No. 9 - Bulldawg Illustrated IX: UGA vs. Auburn, 11/13/10
“I Can’t Believe Georgia is Beating Auburn!”
If it weren’t for Annabelle’s birthday this weekend… well, let’s just say I’d rank it right up there with the time I quit my job in Yellowstone, only to discover that living in the backwoods with no running water for weeks on end was a bad idea. Actually, now that I think about it… taking baths in the Snake River and living off beef jerky and cheap beer was much better than losing to #2 Auburn after leading 21–7.
As most of you now know, my wife, Corinne, is an Auburn grad. And I, an alumnus of our great University of Georgia, have had the pleasure of spending the first four years of my marriage owning Auburn. And what a lovely feeling it was.
I got used to beating the War Chickens year after year—but like Corinne this weekend, I didn’t rub it in (TOTAL LIE). Truth be told, I was a little cocky. The chip on my shoulder grew with every win… metastasizing from a grain of Jekyll Island sand to something the size of Stone Mountain.
But all good things must come to an end, and unfortunately for us… that ending played out before 88,000 Plainsmen last weekend.
It was hard to watch our boys let this one get away. Corinne started a Facebook group by the handle “I Can’t Believe Georgia Is Beating Auburn” after we went up by two touchdowns (she really did). I found her frustration a little humorous, but I’ve seen too many games like this one to dare entertain the idea that we might leave Jordan-Hare victorious.
Side Note: Occasionally I write these articles while traveling home from my downtown office on the train. Well, I just looked up and realized I went past my stop… way past it. And to top it off, Corinne just called and said dinner is ready. I’ve got half a mind to hop over Peachtree Street and grab a beer while I wait—but I won’t. Looks like I’ll have a cold supper, and Annabelle will be asleep. Occupational hazard, I guess.
Now let’s get back to the game (and hopefully, home).
I’d seen just about enough after failing to convert on 4th and 13. So, as you can imagine, I said to hell with it and played nine holes on the Wii.
I usually don’t turn games off, but at that moment I couldn’t stand to watch another second of Georgia football. I never thought I’d feel that way—but unfortunately, it’s the truth.
This is where I feel blessed: we got to celebrate Annabelle’s second birthday this weekend. It was rough losing that game, but it sure felt good spending Sunday with family.
We bought Annabelle her first Power Wheel (Barbie version), and as luck would have it, she was scared to death of the damn thing. Corinne later told me she warmed up to it and spent all day sitting in it with her dolls, but refused to touch the gas pedal (she’s scared of the noise it makes).
Anyway, here’s hoping we beat Tech—and that young Annabelle finds the courage to put the pedal to the plastic.
Second Act…
8:35 p.m. – Arrived at my station… without my keys. Back downtown on the train.
8:40 p.m. – Corinne calls: “Annabelle swallowed a battery.”
9:25 p.m. – Retrieved my keys (did I mention… in downtown Atlanta?). Cor and Belle en route to hospital.
9:35 p.m. – Sitting in Peachtree Center train station. Cell phone doesn’t work 200 feet below Peachtree Street. No contact with my wife or child.
10:10 p.m. – Finally back at my station.
10:15 p.m. – On my way to the hospital.
10:35 p.m. – Arrived at Scottish Rite.
11:15 p.m. – Held my daughter against her will for the x-ray (very tough to do… broke my heart).
11:45 p.m. – All clear. No battery in her tummy. What a night.
Like I said last week… my life is sure changing.
Go Dawgs!
EDITOR’S NOTE: This is the ninth 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.
