Why don’t white people go to the Magic City Classic?

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I can’t recall how many years it took for me to finally get the Classic. My first included a classic rookie mistake—I parked wrong. Caught in this massive glut of traffic around Legion Field, I believe this towel-waving guy who said if I parked right here on this grass, I won’t let you get blocked in. Most of y’all know how that ended.

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Oh, maybe this is where I explain to anyone still wondering exactly what the Classic is—it’s the annual regular-season game between Alabama A&M in Huntsville and Alabama State in Montgomery, two prodigious members of the proud SWAC (Southwest Athletic Conference).

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I knew little about either team (See: above), had neither a bulldog nor a hornet in this hunt. Yet I quickly discovered neither mattered. Discovered I was not alone. Discovered that for a vast number among the thousands that pilgrimage to Birmingham’s long-beleaguered westside annually on the last Saturday in October, the Classic wasn’t about the outcome of an encounter between two rival football teams.

It was about a city that endured through storms and trials. About a culture of music, style, spices, and flavors you can whiff from a mile away.

It was about halftime. About the show.

About the fellowship. About the party.

I discovered this, too: White people don’t come.

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Over the mountain might as well be the Rockies on the last Saturday in October for as many whites as venture to Classic. Indeed, for years, I’d ask a random white someone in, oh, Vestavia Hills whether they were going to the Classic and it quickly became clear they were clueless. I believe white awareness is better now, but attendance? Still a whiteout. Why? Why would anybody pass on the city’s biggest party, and best show (not talking about the game) all year?

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Blame history and its incurable misconceptions. Blame the unfortunate vestiges of the region’s past, the lingering, rank aroma of white flight, which seeded a sense of fear (Not going to that side of town!). And of separation, which is still harbored by some on both sides of the mountain.

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Now, I’m not dreaming of a white Classic, so still no need to summon the Black Card judges. Just encouraging the same folks who had a blast hauling their families downtown in the summer to cheer on the Birmingham Stallions—while grumbling about parking—to haul their families to the west side on the last Saturday in October for an even bigger blast with music, style, spices, and flavors you can whiff from a mile away.

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