Arriving at The Ledges—perched 1,200 feet above Jones Valley on Huntsville Mountain—I was struck by its dramatic elevation changes and firm greens that reward precision. Long regarded as one of Alabama’s premier golfing destinations, it offers sweeping views of the valley below, even if a few stubborn trees guarded by management blocked parts of the panorama. In recent years, though, its ranking had slipped slightly (like the DeBoer era)—an irony not entirely lost on me.
I pulled up to the clubhouse, where a valet parked my truck and lifted my golf bag from the bed. He ferried my clubs up to the entrance while I headed inside to check in.
The man at the desk told me that Coach and the Booster were already outside warming up. I confirmed our tee time at the counter, grabbed a scorecard and cart key, and made a little small talk with the staff—who clearly knew who I was with and, by extension, now knew me.
I did notice a subtle shift in attitude in the pro shop—the rare moment when you’re no longer met with the “how dare you walk in here WITH a tee time” glare. I suppose playing golf with Crimson Tide royalty has a way of elevating a person’s position. The typically bipolar pro shop greetings—those surly “hellos” and “good mornings” feel just a touch more genuine.
I went outside, and immediately saw Coach on the putting area. His face was ashen, and his body language was stiff. He definitely wasn’t practicing his lag putting.
Hovering near him—far too close for comfort— was a thin man in a faded “We Got 14” shirt, camo shorts, and Crocs, talking rapidly, heavy on “us” and “we.” He wasn’t talking with Coach so much as at him.
I could catch fragments of what the Red was saying. He seemed completely at ease, rambling without pause, absentmindedly scratching his ass like he didn’t have a care in the world. There was a whole bunch of ‘us’ and a ton of ‘we’, the possessive plural vernacular of the Bammer Sidewalk Alum whose entire mental and emotional stability rises and falls with Bama football.
To his credit Coach’s expression never changed, but his wide and unblinking eyes told a much different story.
A few steps away, his security detail watched carefully. Not alarmed—but alert. He seemed unsure whether this qualified as a security threat or just an unavoidable occupational hazard of Crimson Tide fame.
I immediately recognized what was happening and quickened my pace
Social media had been volatile for months. Social media was full of online Bammers raising hell about Bama’s fall from prominence. When expectation turns to anger in Bama, it definitely doesn’t always stay online.
Next: Coach reveals that he is going to DC “get some shit done” at President Trump’s “Saving College Sports” roundtable on NIL reform, the transfer portal, and the future of college athletics.
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