On the magic that once was.
Note: Blazing Saddles asked for a sermon a day or two back. I may be late, but I do deliver.
My brothers, my sisters,
Like some of you, I had the good fortune to attend, and graduate from, UAB in the 1980’s. That was such a long time ago now, but I assure you, that every day I feel the gift, the blessing that I received. I learned many things, but most of all, I learned to believe in magic.
That magic seeped down to us from our leaders. Actual visionary leaders who didn’t need to give themselves props in their bios. Joseph Volker (who was before my time) and S. Richardson “Everybody Calls Me Dick” Hill. They didn’t tell us what we couldn’t do, what we couldn’t afford. If the resources weren’t there, they went out and they found them. They did not, as Justin Craft has put it, practice the philosophy of scarcity. Theirs was the philosophy of abundance.
And when they made the decision to start big-time athletics, what the Sam Hill did they do? They found a man who practiced magic. Yes, Gene Bartow had a great resume: two Final Fours, hundreds of victories, and national reputation. But he believed that great things could happen at UAB, and he worked to make them happen.
UAB in those days was kind of a dump. One of the myriad of non-descript, faceless colleges built during the 1960‘s and 1970’s to absorb the Baby Boom as they entered college in vast numbers compared to what had gone before. It had no dorms, key classroom buildings were converted from other uses (like the decrepit Ullman High School), no food services or similar amenities.
What it had was a sense that great things could and would be accomplished here. Gene Bartow symbolized that on the basketball court, with seven straight NCAA appearances starting with the program’s second year of eligibility (and an NIT in the first). But it was more than that. We would accomplish great science, great art, great business. Hill, Bartow, Prewitt . . . they left no doubt. UAB might be the stepchild of the UA System, but already it surpassed the so-called flagship.
That attitude has served me well over the 40 years that followed. Like most of you, I was handed few advantages. Except the most important one: I learned to believe in, and to practice, magic. To create something where once, there was nothing. I have, quite frankly, been successful in everything I’ve attempted – and I’ve attempted a lot. Because I know that there is magic in this world, magic I saw Hill and Bartow tap to create something where once, there was nothing.
Over the years, UAB lost that magic, even as it gained ever-nicer buildings and its leaders took ever-fatter salaries. Now we’re told to be “realistic,” to accept a lower status. To give up on dreams. To slough along with our heads down until we meet our inevitable, lonely death.
I reject this world-view. I reject the scarcity preached by the self-serving cretins Watts and St. John. I embrace the magic of Hill and Bartow.
When I saw Trent Dilfer introduced, I recognized him immediately. He is a fellow practitioner. A man who has not, who will not, accept the place accorded to him. His resume might be thin, but his bald head crackles with magic. This is the man we need not just to win football games, but to restore the will, the excitement that’s been leeched away by years of weak leadership and a vision fixed on the mud under our feet.
I have never met Trent Dilfer and, very likely, I never will. But I know him. He is our brother that we have yet to meet.
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On the magic that once was.
