I used to live close to Tuscaloosa. Kid went to private school there in a place that was probably 80% Bama fans.
One of the fundraisers we were expected to work as parents was the concession stand at Alabama football games. (This is another story but my horribly shitty attitude and refusal to wear their colors forced them to let me buy out of that obligation and only work it once).
So before working it I heard from hundreds of their dumbass fans about their amazing hot dog sauce and how it was the best of any stadium in the country. They’d tried it all but theirs was a secret mix and unparalleled.
So I’m working the stand and my the-opposite-of-chick-fil-a demeanor with the drunken rubes who staggered up to the window and sprayed halitosis in my face through their four remaining teeth as they ordered half full cokes and hot dogs convinces the guy “in charge†that maybe I’m a bigger asset if I work behind the scenes assembling. Shortly after halftime we run out of the magical secret hot dog sauce. I’m sent to the back to create more. Well, at least I will get something out of this experience. I ask for the secret recipe, expecting to find pre-mixed ingredients that give it the allure ive been led to believe it possesses. And the guy running the stand leans in and whispers “two parts ketchup, one part mustard.â€
Fools.