Orange. In Alabama. Bold move, cowboy.
Look, down here folks pick a color in the delivery room and die on that hill, so rolling up with an orange heart is either a declaration of war or proof you simply do not care, which is its own kind of heroic. We prefer to think of it as the color of a Gulf sunset, the pimento cheese on your tailgate spread, the glow of a bonfire in October, and the exact shade of the sky at 7pm in August when the humidity is still sitting on your chest like a linebacker. That is love, baby. Warm, sticky, slightly unhinged love for a state where the tea is sweet, the barbecue sauce comes in flavors people will fistfight over, and fall Saturdays are basically a religious holiday.
Soft, broken in from the jump, and built to survive tailgates, church potlucks, and the laundry cycle. Comfy enough to live in from kickoff to leftovers.
