No. 180 - Poor Man’s Game Notes III: UGA vs. Alabama, 9/27/25
Back when I was working on the 27th floor of a downtown Atlanta skyscraper, I befriended a fellow banking analyst who had two peculiar friends.
But before I get to that, I might as well fess up to a few things. For starters…I hated that job. And second, if there was any reason to get the hell out of that office, I was on it.
When the Peach Bowl Parade came down Peachtree Street, I was cheering on whoever was playing (mind you, it was New Year’s Eve and I was working). And when DragonCon was in town, I was in every downtown hotel taking in the insanity.
But on regular days, when I couldn’t take another second of spreadsheets, I’d slip out to the brutalist monstrosity on the corner of Carnegie and Forsyth: Atlanta’s Main Library.
As ugly as it is, there’s a special collection of historic books on the fifth floor. From original copies of Gone With the Wind to all of Lewis Grizzard’s books, it has it all. Tucked away on a metal shelf, with a handwritten title on the spine, was a copy of History of Southern Football 1890–1928 … what a gem!
I read that masterpiece more than once—partly to understand Alabama football. Saban had taken over the reins and life felt hopeless for a Dawg. I learned a thing or two, but my banking buddy taught me something about the Tide I’ll never forget.
Two of his friends were Mark Richt’s son and Nick Saban’s son, and he had spent a Friday night at both of their respective homes before each had a home game.
Allow me to paint a picture:
The Richt House: Full of family and friends, pizza boxes everywhere, laughter filled the air. Just good old-fashioned innocent fun.
The Saban House: A formal dinner at a boardroom-like dining table, jacket and tie, no talking until Saban sat down and said grace. He’d finish in ten minutes, leave, and only then could everyone enjoy themselves.
One of them went on to win six more national championships, and the other will be remembered as the class act of SEC sidelines (I love you, Coach).
And all I gotta say is thank God the former is on Gameday and some guy from the West Coast who doesn’t wear a tie will be coaching the Tide.
Give ’em hell, Kirby!
