Golf, Power, money, and the future of Alabama football. Ultimately, all college football. Saban listened. He said little. But he heard everything.
T-Mobile Tuesday
Finebaum countered, “So Coach, does it make sense to let Kalen (DeBoer) ‘grow’ into the job? Or do the fans just bite the bullet while he figures it out? Frankly, it seems to us that Kalen DeBoer isn’t built for Tuscaloosa”.
And just like that, there it was. The ugly baby was on the table.
Saban didn’t speak. Just pressed his lips together and adjusted and readjusted the Velcro on the back of his glove—tight, like he was about to snap someone’s neck.
For no good reason Finebaum, other than being Finebaum, he decided to turned up the heat in the kitchen, “How long has it been since you’ve been in your old office Nick? Kalen remodeled and it looks like a T-Mobile store and every day is Tuesday now. That ‘T-Mobile Tuesday’ is an actual marketing thing” he said with a snort.
At least he mentioned T-Mobile—an official partner of the program—so technically, it still counted as institutional support, I thought.
The office comment was a cheap shot—but it landed. And it landed hard. The lunatic fringe of the Bama fanbase was already foaming at the mouth, humiliated by a loss to Indiana—a team loaded with 25-year-old seventh-year redshirt seniors who looked like they were sponsored by mortgage companies.
The reaction was exactly what you’d expect from Bama fans: a spoiled, carnivorous beast that demanded constant placation. The meltdowns were immediate—violent, pissed, and borderline feral. Social media exploded with rage over everything from DeBoer’s “ridiculous black hoodie” to delusional side-by-side comparisons of his record and Saban’s early years: 6–6 (including the infamous loss to Louisiana-Monroe Fighting Nutria), followed by a four-loss season.
Anyone who knows Bama football knows this is fingers-crossed, apples-to-oranges fantasy. Saban inherited a train wreck from Mike Shula and a metric shit-ton of NCAA sanctions. DeBoer, on the other hand, walked into a fully stocked pantry—lights already on, thermostat set to 68.
Finebaum stopped and turned to face Saban. His smooth, syrupy voice loaded with a hint of provocation, “Maybe Kalen already knows the team has hit their ceiling,” he said. “What’s the point of staying mad if this is as good as they’re gonna get? Some folks don’t think your last few recruiting classes were all that elite.”
Then, like he was just spit balling:
“Is it possible Kalen’s problem is the foundation he inherited?”
The fairway went quiet. No one said a word. It wasn’t even a question. It was an indictment of Saban’s ‘process’.
Even the Caddies audibly gasped. One let out a low whistle. Another muttered “Sweet Jesus, Roll Tide!” under his breath, like he wasn’t sure if he should keep standing there or back slowly into the woods.
The Booster stepped in, his voice calm, like he was diffusing a situation he helped create.
“Look, no one expected Kalen to be another you,” he said, almost apologetically. “I’m not blowing smoke up your ass but what you did at the Capstone was once-in-a-generation stuff. But what we’ve seen this season—soft, undisciplined, unprepared… that shouldn’t be acceptable anywhere. Especially in Tuscaloosa.”
He paused, choosing his words like he was back in a boardroom.
“Losing a game you should win happens. Getting humiliated? Then not giving a shit? That’s cultural. That’s leadership. Or even worse, it’s a lack of leadership”
He glanced at Coach.
“I’m not saying the guy’s is a bad coach. Maybe he would have stayed Washington, they don’t expect as much as we do here. I’m telling you the standard has slipped—and no one in that building seems too bothered by it.”
Then Finebaum picked it back up, like they’d rehearsed the play.
“There’s talk,” he said, “about private equity getting involved—real money, funneled in clean. NIL isn’t under the table anymore. It’s above board now. Taxed. Sanitized. Baptized and clean by bleach and sunlight.”
He smirked. “Hell, some of these NIL collectives have investors.”
He let it settle, then leaned in a bit.
“The point is, we’ve still got the infrastructure from the old days. The machine still works. Maybe DeBoer was just keeping the seat warm while things finished calibrating.”
He paused again, then dropped it, smooth as molasses.
“And now that it’s all out in the open… we can start regulating. Legislate it the hell out of it. Put some guardrails in place, our guardrails. Rein it in—just enough to bring places like Texas Tech and Indiana to heel.”
The Booster didn’t say a word, but he didn’t have to.
He had two U.S. Senators in his back pocket—the one Auburn guy and the one from Dothan—both of whom owed him for favors that didn’t live in public records.
When the time came, they’d move the levers.
Once the chaos settled and the rules got rewritten?
Well, then it would be safe to go back to doing things the old way.
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