Your Friday Hoodoo Thread │An Embarrassment of Riches

For our RBR newbs, the Friday Hoodoo is a sacred event that dates back to 2007(ish). The Friday Hoodoo is our weekly attempt to curry favor with the Football Gods by admitting our moral, intellectual, and cultural shortcomings in a very public manner. In plain English, along with our Sweetheart submission, we tell embarrassing stories from our past in hope that Alabama gets a W.

How does one Hoodoo? Well..

1. Embarrassing Admission. This is the classic and most used sacrifice. We have all done some stupid things over the years and the internet is the perfect venue for spilling the beans.

2. Eat something horrible or disgusting. The gods love physical sacrifice and what better way to show your dedication then by eating something that may lead to a trip to the ER? (by reading this you absolve RBR and SBNation of any liability for medical expenses related to or caused by your hoodoo)

3. A vow to the gods that you'll do something horrific, like watch the twilight movies for a national title or take your wife to see Les Misérables for a win in the 2012 SEC Championship game.

In the end, it is your sacrifice but fake admissions or "unsatisfied" vows to the gods could cause irreparable damage to future hoodoo. This is not a game.

This week the opponent is Colorado State and 'Bama is favored by 39.5 points. And though who will be the victor on Saturday will likely never be in doubt, there is plenty on the line, mainly injuries. So the football gods demand a sacrifice, regardless of the competition.

Bammer's Admission

When I was about eight years old, while at a church picnic with my family, I crapped my pants. (Yes this is going to be that kind of story). To set the mood, this wasn't one of those pants crapping moments where you tried to sneak a silent but deadly and ended up sharting on yourself. This was an — I ate too much Taco Bell and literally spewed all over the place.

The embarrassing part isn't the pooping on myself in a very public manner (we've all had those moments in our lives, hopefully..no? just me?). What makes this hoodoo worthy is what happened when I tried to hide the, um, evidence.

At eight, you haven't developed your "hiding crap from mom and dad" (both figuratively and literally) skills that is perfected in your teenage years. At this point in life, when the stuff hits the proverbial fan, fear of being caught forces your movements to be more frantic than precise.

So, here I am, little bammer, standing in a rundown bathroom (there was only one men's bathroom at the picnic site) with liquid goo in my pants. What do I do? Forget asking for help, I got this. For starters, how about trying to slowly slide off your whitie tidies...Oh, that just smears the poo all over your legs? No biggie, just have a seat on the toil....BAD IDEA. Now the mess has spread.

At this point I'm freaking a little and people are knocking on the door. QUICK, wet some paper towels and clean yourself off and flush away the problem. Whelp, the toilet is now overflowing? What to do? I've got shite filled undies in the trash, a toilet that is "cleaned" to an eight year old standards, which, by the way, is now stopped up with 500 wet paper towels and your pants have a huge crap stain in the back. NAILED IT.

The next thing I hear is my mom at the door,"Um, Lyell bammer, honey, you OK?

Feeling like I've done a fairly good job with the clean up, I open the door and basically here's my mom's reaction...

Apparently, my attempt to hide the mess was less than satisfactory. There may have been some excrement on the floor, perhaps the wall and definitely some left over on the toilet.

My lasting memory is sitting in the back of my parents car on the way home, in-between my brother and sister, with the crapped filled undies in a plastic bag just above my head in that little ledge in the back window.

Roll Tide