In the heart of the American South, amid the crackle of November leaves and the roar of tens of thousands of devoted fans, the Iron Bowl emerges every year not just as a game, but as a living, breathing embodiment of college football tradition, pride, and rivalry. Auburn University and the University of Alabama, separated by little more than 150 miles, have waged war on the gridiron for well over a century. It’s a matchup that transcends records, polls, and championship implications—it’s personal. The Iron Bowl has delivered countless dramatic finishes, legendary performances, and unforgettable moments, but perhaps none more captivating than the special moment that unfolded on November 30, 2013—a moment now simply known as the “Kick Six.”
The 2013 Iron Bowl began like many others—charged with tension, talent, and titanic stakes. Alabama came into the game ranked No. 1 in the nation, riding a 15-game winning streak and aiming for a third consecutive national championship. Auburn, led by first-year head coach Gus Malzahn, was ranked No. 4 and seeking to complete a remarkable turnaround season after going 3–9 the previous year. The stage was set at Jordan-Hare Stadium, a cauldron of orange and blue where more than 87,000 fans packed the stands, creating an atmosphere thick with anticipation and anxiety.
The game was fiercely contested from the outset. Alabama quarterback AJ McCarron connected on deep throws, while Auburn’s run-heavy offense churned out yards behind quarterback Nick Marshall and standout running back Tre Mason. The teams traded punches like seasoned heavyweights, neither yielding ground easily. With under a minute remaining in regulation and the score tied 28–28, it seemed the game was destined for overtime. But then, chaos—and history—unfolded.
With just one second left on the clock, Alabama lined up for a 57-yard field goal attempt. Their regular kicker, Cade Foster, had already missed three field goals in the game, so head coach Nick Saban turned to freshman Adam Griffith for the high-pressure kick. The stadium fell into a hush as the ball was snapped, placed, and launched into the cool evening sky. The kick had the distance in theory but faded short—landing in the waiting arms of Auburn’s Chris Davis, who was positioned deep in the end zone.
What happened next is the stuff of legend.
Davis, a senior cornerback known more for his defense than his return skills, took off up the left sideline. At first, the play seemed ordinary—just a missed kick and a routine return. But as he crossed the 20-yard line, weaving through the tired legs of Alabama’s field goal unit, the energy in the stadium began to shift. He picked up momentum. He followed blocks. He cut inside, then back out. With each yard gained, disbelief gave way to ecstasy. By the time Davis reached midfield, it was clear: he was going to score.
The crowd exploded as Davis sprinted untouched into the end zone, sealing a 34–28 Auburn victory and etching his name into Iron Bowl—and college football—history. The scene was pandemonium. Auburn fans stormed the field, players collapsed in euphoria, and the announcers’ voices cracked in disbelief and wonder. “There goes Davis!” became an iconic call, replayed endlessly on highlight reels and remembered by fans of both sides—though only one side cherishes it.
The “Kick Six” wasn’t just a stunning play; it was a perfect storm of improbability, timing, and execution. It altered the trajectory of the college football postseason. Alabama, once considered a lock for the national championship game, was suddenly out. Auburn vaulted into the SEC Championship Game and, eventually, the BCS National Championship Game, where they fell just short to Florida State. But the legacy of that Iron Bowl moment extended far beyond titles and trophies.
It symbolized everything the Iron Bowl represents—unpredictability, passion, heartbreak, and ecstasy wrapped into a few fleeting seconds. Fans who witnessed it remember exactly where they were, what they were doing, and how they felt. It became a defining memory not just for Auburn fans but for college football as a whole. Even for Alabama fans, the pain of that moment is matched only by the recognition that they were part of something truly historic.
Years later, the Kick Six continues to inspire debate and emotion. Could Alabama have avoided the return with better special teams personnel? Should they have gone to overtime instead? Did Auburn get lucky, or did destiny smile upon them that night? These questions fuel discussions in sports bars, living rooms, and online forums every year when Iron Bowl week arrives.
But that special moment also served as a reminder of why we watch sports in the first place. For the unexpected. For the raw emotion. For the stories that will be told and retold across generations. The Iron Bowl has featured Heisman winners, goal-line stands, and dramatic comebacks. But few moments—if any—can match the sheer cinematic brilliance of the Kick Six.
Beyond the play itself, the human element added layers of poignancy. Chris Davis, once an under-the-radar recruit, became a household name overnight. Gus Malzahn cemented his reputation as a master motivator. And Nick Saban, usually impervious to missteps, found himself second-guessed for a rare decision that didn’t work in his favor. For the players involved, that moment defined their college careers. For fans, it offered a memory frozen in time.
The Kick Six also had ripple effects on the programs. Auburn leveraged the momentum of that season to reinvigorate its recruiting and fan base. Alabama, meanwhile, used the loss as fuel, eventually returning to dominate the college football landscape in the years that followed. That moment didn’t just impact a single game—it shaped the futures of two powerhouse programs.
Every Iron Bowl since has been viewed through the prism of that magical night. It raised the stakes, set a new bar for drama, and reminded the nation that no rivalry—no matter how historic—can ever be considered predictable. As coaches and players come and go, as records rise and fall, the Kick Six remains immortal.
In a rivalry that has seen blocked punts, clutch throws, and last-second field goals, the image of Chris Davis streaking down the sideline will always stand tallest. It was more than a return. It was a moment of release, of joy, of pure sports theatre. It encapsulated the highs and lows that make college football so beloved, especially in the South, where allegiances are often forged from birth and passed down like heirlooms.
In the end, the Iron Bowl is not merely about Auburn and Alabama. It’s about history, pride, and moments that live forever. The Kick Six is one such moment—a spectacular, surreal flash that captured everything that makes the sport great. And for those lucky enough to witness it, whether in the stadium or on screen, it will never be forgotten.
