No. 19 - Bulldawg Illustrated XIX: UGA vs. Florida, 10/29/11
The Bronze Age
We tend to treat our favorite coaches as aristocracy in the South. Our college campuses are decorated with statues of coaches who gave us years of faithful service, who led our men to national championships, who devoted their lives to sixty minutes of pigskin combat so we, as fans of the game, can share fellowship with one another and further weave ourselves into the fabric of our university.
Whereas the blue bloods of the Ivy League showcase men like John Harvard and Abraham Pierson on their campuses, Vince Dooley and Paul “Bear” Bryant are immortalized in bronze so that you, I, and future generations can appreciate their contributions to our respected universities.
Brad – “John and Abraham who? What did those guys ever do?”
Smart guy – “They founded Harvard and Yale.”
Brad – “Big deal… did they serve in the Marines or wrestle a bear? No? That’s what I thought.”
During the bye week, I took my children to Bobby Jones’ grave in Atlanta—a man whose likeness graces Augusta National, Atlanta Athletic Club, and East Lake Golf Club. I have a great deal of respect for Bobby and want my children to understand why. Bobby Jones was a great golfer, yes—but he was also a gentleman, a scholar, and above all else, a family man… like Coach Richt. As I watched Annabelle leave a golf ball at his grave, I couldn’t help but wonder if Richt’s career would end up in the same place as Jones’ headstone—if we lost to Florida… in a graveyard.
Between Florida’s opening pass for 72 yards, Murray’s interception on our 15, and Demps’ 99-yard kickoff return for a touchdown, I was beginning to believe Richt’s coaching career was dead. Instead of working toward a statue next to Dooley’s, his days at Georgia would be buried between the headstones of Ray Goff and Jim Donnan.
But the ghosts of Charles Herty, Herman Stegeman, Harry Mehre, and Wally Butts looked favorably upon the newest rushee of their fraternity last Saturday. While there was much discussion about Richt uncharacteristically going for it on 4th & 5 and 4th & 6 for touchdowns, these former coaches—whose names adorn parts of our university—collectively decided to help Richt. The football gods of Georgia’s past couldn’t bear to see one of their own lose eleven seasons of hard work over another loss to the Gators. I don’t claim to know how these supernatural things happen. I just know they happen. And thank the Maker for that.
Now that Florida is behind us, all we have to do is beat Auburn and Kentucky. I’m sure The Deep South’s Oldest Rivalry will live up to its reputation. In 114 games, dating back to the nineteenth century, Georgia has outscored Auburn by only 38 points in a series that traditionally comes down to the last few minutes of the fourth quarter—regardless of who fields the better team.
As scary as that is, we’ve got momentum on our side—and Auburn doesn’t. I think Carl Spackler said it best in Caddyshack: “So I got that goin’ for me, which is nice.”
Let’s hope this is a comeback season for Richt. It’s certainly shaping up that way. But we’ve still got a few games left. Let’s support our coach, and maybe someday we’ll receive a letter asking for a donation to the Mark Richt Statue Fund. I don’t know about you, but I’d like to see Richt stick around for another decade.
Go Dawgs!
P.S. I would be remiss if I didn’t recognize Abraham Baldwin—founder of the University of Georgia (1785), graduate of Yale (1772), and the newest person to be cast in bronze on North Campus (2011). I guess the Ivy Leaguers aren’t the only ones paying respect to men outside the gridiron. Of course, it took us 226 years to do so. One could argue we’ve got our priorities straight.
Editor’s Note: Brad Evans is a guest blogger for Bulldawg Illustrated. He writes from the perspective of a UGA alumnus and suburban dad who longs every weekend to be in Athens. Instead, he ends up watching the game at home in a red-and-black bow tie, bourbon in one hand and cigar in the other—joined by his wife, an Auburn grad, and their 3-year-old daughter and 3-month-old son, both caught in the middle of mom and dad’s football loyalties.
