, Harper? A sudden flash of inspiration? Never have I ever just sat down and thought, “I wonder what happened to Atticus Finch or that frankenstein-looking motherfucker Boo Radley.” Go kick rocks, you old hag.
What might not suck:
I actually went to Tuscaloosa back in 2011 for a week to help with the tornado relief efforts and really enjoyed myself. The people are genuinely good folks and Greek life is unlike anything I’ve seen in the country, where the school not only puts up with it, but actually promotes it as a strength of their university. At least, that’s my understanding of the situation after talking to Chancellor Witt for a few brief moments.
I’ve made a terrible mistake, haven’t I? Give those pompous Bama students a singular compliment and they’ll run off it for another century. I take back everything I just said.
From the horse’s mouth:
No emails this week, because you’re all unapologetic assholes that take yourselves way too seriously and lack any human decency to laugh at your own shortcomings. You’re awful, loathsome Cro-Magnons. Roll Tide!.