No. 250 - Poor Man’s Game Notes XVIII: UGA vs. Auburn, 10/17/26

I’m coming to you from Reagan National, about to board a flight to Boston, and I’m exhausted. The Bama game took the life out of me.

My home in D.C. is at the Cosmos Club – a Beaux-Arts masterpiece of French descent on Embassy Row. There’s a marvelous library where I read the Harvard Classics in a leather chair, brow gnarled; a billiards room lined with even more books, whose authors shot pool on that very table; and a cozy tavern where chairs are adorned with commemorative plaques to the most decorated imbibers – but not a single boob tube.

Fortunately, there’s an old television in my room, where, no doubt, I frightened the folks next door with a barrage of four-letter words that were ungentlemanly and altogether unnecessary – so say the folks who don’t know what it’s like to stand at the edge of pigskin domination.  

I damn near lit a cigarette to calm down – to hell with the $300 tobacco fine! My blood pressure was out of control on account of fumbles, idiotic penalties, and interceptions (overcalled or not).

I’m telling you boys … my heart can’t take another game like this. I’m liable to end up in Grady: red trousers on and all.

That said, we’re undefeated – thank the Maker. I may have received a few demerits at the Cosmos for cursing, but our Dawgs didn’t repeat the sins of our ’90s fathers, and like any fan, I like to believe my hailstorm of profanity had something to do with it. We can’t have another lopsided Florida-style series.

Anyway, when I get to Boston, I’m donating my Marlboros to my squash club – an offering, if you will. We keep an old wooden cigarette box for members who “quit.”

Give ’em hell, Kirby!