On this week's Keepin' It Real, Cam recalls a time when he was very much out of his element and was slightly afraid for his life.

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About midway through the fourth quarter of Alabama’s loss to Vanderbilt, my son, who is a student at the University, sent me a text. It read, “Can I transfer?” I laughed.

As a Tulane student we were fond of saying that on Saturdays in the fall, the New Orleans Superdome hosted a cocktail party for students to mix and mingle in the stands. Occasionally we would look up and notice that a football game was going on in front of us, but we never let it distract us.

Then one weekend I visited friends in Tuscaloosa. Saturday morning, I asked about plans for the night. “It depends,” was the answer.

“On what?” I asked. “Whether we win or lose tonight.” “You mean the football game?”

“Of course!” they said.

“Well,” I suggested, “let’s assume we’re going to lose and make some fun plans anyway. That’s the way we do it at Tulane. And if we win, it’s a wonderful surprise.”

There was quiet look of incomprehension. Of disbelief. “I recognize your words,” their faces showed, “but I don’t understand what you’re saying.” I realized that I stood in a dangerous culture unfamiliar to me, and I’d best button my lip unless I said something that might bring me harm. Like standing with uncivilized tribe in the Amazon jungle where you don’t know the rules and a foolish move may cost you your life.

My son’s text brought that memory back.

Monday, I spoke with a friend who was in Nashville during the Vanderbilt game. He watched from a balcony on Broadway as the goal posts made their way down the street. The students were very well heeled. Lifting the goals posts over the cars and apologizing if their impromptu parade was inconveniencing drivers. Very kind. Very nice. Bear Bryant’s advice on what to do when you’re in the endzone – act like you’ve been there before – was lost on them. By-standers watched in delight and awe, like spotting Halley’s comet, returning after making its long loop around the sun. It was a lifetime event. He said even the police were in on it, blocking traffic and making way.

I have a friend who’s quit smoking except for the second half of Alabama games. He watches through the window, one cigarette after the other. Another who only watches alone in his small home office where he can’t be disturbed, and no one can be offended by his cursing. I have some who make everyone stand up and change places when something goes wrong on the field. As if new seats in the room will bring better luck.

Saturday I’ll be watching the Alabama Tennessee game with my father, my two brothers, my son and some nephews at a work weekend at my father’s camp in Clark County. I am a Tide fan, after all. But there will be no strange hocus pocus from us. Just my lucky Bama hat, my favorite Bama shirt, and my lucky Bama sock – just one sock. I tried wearing them both again during the Vanderbilt game. It’s my fault they lost. I’m sorry. I took the bad one off and burned it.

Roll Tide, ya’ll.