(Three years ago this month, bayoutider left us. I'm here at TideFans because of bayoutider, whose real name was Richard Heaton. Thirteen years ago today, I met him for the only time in my life. The topics of conversation, all of which he would endorse as true if he were he (and did multiple times on this board), are minimal yet correct).
On August 19, 2001, I attended the Istrouma Baptist Church in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, where I had been staying with my sister-in-law en route to my new medical school assignment at Fort Sam Houston, San Antonio, Texas. I had a week to get everything right - find a place to live, in-process, make sure shots were up to date - so we opted to leave after church and arrive in San Antonio on this fine Sunday evening. I had already been talking to Bayou about coming through Lake Charles, and he told me - over and over - "call me when you get in town." So I did. It was at the dump Taco Bell on the west side of town. We used to use these thick books called phone books, and his name was in there. I dialed, and I figured if nothing else I'd leave a message. After the fourth ring, a male voice answered the phone. I think it was his son, but I asked if Rich was there. I told him that I was "Hollingsworth89" from ncaaboards, also "selmaborntidefan" on TideFans. His son sounded puzzled as he relayed the info. Rich took the phone and for the first time we spoke to each other. He had a rather loud voice at the time, but maybe that's because he'd been out doing yard work and you know how that ringing in your ears from the mower can be. He asked my location and I told him. "Gawd, son, you're in a dump. I'll be there in about ten minutes, just wait for me."
He pulled up and the moment he saw me he said, "You look EXACTLY like I figured." Rich had previously said that my posts came across as this sort of scholarly college football historian with fifteen books under the desk in a cluttered room, short, and probably didn't have much of a social life. I think he was surprised I was married much less had a 2-year old who had a cast on from a displaced patella. I told him he was right top to bottom. I remember he was wearing a red shirt (not crimson) with a black something on it. He was taller than I (not hard to do since I'm only 5'8") and wearing glasses. He also smelled like gasoline, poor fella, and was sweating on his arms. He was still talking loudly.
We talked about Coach Fran, as he was affectionately known then. I wasn't sold on him, Rich thought he was "the guy" for us, but we both agreed he couldn't be any worse than his predecessor (autistic eight-year olds couldn't be worse than Dubious was). Then the subject turned to the coach at LSU. Rich noted that LSU fans thought Saban was the savior who was going to lead them to the promised land. We both - I repeat, we BOTH - figured Saban was just the next imbecile in the long line of ineptitude stretching from Mike Archer through Curley Hallman and Gerry DiNardo. We predicted he'd be gone by the end of year four. And we were right - Saban WAS gone.....all the way to the national championship. We spent more time mocking Saban and LSU than really talking up Fran and the Tide, partly because the specter of probation was looming over the Capstone. Bayou did shake my hand and hugged my wife (she didn't even mind he was all sweaty, which tells me she was won over by him), and he told me that while he knew I was in medical school to try and update him at least once a semester. I did as much as possible (until the horrible end that took me two years to tell him about, by which time he'd moved on out of Lake Chuck).
HSAM (highly superior autobiographical memory) is not something I'd necessarily wish on my worst enemy. The intense pain of life never really goes away - even years later. (You remember the girl who rejected you in high school? I still feel it as intensely this evening as I did 27 years ago). But there IS a positive side to it, and that is that I'm right there again all these years later with a man I only met once but who brought so much joy and pride to my life as a Tide fan. Bayoutider took time out of his busy schedule to come spend just a few minutes with a fellow Tide fan, a complete stranger he'd never met. And while everyone who was here when he was has a favorite Bayoutider moment (you simply couldn't help but like the guy and his posts), mine will always be his words of encouragement even in some pretty trying times. Since it appears a divorce from my wife of 23 years is now imminent, I must admit it would sure be nice to hear what he had to say about that.
But then again, this isn't supposed to be about me, either.
Thanks Bayoutider for the many memories, the many posts, and the time you spent with me.
And I'll see you on the northbound express sometime in the next fifty years.
Roll Tide
On August 19, 2001, I attended the Istrouma Baptist Church in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, where I had been staying with my sister-in-law en route to my new medical school assignment at Fort Sam Houston, San Antonio, Texas. I had a week to get everything right - find a place to live, in-process, make sure shots were up to date - so we opted to leave after church and arrive in San Antonio on this fine Sunday evening. I had already been talking to Bayou about coming through Lake Charles, and he told me - over and over - "call me when you get in town." So I did. It was at the dump Taco Bell on the west side of town. We used to use these thick books called phone books, and his name was in there. I dialed, and I figured if nothing else I'd leave a message. After the fourth ring, a male voice answered the phone. I think it was his son, but I asked if Rich was there. I told him that I was "Hollingsworth89" from ncaaboards, also "selmaborntidefan" on TideFans. His son sounded puzzled as he relayed the info. Rich took the phone and for the first time we spoke to each other. He had a rather loud voice at the time, but maybe that's because he'd been out doing yard work and you know how that ringing in your ears from the mower can be. He asked my location and I told him. "Gawd, son, you're in a dump. I'll be there in about ten minutes, just wait for me."
He pulled up and the moment he saw me he said, "You look EXACTLY like I figured." Rich had previously said that my posts came across as this sort of scholarly college football historian with fifteen books under the desk in a cluttered room, short, and probably didn't have much of a social life. I think he was surprised I was married much less had a 2-year old who had a cast on from a displaced patella. I told him he was right top to bottom. I remember he was wearing a red shirt (not crimson) with a black something on it. He was taller than I (not hard to do since I'm only 5'8") and wearing glasses. He also smelled like gasoline, poor fella, and was sweating on his arms. He was still talking loudly.
We talked about Coach Fran, as he was affectionately known then. I wasn't sold on him, Rich thought he was "the guy" for us, but we both agreed he couldn't be any worse than his predecessor (autistic eight-year olds couldn't be worse than Dubious was). Then the subject turned to the coach at LSU. Rich noted that LSU fans thought Saban was the savior who was going to lead them to the promised land. We both - I repeat, we BOTH - figured Saban was just the next imbecile in the long line of ineptitude stretching from Mike Archer through Curley Hallman and Gerry DiNardo. We predicted he'd be gone by the end of year four. And we were right - Saban WAS gone.....all the way to the national championship. We spent more time mocking Saban and LSU than really talking up Fran and the Tide, partly because the specter of probation was looming over the Capstone. Bayou did shake my hand and hugged my wife (she didn't even mind he was all sweaty, which tells me she was won over by him), and he told me that while he knew I was in medical school to try and update him at least once a semester. I did as much as possible (until the horrible end that took me two years to tell him about, by which time he'd moved on out of Lake Chuck).
HSAM (highly superior autobiographical memory) is not something I'd necessarily wish on my worst enemy. The intense pain of life never really goes away - even years later. (You remember the girl who rejected you in high school? I still feel it as intensely this evening as I did 27 years ago). But there IS a positive side to it, and that is that I'm right there again all these years later with a man I only met once but who brought so much joy and pride to my life as a Tide fan. Bayoutider took time out of his busy schedule to come spend just a few minutes with a fellow Tide fan, a complete stranger he'd never met. And while everyone who was here when he was has a favorite Bayoutider moment (you simply couldn't help but like the guy and his posts), mine will always be his words of encouragement even in some pretty trying times. Since it appears a divorce from my wife of 23 years is now imminent, I must admit it would sure be nice to hear what he had to say about that.
But then again, this isn't supposed to be about me, either.
Thanks Bayoutider for the many memories, the many posts, and the time you spent with me.
And I'll see you on the northbound express sometime in the next fifty years.
Roll Tide
