No. 1 - Bulldawg Illustrated I: UGA vs. Arkansas, 9/18/10
The Game Ain’t Over Until Cookie Monster Sings
Back in 2004, I left Athens, diploma in hand, for a new chapter of my life in Atlanta. I spent my first year out of school selling tractors on the East Coast—from Kodiak, Maine to Moultrie, Georgia (those Mennonites can sure cook a good lunch at the Ag Expo). In between farm shows and an insane travel schedule, I made it to several home games. My friends and I were still fresh out of college and able to get the gang together pretty easily. No one was married, half of us were single, and children were a distant thought. All it took was a phone call or two, a few bottles of hooch, and enough gas to get up 316. Life was good.
Fast forward a few years and half of us were married (mostly to SEC gals), I left the agricultural industry to become a stockbroker, and instead of attending several home games, I was lucky to make it to two. What used to be easily accomplished in a few phone calls now took an act of Congress. Back when life was simpler, I would find my cleanest shirt, my game day tie, and the biggest decision was whether to wear my red pants or khakis. I didn’t care that my tie had a few bourbon stains and a cigar burn. Life was simpler.
Now my wife and I have our daughter, Annabelle, and almost all my friends (the same guys I went to UGA with) have families too. We love Annabelle, but we cannot agree if she’ll follow in her mother’s footsteps and be a KD at Auburn—or be wise and be like Daddy: a tried-and-true Bulldog. I guess we’ll have to wait and see (she’ll be going to UGA... sorry, Honey, if you’re reading this, but it just has to be this way... besides, Belle looks better in red).
So in light of everything that has happened since I left Athens, I find I’m watching almost every game on my couch. I wish I was in Sanford… in awe of its beauty. I wish I was tailgating on North Campus… beneath the beauty of those old oaks. I wish I could feel the cool breeze that finds its way through our nation’s oldest public university. But I’m a family man, trying to make ends meet, and regular visits to my alma mater just aren’t in the cards.
I still put on my tie when the Dawgs take the field—only the bourbon-stained tie has been replaced with a red and black bow tie. I had to let the old one retire, or he was going to file for divorce. I guess there’s only so much you can put a game day tie through… and occasionally being used as a napkin doesn’t help. I do bring him out for big games when Richt and the boys need some luck.
I also still enjoy my bourbon and cigar. For a young guy, I’m regularly told I’m old-fashioned. I’m told tobacco isn’t good for me, and I’m sure that’s right, but Lord knows I’d have a hard time going through a game without a cheap cigar. And without bourbon—well... that’s just out of the question.
My wife always has a good game day set-up. The grill is never without ground chuck, and the cooler is stocked with Cokes and beer. And even though we’re miles from Athens, our guests enjoy themselves—and that’s what matters.
I know there are a ton of guys out there just like me. I know this because Sanford seats 92,746 people, and there are a hell of a lot more fans than that. I also know a few dads who put away cash every week or work an odd job or two so they can take their families to a game. As much as I wish I could attend more games, I’m pretty happy cheering for my team from home.
Corinne (my wife) and I watched the Arkansas game this weekend. We saw the first half at home but had to leave during halftime to take Annabelle to Sesame Street Live in Atlanta. I listened to part of the third quarter on the radio (I sure miss Munson) and tried my hardest to wear an earpiece when we got there, but Elmo was ridiculously loud. I was about to give up until I found a television playing the game during intermission! I caught the last eight minutes of the fourth quarter with several other dads whose wives let them stay. I felt bad for the guys whose wives gave them the evil eye when Elmo was back on stage. But for the rest of us... we sure had a good time.
And our collective yells when King and Ealey scored were almost as loud as Bert and Ernie singing some song about having an imagination. All of a sudden, I found myself with twelve new friends, hooting and hollering for the Dawgs. But when Murray took that hit and the following Razorbacks TD, we all went back to our seats to listen to the Cookie Monster sing. Corinne and Grandma knew we lost by the look on my face—and all the while, Annabelle continued to dance with her Sesame Street friends.
Aren’t kids great?
EDITOR’S NOTE: This is the first in a periodic series of online journal entries from a suburban dad who, every weekend, longs to be in Athens—but more often than not ends up watching the game from home. He’s dressed in a red and black bow tie, bourbon in one hand, cigar in the other, seated beside his Auburn-grad wife and their daughter, who’s about to receive her first cheerleader uniform: half UGA, half AU, stitched right up the middle.
