When T.J. Yeldon left a rabid LSU student section in stunned silence, 10 years ago
“Walking into the tiger’s den” should be a thing, at least in Baton Rouge.
Driving to Louisiana on a whim and without a ticket, back when you didn’t have a child and could do things like that, only to unwittingly end up smack dab in the middle of the LSU student section at Death Valley…yeah, that’s the tiger’s den. Tiger Stadium, to be exact.
My wife Tess and I have a few road games under our belt, but Alabama-LSU at night in Baton Rouge — nothing comes close, and I’m not sure it ever will again. We checked off a sports bucket list item 10 years ago. You might remember the game.
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Less than a year removed from Alabama’s BCS Championship win over LSU in New Orleans, which was only a couple of months after the Tigers escaped Bryant-Denny Stadium with a 9-6 overtime win in the “Game of the Century” clash between the nation’s top-ranked teams, the next showdown was upon us.
LSU fans wanted blood. And why wouldn’t they after seeing their magical season torn apart by Saban’s historically dominant defense, one they’d already beat? Still, it happened, and the Tide had to come through Death Valley before they could sniff repeating as champs. Les Miles, their eccentric but effective head coach at the time, would later call it a place “where opponents’ dreams come to die.”
I don’t remember having doubts about Tiger Stadium’s notorious night game atmosphere. If I did, I felt like a fool just a few minutes after setting foot inside for the first time. The place lived up to the hype from the jump, not just because we were surrounded by a mad pack of wolves eager to gnaw the marrow from our bones. You heard every bit of the capacity crowd of 102,321 for 60 minutes. But when the Tigers scored, the place became unglued — decibel levels shattered, full souvenir cups flying overhead from the sections behind us. Death Valley was the greatest atmosphere in college football, confirmed.
But what goes up, must come down, particularly when the quarterback wearing crimson engineers a drive of a lifetime. Conan O’Brien would often joke when a monologue one-liner didn’t work, it caused a silence only heard in deep space, a hush recreated after 43 seconds of pure improbability from the Alabama offense.
Prior to kickoff, before the sun went down and all hell broke loose, we toured the campus. We missed ESPN’s “College GameDay” by several hours and only had but a few to find a way into the game and enjoy some pregame festivities. While touring the quad and marveling at sights like War Memorial Tower, we spotted an odd presence on the green space: The Batmobile Tour made a stop in Baton Rouge. It’s what it sounds like: Every film/TV Batmobile up to that point were parked in a row for all to see, from Adam West’s convertible cruiser to Christian Bale’s hulking Tumbler. So yeah, random enough but super cool for selfies and Batman movie dorks like us (the Tim Burton car still rules the roost).
But we needed a ticket, and we were ready to shell out for this possibly once-in-a-lifetime shot of witnessing the greatest modern college football rivalry, one that often determined the eventual SEC champion and national title representative. The game was a sellout, so we certainly weren’t picky about seats. We finally found a gentleman holding up a pair of tickets without the standard design of the tickets everyone else handed the ushers on their way in. Warned of counterfeiting all season long, we studied perforation, perused for holograms, etc. So we struck a deal: We’ll buy ‘em if they scan at the entrance. They did, and we were in.
We marveled at the field as we found our seats, confused about our surroundings. The rows around us seemed filled with slightly younger fans, but whatever — we had made it into the stadium for the game.
When Nick Saban sauntered out during pregame warmups, it suddenly clicked.
“S— that Tiger d—, b—-!” one fan hacked in a primal scream, as others soon followed. We looked to the young men and women seated in the row below us and confirmed our suspicions: “This is the student section.” Still dubbed “The Saban Bowl” in 2012, the game reopened the raw wounds of the coach bolting for the Miami Dolphins only to end up at an SEC West rival in a few years. Tiger fans let him know, loudly.
So, yeah. The LSU student section inside Death Valley. The vaguely marked tickets we bought had obviously been converted so anyone could buy them, yes, including two fans visiting from Tuscaloosa. The youngins reassured us, “Don’t worry! We’re from the Christian fraternity. You’ll be fine here.” Would that ease your anxiety moments before kickoff? Because while they were lovely people who warmly welcomed us, they fit right in (sans the expression mentioned above).
We expected intensity from the game and the venue before we ever drove down. And the teams matched it before they even took the field. Damion Square, the decorated Tide defensive lineman who won three national championships his way to a respectable NFL career gave a pregame locker room speech that only recently circulated Twitter and became a go-to hype video for fans ahead of big games. “…They done pissed me off, and the man on the field gotta see me. I’m’ll choke his ass out from snap to whistle. It ain’t my fault he’s the next man on the m———n’ schedule. We Bama. That’s what we do.” The tone was already set, but watching this, what we saw for four quarters made sense, with every player — most of the future pros — putting everything on the line, and the fans feeling every ounce of that passion.
LSU students cheer during the Alabama at LSU SEC football game, Saturday, November 03, 2012, in Baton Rouge, LA. The game pitted the #1 Tide against the #5 Tigers, a rematch of Alabama’s last regular season loss and last season’s BCS National Championship game. (Vasha Hunt)AP
Down by three points with 1:34 on the clock and zero timeouts, McCarron lined up at the 28 and went full-John Elway, thanks to his favorite clutch target Kevin Norwood. The quarterback found the receiver for three straight first downs, marching the Tide down to LSU’s 28-yardline. Then on 2nd-and-10, LSU blitzed on the left side as McCarron snuck the ball through to T.J. Yeldon who darted and juked through the Tiger defense for an improbable touchdown that sent a hush over the once-roaring Tiger Stadium.
That drive overwhelmed everybody in the building, even the quarterback who was in tears once he reached his sideline. In typical fashion Eli Gold called it beautifully, energetically insisting “He’s gonna go!” while commentator couldn’t help himself with a “Yes!” My wife shrieked, “Oh my God!” and immediately covered her mouth as the LSU students appeared ill and, even more improbably, silent. Purple and gold stillness. Even with 51 seconds left on the clock, more time than McCarron needed for the go-ahead score, they looked defeated.
Square sacked Zach Mettenberger with 10 seconds left to end it, and Alabama won its second straight thriller in place that’s hard to win at all. The next week, the Tide fell as the legend of Johnny Football was born in Bryant-Denny. But they’d win the remainder of the schedule, and upsets in other conferences landed them back in the BCS picture, as they throttled Notre Dame in the championship game.
When the clock mercifully hit zero, the students didn’t move. Bama stole their joy. We were stuck, not wanting to call any attention to ourselves or our enjoyment of what just happened. I leaned down to my wife and said, “Keep a low profile,” as we began to move slowly from our seats in a sea of dazed Tiger fans whose plans rapidly changed that night. We waded through the stunned zombie horde on our way to revelry, as a small section of Alabama fans hollered and camped out behind ESPN’s set, where McCarron would join to recap the instant classic.
We found our friends, took a few pics outside Tiger Stadium to commemorate the evening and hit the road back to New Orleans, during a car ride where we re-lived that final drive the same way fans have the last 10 years. The next morning in the French Quarter, the beignets at Café Du Monde tasted that much sweeter, knowing we’d just witnessed one of the greatest games in Alabama history, probably a top five moment of the Nick Saban era in at Alabama.
A decade later, I pondered another trip to Louisiana. After all, we have another top 10 showdown between the divisional adversaries when the stakes could not be higher for the Crimson Tide. But no, not this time. How could we possibly recreate the magic of the 2012 game, the Yeldon touchdown that cast that beautiful spell of silence throughout Tiger Stadium at night? It doesn’t mean we don’t have more of those trips in us in the future, hopefully to bring the kid along for the fun. But truth be told, one night in Death Valley is about all we can take.