True story about making Auburn football history

On Friday, I was at the Auburn campus, in the downtown area next to Toomer's Corner. There, I saw Auburn quarterback Payton Thorne at a pro Palestine rally. He was wearing a mask, but I could tell that it was him. I grabbed him aside and said, "You idiot! You're going to ruin you whole NFL career!" as I snapped a picture.

Astonished, he said "Pssh. I'm going to go pro and those guys are Americans who don't care about that stuff. Who knows? Maybe I'll be an Atlanta Falcon, a Carolina Panther, or even a Tampa Bay Buccaneer?"

"Like hell you will" I replied. "All of those owners are Jewish!"

Aghast, he replied, "Well maybe I can be a San Diego Charger, or a Las Vegas Raider, a Miami Dolphin, or a Philadelphia Eagle, or a New England Patriot, or a Minnesota Viking, or a Washington Commander, or a..."


Interrupting, I said, "Let me stop you right there. All of those teams are owned by Pro-Isreali Jewish people!"

His head sunk. Defeated, he said, "Well are there any pro-Palestine football owners?"

It was with tears in my eyes that I told him, "Well, there is one. Sadiq Khan, the Pakistanti owner of the Jacksonville Jaguars."

Crying, Payton Thorpe said that playing as a Jag was even worse than not being allowed to play pro football. He cried and said he'd do anything for me not to tell anyone.

That's when I cam up with a plan that would forever change the course of Auburn football history.

"I won't," I said, "if you let me play in your place in the next game."

Payton Thorne laughed, thinking it a joke, but I was serious. I had played high school football, though nowhere near his level, and I was the kicker. But the thought of stepping onto that field, experiencing the roar of the crowd, was too tempting. After much negotiation, he agreed, convinced Auburn would easily beat the 25-point spread against a weaker team. After all, the Ne Mexico State Aggies were 0 and 24 in school history against SEC teams.

The plan was simple. I would keep my helmet on, minimizing the chances of being recognized while Payton Thorne would hide in his locker until after the game. The team, used to following Jake's lead, wouldn't question my authority. We agreed I'd play conservatively, just handing off the ball and avoiding any risky plays.

The adrenaline was intoxicating. Dressed in Jake's gear, I ran onto the field, the cheers of the crowd fueling my audacity. The first quarter was a blur of excitement. But reality hit hard as the game progressed. My passes were off, my timing terrible. The opposing team, sensing weakness, pounced.

By halftime, we were trailing by three. I wanted to stop, but the thrill of the game, the rush of playing in front of thousands, was overwhelming. We pushed on.

The final whistle blew, marking a shocking defeat. We hadn't just lost; we were decimated, beaten by 21 points. The crowd was stunned into silence. I slipped away, unnoticed in the chaos, leaving Jake to face the aftermath.

I had not only jeopardized Payton's career but also let down an entire team, and an entire community that lived and breathed Auburn football.

That game became a legend, a bizarre anomaly in a season of triumphs. And me? I was just a guy who got caught up in a moment of madness, a ghost in the storied history of Auburn football.