Fred “Stump” Jones was a stout bachelor that lived off of Pickens Street in one of the old homes that hadn’t been taken over by the college. As a portly child he was rather good at football with the neighborhood children. He was able to plow through them like an oily thumb smashing through potato chips. A mortar and pestle. As he grew older, an aversion to perspiration ended his short career, but never his love for the sport.
As an adult, Fred’s entire corpulent existence revolved around football. College football. He lived for the season to start in the fall. When it was over in the winter he would just re-watch old games. Study. Criticize. Critique. Like many fans, when his team would win he would ride the high until the next game. When they would lose he could barely get out of his collegiate themed bedding.
On game day he would invite all of his friends over. Most of which were 20 years younger and lived in the other old homes on the street that had been swallowed up by the college as Greek housing.
“He’s kind of creepy but he’s always got beer.”
By chance, and because it was on sale that week at Tony’s Grocery, Sportswear, and Deer Processing, Fred cooked up approximately 2 lbs of bacon in dirty cast iron skillet before a game. “What goes better with day drinking than bacon?” That day his team won against a foe they had virtually no odds of beating. The next week before the game Fred went to cook up some frozen egg rolls in his skillet. The bacon grease from last week was still there. “Put a little America in that egg roll.”
His team won again.
The next week he cooked a different batch of bacon. His team lost miserably. Fred drizzled the hot grease out of his pan onto a fire ant hill in his backyard. The destruction eased his pain. The local stray cats ate the grease. Because bacon and egg rolls were about 80% of Fred’s diet (the other 20% Lipitor) he was back to cooking it the next week...this time his team won.
There must be some power in this bacon fat.
A superstition had been born. Some fans wear their lucky socks so their team will prevail. Some don’t shave for the season. Fred “Stump” Jones had what he would come to refer to as ‘Winning Grease’.
Fred started saving some of the ‘winning grease’ from each batch by pouring it in ancient blue mason jars hoarded in his basement by previous generations. He would leave the ‘losing grease’ on the porch for one of the stray cats to lap up. “Cats are inherently evil, that's why they like the bad fat.” This is also why every fraternity house on Pickens Street has an obese cat on the porch and why there is never any bacon on Saturday at Tony’s Grocery, Sportswear, and Deer Processing.
Fred “Stump” Jones. “He’s kind of creepy but he’s always got beer...and bacon.