JR Guest Columnist Russell L. Estes is shown with his great-nephew, Tucker Bowen, during his 2023 football season as a junior. Tucker is now a senior and wears number 85. Russell noted this column was written about his experience at a game in Hubbertville

Brilliant native fondly recalls the ‘Ville’
By Russell Estes
Guest columnist

Nestled between two-lane roads and kudzu patches just west of the Sipsey River you’ll find Hubbertville, Ala. I made my way there to sit in the stands of Wiley Hollingsworth Stadium and watch two of my great-nephews kick, run, spit and holler Baptist-approved swear words at a football team from one county over.
The moms, dads, cousins and neighbors who have packed into this place are hollering, stomping and snorting as if their bass boats depended on the victory. They are ringing cowbells so loudly that my car alarm has gone off six times before halftime. I have suffered an ear bleed, a seizure and can’t even taste my nachos.
These folks are passionate about their kids on that field. If you so much as look at one of them wrong, you’ll be punched, thrown out and called things that make you blush. And if that doesn’t do the trick, the perpetrator will go get her husband.
Not long after arriving, I talked to a lifelong resident of the area. I asked him what has kept him here all his life.
“Ain’t no reason to leave,” he says. “To me, ain’t a better place in the world. And if I woke up in a better place one day, I’d want you to give my eulogy.”
I agreed to it right there on the spot. How could I refuse? It’s not too often you get invited to a funeral by the main attraction.
Small towns and communities like Hubbertville are the backbone of American sports. The folks who occupy these bleachers are third and fourth-generation ticket holders who mow the field, feed the team, work the concession stands and have probably washed the underbritches of every player wearing a jersey.
And that sense of family is what gives these small-town teams the advantage over larger schools that have budgets equivalent to Elon Reeve Musk’s SpaceX program.
Now don’t get me wrong; I am in no way making the case that small-town high school football is equal to or better than the urban schools around the state. With the big school sophistication of indoor practice facilities and laser engraved Stanley cups, these smaller clubs wouldn’t stand a snowball’s chance in Panama City.
However, there are some areas where I think the rural schools have them beaten. Heart for one. These folks bleed team colors. When they lose, they don’t blame the coach, a student with a less-than-par performance or the lack of protein powder in the weight room. They tell their kids to learn from it, work harder and don’t forget how bad it stings when you lose.
They’ll take the thumping as a team. The community aspect of small-town high school football cannot be replaced. It is the place where legend is born. It is where Hollywood goes when they think of football. “Varsity Blues” and such films as “Friday Night Lights” didn’t look to the inner city for their inspiration. They looked for the Hubbertvilles of the world. They knew this stuff would sell.
I’m not even a product of this school. My sister married into the madness when I was only eight. But growing up just a few miles away in a very similar setting awarded me adoption papers. I’ve been here often. They’ve accepted my faults.
Since being here just for this game, I’ve shaken more hands than someone running for office. I’ve been hugged so much my ribs are sore. These folks have asked about my health, my plans and my garden. They smile at me as if I am about to feed them.
I absolutely love my hometown school in Brilliant, Ala. When I moved away, part of me stayed there. I would never trade my hometown for anything, anywhere or for any reason… but should I ever get kicked out and my membership taken away, I truly believe I have a couch to sleep on just down the road. Because the people here are much like the ones that raised me. They have this word they use a lot — love. And they are not afraid to use it.
Growing up in a small town, you learn some things about the kind of life it produces. It makes everyone care a little more. The folks here take pride in everything they do.
As a kid, you learn you don’t have too many opportunities for friends… so it works out best if you can get along with all your peers. That sticks with you for life. And before you know it, city limit signs have nothing to do with friendships and family.
Life is different here. The farther away from city lights you get, the more beautiful the world becomes. The fields… old farmhouses… the creeks. Even the night sky. There are more stars out here than NASA knows about.
Hubbertville is quintessentially any small town across the south. It’s the place Walt Disney dreamed of. It’s television’s Mayberry. It’s good people who some may tell you don’t exist anymore… but here, those values still matter today.
I love these places. And just like I was told not long ago…
To me, ain’t a better place in the world.
At least, not this side of all those stars I saw out here tonight.

(Editor’s note: Guest Columnist Russell L. Estes has published four best-selling books and writes columns daily for social media, digital and print papers and magazines. He told us he grew up reading the Journal Record. “I feel as if it is part of my adolescence, a time and place that molded me into who I am,” he noted. We look forward to reading and sharing more of his columns.)