There are a few things you should know about me before we continue.

First, yes, I'm an Alabama fan.

Second, no, I didn't go to school there.

Third — and this one seems to surprise people the most — I'm the football nerd in my marriage.

Jason likes football. He'll gladly sit on the couch and watch a game with me. But if you ask him who Alabama signed in the transfer portal, who our backup quarterback is, or who is out for an injury, he'll usually look at me and say, "I don't know. Ashlee probably does."

And he's right.

I know who committed six months ago. I know who's out with a hamstring injury. I know which freshman everyone's excited about and why our defensive line makes me want to throw things.

Jason has openly admitted he doesn't keep up with all of that because, in his words, "One of us already does."

Fair enough.

Being an Alabama fan in Georgia comes with its own unique set of experiences.

A common assumption is that I'm a bandwagon fan.

Another is that I must secretly hate Georgia. I do get a little giggle out of Georgia’s losses, depending on who it is (especially if Alabama beat them), but I cheer for them in most of their games.

My personal favorite is that because I'm a woman wearing an Alabama shirt, I probably don't realize it isn't a Braves shirt. I’ve actually had someone point at the "A" on my shirt and ask, "You know that's Alabama, right?"

No, sir. I just accidentally bought 15 crimson T-shirts over the last 20 years.

And yeah — I know, the Alabama “A” is the one with the mullet.

The funny part is that after they ask me that, sometimes they know less about the game than I do.

Living in Bulldog country also teaches you humility.

Truthfully, most of my friends are Georgia fans, and that's half the fun. We trade jabs, send each other memes, celebrate wins and quietly disappear from social media after losses. I've learned there's no point in talking too much trash because college football has a funny way of humbling everyone eventually.

Football season doesn't just change my Saturdays — it changes my calendar.

Need to schedule a birthday party? Let me check kickoff time.

Thinking about making plans? Depends who's playing.

By August, Saturdays are basically unavailable until further notice.

Our weekends are usually pretty simple. I'll put something in the crockpot, get Jason to throw something on the grill, make buffalo chicken dip or chili if the weather finally decides to cooperate, and we usually have our best friend, Corey, over to watch. It’s become such a tradition that when he’s not here and Alabama loses, I blame him. (I can be just a little superstitious. Speaking of, I need to buy a new shirt that might have some good luck in it for this year’s season.)

I'm not putting together some picture-perfect game day spread worthy of Pinterest. The food's on the stove, the plates are in the cabinet, and y'all know where they are.

Somewhere between checking on lunch and yelling at the television because someone missed a pass, I’ll refill my sweet tea and wonder why I care so much about the opinion of a 19-year-old kicker I've never met.

The truth is, Alabama fans were spoiled for a long time. Coach Saban set a standard that most programs can only dream about. Now every close game feels like the end of the world, and every loss becomes breaking news to every Georgia fan I know.

But that's college football. One week you're convinced your team is winning it all. The next week you're questioning every coaching decision that's ever been made.

And somehow, by the following Saturday, you're right back on the couch, wearing the same lucky shirt, because clearly that's what made the difference.

So, yes, I'm an Alabama fan living in Georgia. I'll keep planning my Saturdays around kickoff, cooking enough food so nobody leaves hungry, and quietly hoping no one notices my crimson shirt when Alabama loses.

But even if DeBoer’s record looks worse than Saban’s ever did, I’ll still continue to cheer them on.

Roll Tide.

(I know half of Bulloch County just rolled their eyes.)