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I’m going to put this politely: I loathe “Forrest Gump.”
Not the individual, as played by Tom Hanks in the movie of the same name1. That fella seems like a nice enough gentleman, a lad with the knack for finding himself in the middle of flashpoints of late-60s-to-mid-80s American history. But the movie — wow, is that one hell of a sappy mess, with a Boomer-comforting message that everything bad that happens in the world is someone else’s fault, and a couple homely aphorisms and a simple sunny worldview are all you need in this life. It’s like a Hallmark Christmas movie and a Live, Love, Laugh sign had a baby, and then they fried up that baby and served it with candied yams at a church picnic … wait, this metaphor’s kind of getting away from me. Back to the point.
Whatever else you think of ol’ Forrest and his movie, there is this: the cat could play some football.
I asked Joe Goodman, author of the exceptional book WE WANT BAMA, to provide a little perspective on what ol’ Forrest brings to the table, football-wise, and he serves up the heat:
“Forrest Gump, All-American, Bane of Auburn, Sorrow of Starkville, Terror of Tech, would be the focal point of any offense in any era. The man ran a 3.78 40...IN PADS. His momma was a track star back in the day in Greenbow, Alabama. His daddy was the holy spirit of halfbacks.”
Bold stuff! And all true! Goodman continues: “When Bear Bryant recruited Forrest Gump, Forrest asked him if his first name was Teddy. The two loved each other every day thereafter. Forrest's first day of practice is legendary in Tuscaloosa. Forrest refused to wear his helmet. It's not that he was tough or brave. Of course he was all of those things, but Forrest didn't want to wear a helmet because the wind tickled his ears through the earholes. It was the aerodynamics of the design. He was too fast for the technology of the day. They taped his ears up for games.”
My GOD, that’s brilliant. Almost makes me forget that I think of that stupid-ass movie every time I walk past the spot on Alabama’s campus where George Wallace stood in the schoolhouse door.
Joe’s high praise begs the question, though: how would Forrest Gump fare playing for the (usually) world-beating Alabama of today? Would Forrest have the same level of success under Nick Saban that he did against teams stocked with guys named Ernie, Lester and Larry? All due respect to the era of the Bear documented in the movie, but Forrest isn’t exactly going up against, shall we say, a diverse array of competition.
Forrest’s defining skill is his breakaway speed, and as fortune would have it, Alabama under Saban has specialized in speed. Julio Jones, Amari Cooper, DeVonta Smith, Jerry Jeudy … these guys are so fast they’re already enjoying Tuesday afternoon while the rest of us are suffering through Monday morning. How would Forrest match up against them in a race?
Conveniently enough, we can guess the answer.
One sequence of “Forrest Gump” shows our boy breaking down the right sideline on a kickoff return, running in a classic back-straight, knees-high, true-north direction. The tracking shot follows him for almost an entire 40 yards:
So let’s do a little math. From the moment Forrest’s foot touches the 20 to the moment he breaks the plane of the 40 is 2.58 seconds. Double that, and you’re looking at a 40-yard dash time of 5.16 seconds, give or take. (Put aside the fact that you don’t get a running start for the 40-yard dash.)
That’s fast, in a real-world sense! Faster than you or I could probably run! Faster than Tom Brady, who clocked a 5.28! No wonder ol’ Forrest was torching that collection of buzz-cuts!
However … now comes the hard truth. Julio Jones ran a 4.31, close to a full second faster than Gump. More to the point, former Georgia lineman Jordan Davis — one of the players who would’ve been pounding Gump into paste, had he played the Dawgs — ran a 4.78. In other words, as fast as Forrest looks in that clip right there, your present-day SEC players are about 20 percent faster than that. And they know how to cut angles, too.
But wait, you say! Speed isn’t everything! There’s also coachability! And in that, Forrest is quite possibly the perfect student-athlete: he does exactly what you tell him, nothing more, nothing less. Saban would love a lump of unmolded, unfired clay like that.
Plus, let’s not forget that Saban is weird as hell all on his own. The definitive article on Saban’s pervasive strangeness came out nine years and three championships ago: Warren St. John’s “Sympathy for the Devil,” a story initially designed to humanize Saban instead had the effect of documenting for all time the kind of obsessive mania that it takes to bend an entire sport to your will.
Saban, for instance, eats nothing but Little Debbie snack cakes for breakfast and a salad of iceberg lettuce, turkey and tomatoes for lunch. He never looks particularly happy in victory. And he once groused that winning the national championship cost him a week of recruiting.
So yes, perhaps Saban and Gump could be similarly kindred spirits, men with a relentless, singleminded drive and a little difficulty knowing exactly when to let off the gas. Perhaps it could be an even better connection than the Gump-Bryant one. Wouldn’t be the first time Saban had upstaged the Bear.
Then again, Gump on the 2022 Tide might just turn out like this:
Still, if anyone could figure out how to use Forrest Gump in the year 2022, it’d be Nick Saban. Bear got him to the All-American Team; Saban could probably get him a Heisman Trophy.
Song of the Week: “Descending,” The Black Crowes
Have mercy, baby I'm descending again Open your eyes, baby 'Cause this time, it's sink or it's swim
Dipping back in the archives for this one, back to the early ‘90s for an album, and a band, that sounded like the late ‘60s. The Georgia-based Black Crowes were rock’s greatest cosplayers, cloaking themselves in the trappings of Stones-y blues rock and faded British aristocracy. (A rock band that attempted a similar quarter-century throwback in 2022 would be performing in the style of … Linkin Park and Nickelback. Yes, you are old.) The thing about the Crowes is, they pulled it off. They’re so good at the dissolute-rocker thing that their work’s indistinguishable from — and in many cases, much better than — the original Woodstock-era versions. Take “Descending,”2 built on a piano riff so desperate and nostalgic you’ll get a little tearful just hearing it. But the closing crescendo brings with it a little hope for salvation. That’s a joyful noise, even if the Crowes were constructing this song as meticulously as you’d build a Lego set. Damn, I love these fools.
“Descending” and all the other songs I’ve recommended in this space are in the ever-growing Flashlight & A Biscuit Spotify playlist, which you can find right here:
That’ll do it for this time around. Have yourself a fine weekend, friends, and we’ll see you back here next Saturday!
—Jay
This is issue #78 of Flashlight & A Biscuit. Check out all the past issues right here. Feel free to email me with your thoughts, tips and advice. If you’re new around here, check out some of our recent hits:
Why Atlanta’s Varsity has the best burger ever. No, I’m serious.
Remembering Loretta Lynn, an icon without equal
We need a good Southern video game
Could you survive a Waffle House brawl?
On Willie Nelson and his magnificent old guitar
What does “Flashlight & A Biscuit” mean, anyway?
If you dig this newsletter, share it with your friends. Invite others to the party, everyone’s welcome
Based on the book also of the same name, which I realized as I started writing this that I have not actually read. Is it good?
Off the album “Amorica,” which came out in 1994 … just like “Forrest Gump.” Well. That was a weird and unintended coincidence.
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Kick back with some tales of Southern culture, sports, food and music from Jay Busbee. Grill's already hot; drinks are on ice. Pull up a chair.
They probably didn't expect people to time the 40, almost definitely he was meant to be faster than that, 5.1 isn't really that fast at all even back then.