Saban’s Herringbone
As we drove to Oxmoor, Paul was acting all secret squirrel on his phone. Ebbs and flows of conversation flowing about optics, softness, and embarrassing the program. I decided to keep my mouth shut, be cool and see how things shook out.
After arriving at the Course, something about the whole thing felt… different. A private cart met us at the lot taking us and our bags to the Pro Shop. Paul wasn’t saying much, but he kept checking his phone like a man waiting for clearance.
We checked in, got our bucket of range balls and headed over to the driving range.
Then, as we walked toward the practice green, that’s when I saw him.
Nick Saban. The Bama legend himself. Imagine my shocked UFIA face.
He was rolling his practice putts like a metronome, laser-focused, like it was Augusta Thursday. Paul quickly introduced me as a regional author who is working on a book about our more passionate fans.
Coach gave me a quick, thorough once-over and a barely perceptible nod. That was it. No smile. No handshake. Just the clinical evaluation of a man who had built a dynasty evaluating talent
I wasn’t offended at all by his brusque manner. I appreciated his ability to dial in and stay engaged.
As I watched him practice, I recognized what he was doing. From my years in the Military, I saw he was training as he would fight, he was rehearsing cognitively, muscle memory.
Then I had a weird random thought flicker in my mind. Bama fans cared, really cared how he dressed. It’s a very big deal in the RTR nation what he wears.
The fashion-crazy Bama fanbase, always tuned in to sideline apparel attire would’ve loved this polo. They believe that classy Bama golf polos shirts are as every bit as critical to winning ballgames as protecting the quarterback.
Maybe it was just me but I would not have figured Saban to wear a Bama Polo to the course. I felt like Coach had been stockpiling his credibility points as a semi-neutral voice on ESPN’s GameDay. Even though, not once, had he ever picked Bama to lose a game.
No matter. His tucked-in and tight-fitting polo was crisp and crimson with a herringbone collar making a conservative yet explosive fashion statement. Under the polo, he’d donned a fitted gray cold-weather compression shirt. It was practical for the chill. It was also perfectly in line with his no-nonsense, all-business aesthetic. He looked less like a retiree enjoying an 18 and more like a man about to conduct a bone-crushing postmortem on the current state of Alabama Football.
Topping off his ensemble was his hat. The hat. The famous wide-brimmed straw number with an Alabama “A” dead center—equal parts sun protection and the rest was 100% RTR. I suppose being neutral does have its limits.
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