Bad Blood

By Charlie Barnes, Executive Director - Seminole Boosters

The subject today is Bad Blood.

I grew up in the small coal-mining town where the Hatfields & McCoys fought their legendary feud. Folks thereabouts did, and still do, take their firearms and their insults seriously.

We have our own hateful blood feud with Florida, of course, but in spite of the sometimes horrendous deeds that have punctuated this 50-year rivalry, it may not be quite as virulent as advertised, and certainly not as spectacular in its elaborate and baneful intrigues as some other, older, darker collegiate rivalries around the country.

I don't know why our rivalry doesn't quite measure up; there's surely Bad Blood aplenty. Maybe some of it has to do with the fact that for the last decade or so, we've both been ranked in the nation's Top Ten when we met at the end of the year. Neither of us has fallen behind the other, and both enjoy well-earned measures of respect.

Maybe some of it has to do with the distractions of living in Florida. After all, we have Disney and Universal and the Daytona 500, and the glitter of Miami and a dozen professional football, basketball and baseball teams and an endless panoply of economic and social playgrounds, and 14 million people most of whom are originally from Somewhere Else.

But, when you and all your cousins and kinfolk have always lived in a remote mountain town, and you spend your undistracted evenings oiling your firing mechanism and working your way to the bottom of a large jar of clear liquid that burns with a pure blue flame, the hateful escapades of your rivals tend to burrow into that deep part of the brain where they can be nursed and expanded and the entire contemplation given over to the plotting of sweet revenge. At least that's the way I remember it.

I am told that the FSU/Florida rivalry is a festival of brotherhood and peace compared to the feud between Auburn and Alabama, for instance.

Social and political divisions between those two schools fall naturally along their lines of emphasis. Alabama Polytechnic, as Auburn was known, has traditionally produced fine engineers and veterinarians, and most of the leaders in the state's massive agribusiness. Alabama has produced most of the state's lawyers, judges, politicians and bankers.

Scott Brown, one of the authors of The Uncivil War, puts it more succinctly:

"In general, Alabama people think of Auburn followers as low-class rednecks lucky to have the Crimson Tide on their schedule. Auburn, in turn, views Bama as a bunch of spoiled smoke-blowers living off Daddy's money. Obviously, a deep socially-based resentment between the two camps has existed since the beginning." And he adds: "Make no mistake: bitterness is at the heart of this never-ending battle."

Bitterness is the right word, and it never lets up. In 1987, just prior to kickoff in the annual Iron Bowl between the Tigers and the Tide, the stadium announcer asked everyone to stand for the playing of the Auburn alma mater. As Auburn's band began to play, thousands of Alabama fans rose and happily began singing "Old McDonald Had A Farm."

Will Collier, the Auburn half of the Uncivil War writing team, tells a personal story to illustrate how the intensity of this blood feud pervades every element of life in Alabama.

"When my younger sister's birth was imminent, it was two weeks into November 1969. The Game that year would be huge, and is still remembered as some of Auburn's all-time great victories. The delivering surgeon, a Bama graduate, and my father agreed that an untimely birth would wreck their chances to see the Iron Bowl. So, in the true spirit of sportsmanship, they arranged to have my sister delivered by Caesarean section on the open date prior to The Game."

Co-author Brown recalls the same game from a different perspective: "[That game] was unsavory to me because of the way the Auburn fans acted afterward...yelling and running like they were about to loot a tractor store."

Another great rivalry with a bitter edge is the ancient feud between Clemson and South Carolina. It is said that in the early part of this century, the Clemson ROTC turned out with fixed bayonets in a confrontation with South Carolina fans and students.

You'll recall in the late 1970s South Carolina had a great running back named George Rogers. Rogers was a good fellow who overcame a dreary and unfortunate childhood (his dad spent time in prison for armed robbery) to win the Heisman Trophy. Carolina produced a clever bumper sticker that referred to Rogers' jersey number: CAROLINA PLAYS WITH A LOADED .38

Very soon, Clemson fans all over the state were sporting their own bumper sticker: SO DOES GEORGE ROGERS' FATHER.

Some of the antics in the Carolina/Clemson series have been almost beyond belief. In 1961, with the game being played at South Carolina, the Clemson team ran onto the field for pregame warm-ups. When the Tigers appeared, the Clemson band struck up "Tiger Rag," and the Tiger faithful all rose and cheered.

Except it wasn't really the Clemson team. Gamecock coach Marvin Bass and South Carolina's Sigma Nu fraternity had assembled a full set of Clemson football uniforms. One heavyset fellow dressed up like Clemson coach Frank Howard.

While the real Clemson team was still getting dressed, the bogus "Tigers" raced onto the field and went through the warm-up drills they had been practicing in secret for a month. Everyone was fooled until the pretenders deliberately began to drop passes, shank punts, and blockers fell onto their backs and flailed their arms and legs like huge bugs.

But the Clemson fans still weren't sure they had been duped until the stadium loudspeaker began blaring Chubby Checker's "Peppermint Twist" and all the make-believe Tigers began dancing wildly across the field.

There was a fight, of course, but there probably would have been a full-scale riot if the second half of the caper had been pulled off. The pranksters also had a bony, old, on-its-last-legs milk cow hidden beneath the stand. It was to be paraded out at half-time and introduced as Clemson's Homecoming Queen.

In all the pregame excitement, however, poor Bessie had a heart attack and dropped stone dead.