I’m a Texas fan living in Alabama on Jan. 8. This could be hell. First, congratulations to Alabama, your team is as good as it was billed; now on to my misery.

I brought it on myself. I cannot help but be proud of where I came from and where I went to school even though I have not lived there for almost 25 years. I have very deep roots in Texas, and deeper roots in Austin where I was married and two of my children, as well as me, were born. I am not shy about wearing my Burnt Orange shirts (which I have done every day since Texas won the Big 12 championship and got into the title game), my UT cap and various decals on my cars, and I have been very vocal in my support of my alma mater. We decorated the house with a Texas flag at the front gate, Longhorns on the lamp posts illuminated with orange and white lights, balloons and signs galore. Anyone driving by, and there were a lot of them, could not help but know where my allegiance lies. I knew I was asking for it, and now I know what hell is.

My phone started ringing about five minutes after the final ticks on the game clock and hasn’t quit, and I mean that literally. I finally unplugged and turned them off, but this morning when I reversed the procedure, my voice mail, text and home machine started buzzing. It’s all been good natured and fun, but come on now, it’s just a national championship. I mean it’s not like you’ve never won one before. You should be used to this with the 12 previous ones.

It has been fun for me to live in Alabama where football is taken as seriously, if not more so, than in the state of Texas. Growing up, I was never big enough to play football, baseball was my game, and in Texas, it might as well have been Curling or some such sport. I was a secondclass citizen; I didn’t play football. I would meet some pretty girl and in the process of trying to impress her, the conversation seemed to always turn to sports, or I should say, football.

“Do you play football?” The lovely young thing would ask, impressed enough to recognize my potential as someone who would take her out and spend money on her.

“No, I’m a baseball player.”

“Oh,” would be her only and last comment.

Oh, to be a football hero in Texas where the only people left in some of the small towns when the local high school plays an away game are police, fire and hospital personnel, and they are listening to it on the radio.

Alabama is worse or better, depending on your point of view. In Texas, they have pro teams that folks can cheer for, but in Alabama, college football is the king, nothing else comes close. Such a fan base has made life for me in my three years in Alabama — well, interesting.

I’ll borrow from “Field of Dreams,” a baseball movie, but the sentiment is appropriate:

“Is this heaven?” I see myself asking.

“No, this is Alabama, Roll Tide; home of the national football champions. Where did you think you were?”

“Never mind,” I say. All the time wondering, “Is this hell?”

David Wilson Atwood is a local freelance writer whose human interest columns offer a unique perspective.