Kick Six

(I Was Almost Kicked in the Pants and Various Other Places, and Shot, and Hung, and Poisoned, and Probably Made to Eat My Own Eyeballs--as in 'You Can't Watch Your Own Kid, Whacha Need 'Em For?')

Well, what happened was…

I didn’t mean to lose my seven-year-old son, Aidan. It’s just that we were drowning in a sea of humanity (now that’s some writing with a capital “W” right there—drowning/sea, get it?). People were frantic to get to the social event of the season: the Iron Bowl.

For those of you not steeped in SEC football (poor things), the Iron Bowl is the annual showdown between the Auburn Tigers and the Alabama Crimson Tide, or the Red Elephants as I call them (the elephant is their mascot—other more colorful nicknames may or may not have slid out of my mouth at one time or another.)

Anyway, the game is bigger than the Beatles, Elvis, and Michael Jackson put together. According to many religious scholars and Southern Baptists, even Jesus wouldn’t come back until the game was over, and if a particular theologian’s team didn’t win, that theologian opined that He’d just put it off ‘til next year.

So, needless to say (even though I just said it), it’s a big deal.

You know what else was a big deal? Keeping up with my seven-year-old son.

In fact, it overshadows all Iron Bowls, all Super Bowls, all World Series, even the World Series of Poker.

(Remember that, you used to see that show all the time at, like, 3:30 in the morning. This was where guys like Ace Feeley’d fleece Kenny Rogerson and all the other degenerate gamblers. Sometimes, they’d throw in some chick with a bad dye job and too much eye liner. Good times, good times.)

Okay, enough of that and onto the main thing which is how this horrific event almost happened.