No one had seen Sheriff Roy Templeton in five days. Folks at the Sheriff’s Department in Mud Lick, Alabama started whispering about the need to do a welfare check on the area’s top cop.
Everyone drew straws to see who would pay the Sheriff a visit. As luck would have it, Chief Deputy Ernesto Miranda drew the assignment. He got in his cruiser and drove to Sheriff Templeton’s residence.
The Chief Deputy announced his presence after two distinct raps to the door. “Police! Welfare check. Anyone home?” A couple of minutes later the door unlocked and Arlene Templeton, the Sheriff’s wife, came to the door with streaked mascara and red-tinged eyes.
“Arlene, what’s wrong? Where’s Sheriff Roy?”
Arlene sniffled a bit. Her lower lip trembled. “Oh Ernesto, he’s really not well,” Arlene managed before bursting into tears. Chief Deputy Miranda didn’t know what else to do, so he hugged Arlene. “I’m sorry Arlene,” he said.
“Sorry for what, Chief Deputy?” Sheriff Roy’s voice rang from a back room. Immediately, Chief Deputy Miranda perked up. “Sheriff?” he asked. “You okay? Everyone at the station’s been wondering about you since Saturday night.”
Sheriff Roy stepped into the living room. What the Chief Deputy saw next nearly struck him dumb.
Sheriff Roy was dressed in an orange and white uniform: white pants with an orange stripe, an orange shirt that read “Sheriff” in white lettering, and a garishly orange badge that looked like it’s been dipped in Pantone 151.
“I’m fine, Chief Deputy. Can we please go to the Sheriff’s Department now? I need to address everyone.”
“Yes sir. Shouldn’t be a problem. You want me to drive, Sheriff?”
“I was hoping you’d offer.”
The two men sat in Miranda’s squad car for a couple of minutes before they drove off. It was the Chief Deputy who broke the silence.
“Interesting outfit you’ve got on there, Sheriff.”
“I’m just attempting to keep up with the kids these days, Miranda. I heard there were certain young men in the Crimson Tide ball team who thought it a fashion statement to paint their nails orange after losing to Tennessee. Seemed like it was time to update my wardrobe.”
“Huh. Do tell now.”
The men drove in silence for several miles.
“This is loss number two for the Tide in Knoxville. Back to back, Miranda. That’s a hell of a feat for a coach who looks like a grown up Bobby Hill.”
“You becoming a Vol fan, Sheriff?”
“Hell no,” the Sheriff chuckled. “I’m giving the new Devil his due.”
Miranda pulled the cruiser into a filling station. “Gotta get gas, Sheriff.”
“At least you’re not doing something as rankly stupid as going for it on 4th and 22, Miranda. Christ almighty, what was DeBoer thinking? You punt and then force a stop. It’s damn near madness to attempt a 4th and 22.”
“Sure is, Sheriff.” Miranda nodded in agreement, attempting to keep the Sheriff talking.
“If there’s one thing that game shows me, it’s DeBoer doesn’t understand what coaching in the SEC is like, Miranda. There’s standards. The standard is the Alabama Crimson Tide. Almost twenty Natties to our name, son. No longer. Now we’re 0-2 against the state of Tennessee.”
Sheriff Roy slapped the dashboard. “Goddamn TENNESSEE, Miranda. Can you believe it? Those orange clad buffoons beat us again. And insult to injury, we lost to their nerdy little relatives in Nashville too.” With that, Sheriff Roy spat.
Chief Deputy Miranda saw none of this as he was inside paying for gas, two Coca-Colas and a bag of Flaming Hot Cheetos.”
When he returned to the cruiser, Miranda heard Sheriff Roy droning on about the Tide’s numerous interceptions, including the game-clincher by Will Brooks of the Vols.
“Son of a bitch was a walk-on from Alabama, Miranda! He’s a local boy and he caught the game-deciding ball as if Milroe meant to throw it to him. Can you believe it?”
“It’s amazing, Sheriff.”
The two made it to the Sheriff’s Department. Chief Deputy Miranda turned off the motor and looked at Sheriff Roy.
“Sir, with all due respect, you show up for work dressed like that and the troops are going to ask questions.”
“What questions could they ask that are more pressing than who should face justice today, Miranda? Maybe we could answer how Kalen DeBoer turned a legacy forged from greatness into a mass of quivering crimson Jello? Did Coach Saban go because he saw his kids painting their nails orange? How did we only hang seven points on the damn Vols in the first half?”
Sheriff Roy was wide-eyed with a feral look. It truly terrified Chief Deputy Miranda.
“No sir, I don’t think I can help answer any of those.”
Sheriff Roy Templeton exhaled, the life and fight seemingly draining from him. “Then the best we can figure is this is a shit day where grown men expect participation trophies to mean something and act accordingly.”
The two men wouldn’t speak of this day ever again, or these conversations. Sheriff Roy returned to wearing his normal uniform the next day, but he would occasionally break out the orange and white Sheriff’s uniform when he was in a bad mood.
And the people of Mud Lick learned very quickly never to cross Sheriff Roy when he wore orange and white.
