Do Your Best John Lennon and Imagine....
Imagine you're a Tech fan, for a second. (a second is about all you can tolerate anyway.) You get up on gameday, you check the mail to see if the new BluRay edition of "Star Trek: The Next Generation" has arrived (you ordered it because it's got some awesome deleted scenes), and you practice speaking Klingon in the mirror as you shave for the fifth time in your life. You pack up your Prius with pita chips, your PS3 and a sixer of Zima (because you're rowdy like that) and head to the tailgating spot next to all the other gnats. A line of yellow-clad, half-cocked fools trickles onto Tech's campus, like a river of urine running through a trash dump. You gulp your first Zima. Whew, that goes down hard every time. You get your CD collection out, looking for "Georgia Tech's Greatest Calls: Volume 2" to blare over your Prius speakers. You gotta show them Dawgs who's boss. Alas, there is no such thing. In fact, there is no "Volume 1" either. So you settle for Katy Perry. Zima #2 goes down so smooth. The Buzz kicks in, you are feeling it, "We may beat Georgia today!" Your girlfriend arrives, with what appears to be three other females, causing a riot. Three pairs of glasses, a bottle of Alize and a TI-83 calculator are destroyed in the tickle pile.
"What are these long haired beings? Can they play World of Warcraft? What did they get in Physics?"
You give the girls your other four Zimas. You're wrecked at this point anyway. Katy is absolutely belting out a solo, the sun is rising over the "Andrei Amadeus Karalovsky Biomedical & Metaphysical Sciences Center for Abstract Research" and nobody got carjacked in your parking lot last night...life is good. The long haired beings, now determined to be "girls" after Jugdish, Mohammet and Lonnie did some research (+1 for Animal House reference), destroy the Zimas.
Wait for it....
A sea of red washes over the campus suddenly. Pickup trucks, blaring everything from Lil Wayne to Willie Nelson, take over the parking lot. They pull out this foreign substance, determined to be "beer" after, you guessed it, Jugdish, Mohammet and Lonnie analyzed it in the lab. They all appear to be having a great time, and don't appear to give a damn about Star Trek. Hillbillies. Rednecks. Thugs. That's what they are. You try to muster up a "To Hell With Georgia" but you're too worried that lifelong Dawg fan, Billy Ray "Junebug" Dawkins from Ocilla, Georgia might eat one of your Prius tires. So you just hush. You will just wait until kickoff, when the stadium is full of Tech people (all 35,000 of them) and you have some back up......oh wait......(to be continued)
The Game
So, we enter this week on a nine game win streak, to be put to the final regular season test before we meet LSU in the Dome. Standing in our way is the vaunted, high school offense-minded, top ten-turned-spoiler Georgia Tech Yellow Jackets. I looked up "irrelevant" in the dictionary, and after sorting through the various meanings of the word (Big Ten football, Lane Kiffin recruiting in Tennessee and Charlie Weis's next crash diet) I found Georgia Tech. It then referred me to the definition of Georgia Tech:
Georgia Tech
\Jorj-a Tek\
Noun
1: A four year collegiate institution located in Atlanta, Georgia. Famous for engineering school, Joe Hamilton's reading prowess, a coach that looks like a character from Return of the Jedi and drinking Zima.
2: Pays rent to the President of the University of Georgia in order to remain in Georgia
3: Cannot and will not schedule Georgia Southern, for fear of the unspeakable happening, which is solidifying the fact that Georgia Tech is actually the third best football program in the state.
I sifted through more definitions, like "loser," "inadequate," and "unabashed inadequate loser" but then I got bored. We had a game to play. Plus, during a tribute to Larry Munson organized by the Tech administration, the Tech fanbase booed and showed their classless side, which is par for the course in Atlanta (along with Zima, being irrelevant, and losing)
We kickoff to them and we stop the triple option cold on the first drive. Their QB, Washington (I don't give Techmites the luxury of first names), could not hit the broad side of a Prius with the ball and Jones and Sims did not have much luck running it. Punt to Brandon Boykin, who did not call for a fair catch and was downed at the 10. Out trots our offense, and I pucker up tigher than the Tech student body in anticipation of whether the SciFi channel will indeed do a "Stargate" marathon this weekend. Murray had a terrible game last week and I hoped that it was only a blip on the radar, that he was only looking ahead and not slumping on us. The first drive started off well, with Murray hitting receivers in stride. Then, as Justin Anderson throws a look out block (that's when an O-lineman loses his man and shouts to the QB, "look out!"), Tech forces a bad throw and they intercept on their own 27. Ugh. I feel my temperature rising. We cannot lose today. I equate a loss to Tech with a root canal, drinking Pepsi or eating Huddle House on purpose and fat free cheese....pain, sacrilege and foulness all rolled into one miserable ball. A ball that is then kicked down a staircase covered in broken glass and falls into a room that has a Nickelback CD on repeat along with three rednecks talking loudly on a Nextel about sprinkler pipe. Yes.....Hell....that is what I'm talking about. Ask Jim Donnan.
Tech does nothing with the turnover. This is a pattern for them. We get the ball back and Murray marches us down the field, capping a long drive with a 15 yard touchdown to Michael "Mighty Whitey" Bennett. This guy is worth his weight in Waffle House hashbrowns (a.k.a. gold). Bennett, King, Mitchell, Conley and Brown have been phenomenal all year. After losing AJ Green, I had no aspirations for this season at wide receiver, but these guys have flat stepped up. (there's "flat" again. Tech flat sucks. See? It works.) Coach Tony Ball deserves a boatload of credit. Tech gets the ball back and organizes a drive that gets them down to our 2 yard line, with a big third down play pending. Washington gets the signal, takes the snap and attempts to bolt to his left. His left guard crashed on John Jenkins, leaving Garrison "G-Unit" Smith unblocked and G-Unit swallows him whole, causing a three yard loss. Apparently, Tech's running back was supposed to pick up Garrison but I guess he got distracted thinking about his Tourism Management final exam. Tech settled for a field goal and we are fired up. Tech plays their fight song and the capacity Tech crowd of 23,000 goes nuts. You would have thought Leonard Nimoy was signing autographs on Bobby Dodd Way. He must have been, considering the empty seats in the Tech student section.
The ball goes back to us and once again, Murray marches us right down the field. Orson Charles had a spectacular day. He pulverized Tech's linebackers and secondary all day, lending creedence to the rumor that yes, we are much, much better than Tech at every facet of the game. The drive was capped by a 14 yard corner throw to Chris "Paulding County's Finest" Conley. Laura and I go crazy. Conley is a favorite of mine, a true child of the red clay, and a Damn Good Dawg. I'm sitting in the Tech season ticket section (because God has a sense of irony) and I'm living it up. 14-3 and the Techmites are already making excuses and taking potshots. (with the exception of the Tech alums to my left and right, they were actually good people)
"Well, at least we aren't hillbillies and LSU is gonna kill you."
"Athens sucks anyway."
"If only we could recruit, have decent coaching, great athletes and attractive females..."
I smile smugly. Bring on the hate. I've learned one lesson in sports: When people stop hating you, you need to start worrying. People hated Miami in the 80's, Florida in the 90's and USC in the 00's. Why? Because they won. A lot. And they let you know it too.
Tech gets the ball and starts at the 20. Our kickoff team has improved immensely since the Vanderbilt and Florida debacles. Tech did nothing on kickoffs. They did orchestrate a good drive and scored a touchdown to narrow the lead to 14-10. Sims broke a couple of tackles and spun into the end zone, causing a Tech uproar that rivaled the day that "Magic: The Gathering" was released to the masses. This touchdown was like getting two wizards and two orcs for one dwarf and an elf on a unicorn....it's a big freakin' deal on North Avenue. My stress level increases somewhat. I hear faint Nickelback songs in my head and the telltale Nextel beeping. Somewhere, across the way, I see the imps from my days at the store, Riverdancing. We gotta win.
It's close to halftime and we drive on them again. Unfortunately, we stall out and have to settle for a field goal. Blair Walsh comes out and warms up his leg, Drew Butler gets down in his holder position. The snap is not so good and Blair kicks it wide left. I stare at the railing in front of me, as Jugdish, Mohammet and Lonnie celebrate beneath me. Somewhere, Billy Ray "Junebug" Dawkins, of Ocilla, Georgia is emptying the rest of his Wild Turkey into his Coca-Cola. He grinds his teeth. "By God, I'd be better off sitting at Willie T's Oil Change and Chicken Fried Chicken back home than watching this crap." Whoa. Wait a second. The refs convene. A discussion ensues and it appears that Paul Johnson had called a timeout prior to the snap. No kick and we reset the ball and get another chance. Have you ever seen a really angry Techmite? I have. It's quite comical, really. Lots of stomping, whining and huffing and puffing.....it sounds like a bunch of sorority chicks that were all told in unison that Daddy was indeed not getting them a 2011 Range Rover. We make the kick. I turn to the Techmite behind me and say, "Isn't that a daisy?" (+1 for Tombstone reference) He gives me a perplexed look, so I say, "Oh, sorry.....um....we just put baby in the corner?" (-1 for Dirty Dancing reference, but that's all I could muster)
Halftime was marked by three things. Number One: Tech whining. Number Two: Tech booing our band. Number Three: The announcer says that Georgia Tech has had more graduates land on the moon that any other institution. This third installment lead to massive cheers. What an accomplishment, since we've gotten so much out of landing on the moon. It's kind of like the Pet Rock of space travel, nobody can really explain its significance or importance. Once again, their irrelevance, like their hypocrisy, knows no bounds. (+1 for Tombstone reference) The booing of the band was a nice touch, I must say. But we're the rednecks, remember?
The third quarter was a picture of UGA dominance over Georgia Tech. "Motel 6" Jenkins and Garrison Smith closed off the middle. Jarvis Jones fried at least three Tech guards with his shoulder gun. Shawn Williams and Mike Gilliard had interceptions. Murray connected with Tavarres King and Aron White to make it 31-10. The O-line stymied Tech's rush and gave Murray all day to throw. Seriously, I could have listened to a live version of "In Memory of Elizabeth Reed" with a guest appearance by Trey Anastasio, playing dobro, with the time Aaron had to find his receivers. Orson Charles hit their safety so hard on one play that all Frosted Oranges at the Varsity suddenly melted. Al Groh, Tech's D coordinator, needs a game ball for this one. I especially liked the six yard cushion for our tallest receivers. Pure genius. They did stop our running game, sans Crowell and Samuel, but it really did not matter. Malcolme had some decent runs but never threatened a long one. The fourth quarter was nothing more than us running out the clock and Tech plugging in their freshman quarterback...Synjyn Days. By God, that man proved two things to me on this day: 1) Tech really has nobody, I mean, they really suck; 2) You can put five consonants together and make a word. Hell, at Tech, anything's possible. Moon landings. Zima buzzes. You name it.
So, that was that. Another shellacking. Richt is 10-1 against Tech. Dooley was 19-6. Hell, Ray Goff only lost to Tech once. This is a rivalry, though...right? Yes. For one simple reason, and the only reason left that justifies me and and every other Dawg fan attending yet another waste of time at the Joke by Coke.....it's why Jim Donnan lost his job, Goff made the remark "you don't think Tech is a rival? Try losing to them." and Dooley announced on the call in show that Tech is the biggest game of the year. We share our state with them. That's it. If we lose, there's nowhere to run. 365 days of pure hell. I've been party to this abhorrence and let me tell you, young Dawgs, it is not something I hope you ever experience. It's like a year long plague....rivers run red, frogs raining down, Biblical stuff. Luckily, the way its going, you may not ever experience it.
So, it's LSU in the Dome. Good Lord. I thought we would never see this day. We will have to play flawless football to beat these guys. I don't know how it will shake out, but I am DANG proud of our guys. I don't care about the soft schedule talk, ESPN's shameless lobbying and the drivel of talking heads. They still have to play the game. In any event, I will be there. UGA 17....LSU 10 (or hope LSU gets lost on the way)
(back to our Tech friend): Imagine your a Tech fan again, sitting in your Prius, in traffic, contemplating another loss to the Dawgs. You yell out your window, "See you in basketball season!" (oh wait...) to a group of Dawgs walking down Larry Munson Boulevard. You go back to your dorm, crack open another Zima, and stare at your computer screen. You turn on more Katy Perry. Junebug Dawkins is hauling back to Ocilla, with your girlfriend. What a bad day.
At least you have the moon.
Other Highlights:
1) LSU crushed Arkansas to guarantee their spot in the SEC title game, 41-17. At the postgame handshake, Bobby Petrino expressed his displeasure with Les Miles with a four word phrase that shall not be repeated here. Here is a four word phrase for you, Bobby: "Atlanta hates your guts."
2) The NBA looks to have settled the lockout and will start on Christmas Day. Meanwhile, Kim Kardashian has locked Kris Humphries out of their house. I've locked up SEC championship tickets, nobody has locked the Heisman down and Tech might as well lock up Bobby Dodd Stadium. If I ever see Breaking Dawn again, they'll have to lock me away forever.
3) Florida and Auburn both did Larry Munson tributes at their stadiums. Although some of his greatest calls were at their expense, Gators, Tigers and the Tide paid their last respects in classy fashion. Meanwhile, Tech booes and makes fools of themselves. It must have been the Zima.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Recap of the Weekend...or our SEC East banner is flying half mast today
I had a great recap ready to rock n' roll about 9:00 last night, I just needed to edit it and click "post." One thing lead to another, I got delayed, and it was past 10:00 when I logged back on. I saw the Facebook posts. UGASports was in meltdown mode. I saw the AJC.com breaking news banner across the top of their site. Texts flowed into my phone like the airplane bottle of Jack Daniel's pouring into my Coke during the game on Saturday. Our living legend, our Voice, our #1 fan in the booth....Larry Munson, had died.
It took me a second to digest this information. Although Larry hadn't broadcast his gravelly voice in awhile, it still lived on through internet videos, DVD's, books and the memories of thousands of Dawg fans nationwide. Plus, since he was still alive, there was always the tiniest glimmer of hope that he would come back. That familiar voice would open a game with "Get the picture..." and all would be right with the world. Although it was preposterous to hope for such a thing, I hoped nonetheless. That's the meaning of "irreplaceable."
Larry Munson is Georgia football. I remember in the 90's, watching the Dawgs on Saturdays after my morning basketball games, getting through the pregame chatter that CBS or ABC put together. As soon as the Dawgs would get ready to kickoff, my Dad would instantly mute the TV and turn on the radio. There was the Voice, barking into his microphone, scaring us all to death with hyperbolic descriptions of the other team's size and speed. Larry would have you believing that we had no shot, that if we came within three touchdowns, we'd be lucky and we might as well get back on the bus. Then, he'd come through with a "My God, a Freshman" type call that showed you the real Larry. His passion for the Dawgs was so deep that he would build up the other team so in case we lost, it wouldn't hurt so bad. Luckily, our fears and his would be unfounded, and the Dawgs would usually pull through.
So, thank you, Larry. Thank you for making every game special. Thank you for "bending girders" and "Sugar falling from the sky." Thank you for magnifying the great career of "that kid out of Johnson County" with your unforgettable calls. Thank you for breaking steel chairs, destroying property, and lighting cigars on the banks of the St. John's. Thank you for getting us through the 90's, I'll never forget Carswell's mobbing in Athens and Quincy leading us to a 29-28 comeback in Baton Rouge in '98. Thank you for making my time at UGA that much better. Thank you for "Hobnail Boots," Fred Gibson's "whatchamacallit" and simply, "Massaquoi." Thank you for the chill down my spine when the Battle Hymn is played and your voice booms, espousing the virtues of what it means to be a Dawg. We Georgians, from Rabun Gap to Bainbridge, from Rome to Augusta, from Dalton to Kingsland, the children of the red clay and the sandy south Georgia soil, are forever in your debt. Go Rest High, old friend, you will not be forgotten.
Sorry, it's emotional. Anyhow, on to the "game," if you want to call it that.
The SEC East title was on the line Saturday. You wouldn't have figured it with the sparse attendance and an offensive cupboard that was more bare than a printout of Kim Kardashian's brain activity from 2009 - present. I know it was the beginning of fall break and Kentucky is quite pitiful, but dang. The energy bus pulled out of Athens on Friday and got a flat tire on the way to Daytona, apparently. It was Senior Day and I felt sorry for the guys who gutted out four years in our program, playing the ridiculous schedules, practicing in the cold and the heat and enduring the time crunch all student-athletes face, only to be greeted with a half-hearted golf clap from 65,000. The only inspiring thing about the entire process was that I realized we are not losing very many people to graduation next year. Luckily, the crowd grew at kickoff, but I was still pissed at the indifference.
The game kicked off and Kentucky drove right down our throats, eliciting a few "WTH?" looks from the crowd. Kentucky is 1-5 (at the time) in league play. Vandy just beat them like they stole their TI-83 calculators. This should not be happening. The "D," lead by Shawn "Predator, Junior" Williams and Jarvis "Predator" Jones," then decided to clamp down. Williams was nailing people all day. I think their left tackle saw Jarvis's picture on the Jumbotron during the pregame and decided that Jarvis was indeed the "Predator" or at least 35 years old, so he just struck the tent and surrendered. Kentucky settled for a field goal. It would literally be the last positive offensive play for them. Abry Jones manhandled their line all day, as did "Motel 6" Jenkins, who put their center and guard on a sandwich and ate them at halftime. No, really, I saw him. Richt asked him if wanted something to drink and he said, "you know I want some Kool-Aid!" (+1 for Friday reference)
Then...we go on "offense." (and I mean "offense" like something smelly or bad that is disagreeable to one's visual, olfactory or auditory senses) Crowell runs the ball twice and is injured. Our guard, Chris Burnette rolled onto his ankle. OK, cool. Carlton Thomas will carry us. Oh, wait. Carlton is out too, for "personal reasons" according to the Sports Information Director. So, out trots our walk-on running back, Brandon Harton. Kentucky drops back in a coverage defense for the rest of the game. Brandon gained over 100 yards on this day, but you wouldn't have known it unless you peeped the box score. He did bust a few long runs in the 4th to get important first downs and get us in position to score, but poor Brandon took so many licks and took so many losses, you can just rename him "Dow Jones" Harton. Quite honestly, the line stunk the place up. Brandon had very few holes up until about ten minutes to go in the fourth. Murray was completely inept. Overthrows, underthrows, audibles that got Brandon Harton nearly killed...it was a spectacle, in the same sense as a trainwreck or a school bus fire. Mitchell, King and Conley begged for a good throw, but Murray looked like a hungover frat boy playing Ultimate Frisbee on Sunday morning.
The re-awakening of Blair Walsh was nice to see. After going through a year long funk, the little man from Boca Raton finally came through when we needed him. Seriously, watching him this year was like watching Greg Norman choke the Masters away to Nick Faldo in 1996. If you will remember, Greg had a SIX SHOT lead that he blew, hole by painstaking hole, as the gallery watched in horror. I thought Verne Lundquist was going to drown himself in Rae's Creek. When the 18th hole mercifully ended and Faldo knew he won the Green Jacket, he did not even celebrate. He just hugged Norman. I just wanted to hug Blair Walsh....like Joaquin Phoenix hugged Richard Harris in the Gladiator. Fortunately, he did not cost us a game, but he did make the collective rear-ends of 92,000 people pucker up tighter than a snare drum every time he trotted onto the field. Today, he was the hero. Unpuckered, I rejoiced for him and drank deeply from my surgically enhanced Coca-Cola as he kicked field goal after field goal. He better get his mind right though. Greg Norman has a clothing line and a cheap wine enterprise that affords him $600,000 yachts and such. Being a kicker prone to shank and slice ain't going to blow the skirt up of any NFL scouts. Maybe he should get a clothing line of his own....Jorts by Blair Walsh. He can stencil his name in red and black across the right rear pocket, I bet they'd sell like mad at Wal-Mart. Then he could buy that 12 foot Johnboat, complete with a Minnkota trolling motor, that he's always wanted and putter around Lake Allatoona. Take that, Greg Norman.
Rumors begin to circulate. Where is Carlton Thomas? Is his momma sick? Did his girlfriend have a baby? Did Frostproof, Florida actually have a frost? No. The information was hidden. It was the Ark of the Covenant on Saturday. I guess if the SID released his whereabouts, Mark Richt's face would have melted off and I would have been tied to a post with Harrison Ford, with him screaming "keep your eyes shut....or hand me that airplane bottle of Jack." (+1 for Raiders of the Lost Ark reference) Only after the game did we learn that Carlton had tried to sneak a human of the female persuasion into his hotel room the night before the game. He obviously got caught, which allowed us to learn two things: 1) Carlton Thomas is heterosexual; 2) women, indeed, do weaken legs...or your constitution. (+1 for Rocky reference) C'mon, Carlton. It's one night, the illustrious beauties meandering on the banks of Lake Lanier can wait until Sunday. And now...you can buy alcohol on Sunday, so when you have that "sea donkey" moment, you can just get a "sixer" and forget about it. (+4 for Booty Call and Dazed and Confused reference in the same sentence).
The score at halftime was 10-9 Kentucky. They score on a turnover by us, where the referees basically gift wrap a touchdown for them with two horrendous calls. I watched the halftime show, grinding my teeth, imagining the crowing coming from Columbia, South Carolina.
"Yay...we are going to the SEC Championship again, maybe we'll come within 35 this time!"
(taking a giant pull from my surgically enhanced Coca-Cola) As Vinny texts me, "I'm about to kill myself," I contemplate my reaction if we blew this one. Headbutt Laura? No, definitely not. Kill the fat guy next to me who bitches about something every three seconds? Maybe, if he keeps whining about Brandon Harton, I could. Power clean the first person in blue and toss them into the foul creek the runs by the stadium? Yes. Then, I thought better of it. I like Kentucky people, they are class for the most part, and their basketball team is my adopted tournament squad, since UGA goes about as often as Republican governor gets elected in Georgia. We trot out for the second half and I feel like we will take control. We get the ball and sputter again. Harton loses his helmet for the 87th time. I get another text from Vinny, referring to our offense in a manner that cannot be transcribed here. We eventually go up 12-10, but I'm just about at the end of my rope. My Coca-Cola is gone and I just polished off two hot dogs with the ferocity of two Cassvillians arguing over whether Ken Schrader's #25 Budweiser car or Bill Elliott's #94 McDonald's car looked better.
The drought gets broken finally. Murray finds Marlon Brown in the back of the end zone to make it 19-10. The defense is absolutely killing Kentucky. Shawn Williams lays out their tight end and dances around him, barking and likely foaming at the mouth. I love me some Shawn Williams. He reminds me of those nasty Miami safeties from the early 2000's, who would rip your head off and then take over South Beach on Saturday night with Nevin Shapiro (allegedly) (not that I care though, I love the U and always will). Jarvis gets 2.5 sacks and blocks a pass with such force that the ball turned back into a pig, oinked loudly and ran out of the tunnel by the south end zone. We hold on for a 19-10 victory and the SEC East banner resides in Athens. I watch the players celebrate and I realize that this team, while straining my very soul for the last 60 minutes, still has my heart. I love these guys. After the 0-2 start, the "Fire Richt Yesterday" bantering, the close calls to Tennessee and Ole Miss, the suspensions, and the overall stress of the season, we are 9-2 and going to Atlanta. I imagine the Columbia, South Carolina crowd again. The inferiority complex shining through, crying in their umbrella drinks, as they lament another year of irrelevance. It warms the heart, it really does.
It's on to Atlanta, twice. Before we meet one of the vaunted triumvirate of our Western SEC brethren, we gotta play Tech. I cannot express my utter hatred for these people (disclaimer: all my friends that attended Tech are excluded, I've never had a problem with any of you). It goes beyond any other opponent. It's not even close. I hate going to their stadium, I hate driving on North Avenue, hell, I hate their g&%$^$n sign that sits on I-75, polluting the atmosphere with drivel about their next chemistry experiment. Every totally negative experience that I've ever had at a college football game happened against Tech. Even at LSU, they'll cuss you six ways from Sunday and then offer you a plate of jambalaya. Even with Florida, you can have a drink with a Gator and get along just fine. Not with Tech. It's pure hate and I'll be there, regardless of my disdain for their stadium, to pull the Dawgs through. Somebody asked me today, "do you think the Dawgs can make it ten in a row on Saturday?"
To quote our beloved Voice, "Yeah, Yeah, Yeah!"
32-17 Dawgs and I'll probably go to jail. Oh well, worth it! Happy Thanksgiving!
Other Highlights:
1) Laura allowed the car to run out of gas on the way home Saturday. I was awakened with an "uh oh" and a sputtering sound, coasting to a stop in middle of the off ramp at Marietta. For some reason, she can audit banks and large corporations, but the whole "gas light/empty" thing....slightly more challenging. It was all good, though. Thanks be to Officer Trehern of the Marietta Police Department for saving me a three mile walk.
2) I paid for and attended a viewing of "Breaking Dawn." It may be the worst 1 hour and 45 minute waste of film I've witnessed since watching Tech's offensive game film from the 2002 beating in Athens. (51-7 and it could have been 70, but Richt fell asleep with the rest of the team.) Seriously, Kristen Stewart is awkwardly bad, like Tech's offensive line and receivers. Robert Pattinson, with his afflicted "I love you, Bella, but I'm so...torn...up...inside" blabbering, reminded me of Paul Johnson explaining just how Tech blew the 2009 game against us. You suck, that's how.
It took me a second to digest this information. Although Larry hadn't broadcast his gravelly voice in awhile, it still lived on through internet videos, DVD's, books and the memories of thousands of Dawg fans nationwide. Plus, since he was still alive, there was always the tiniest glimmer of hope that he would come back. That familiar voice would open a game with "Get the picture..." and all would be right with the world. Although it was preposterous to hope for such a thing, I hoped nonetheless. That's the meaning of "irreplaceable."
Larry Munson is Georgia football. I remember in the 90's, watching the Dawgs on Saturdays after my morning basketball games, getting through the pregame chatter that CBS or ABC put together. As soon as the Dawgs would get ready to kickoff, my Dad would instantly mute the TV and turn on the radio. There was the Voice, barking into his microphone, scaring us all to death with hyperbolic descriptions of the other team's size and speed. Larry would have you believing that we had no shot, that if we came within three touchdowns, we'd be lucky and we might as well get back on the bus. Then, he'd come through with a "My God, a Freshman" type call that showed you the real Larry. His passion for the Dawgs was so deep that he would build up the other team so in case we lost, it wouldn't hurt so bad. Luckily, our fears and his would be unfounded, and the Dawgs would usually pull through.
So, thank you, Larry. Thank you for making every game special. Thank you for "bending girders" and "Sugar falling from the sky." Thank you for magnifying the great career of "that kid out of Johnson County" with your unforgettable calls. Thank you for breaking steel chairs, destroying property, and lighting cigars on the banks of the St. John's. Thank you for getting us through the 90's, I'll never forget Carswell's mobbing in Athens and Quincy leading us to a 29-28 comeback in Baton Rouge in '98. Thank you for making my time at UGA that much better. Thank you for "Hobnail Boots," Fred Gibson's "whatchamacallit" and simply, "Massaquoi." Thank you for the chill down my spine when the Battle Hymn is played and your voice booms, espousing the virtues of what it means to be a Dawg. We Georgians, from Rabun Gap to Bainbridge, from Rome to Augusta, from Dalton to Kingsland, the children of the red clay and the sandy south Georgia soil, are forever in your debt. Go Rest High, old friend, you will not be forgotten.
Sorry, it's emotional. Anyhow, on to the "game," if you want to call it that.
The SEC East title was on the line Saturday. You wouldn't have figured it with the sparse attendance and an offensive cupboard that was more bare than a printout of Kim Kardashian's brain activity from 2009 - present. I know it was the beginning of fall break and Kentucky is quite pitiful, but dang. The energy bus pulled out of Athens on Friday and got a flat tire on the way to Daytona, apparently. It was Senior Day and I felt sorry for the guys who gutted out four years in our program, playing the ridiculous schedules, practicing in the cold and the heat and enduring the time crunch all student-athletes face, only to be greeted with a half-hearted golf clap from 65,000. The only inspiring thing about the entire process was that I realized we are not losing very many people to graduation next year. Luckily, the crowd grew at kickoff, but I was still pissed at the indifference.
The game kicked off and Kentucky drove right down our throats, eliciting a few "WTH?" looks from the crowd. Kentucky is 1-5 (at the time) in league play. Vandy just beat them like they stole their TI-83 calculators. This should not be happening. The "D," lead by Shawn "Predator, Junior" Williams and Jarvis "Predator" Jones," then decided to clamp down. Williams was nailing people all day. I think their left tackle saw Jarvis's picture on the Jumbotron during the pregame and decided that Jarvis was indeed the "Predator" or at least 35 years old, so he just struck the tent and surrendered. Kentucky settled for a field goal. It would literally be the last positive offensive play for them. Abry Jones manhandled their line all day, as did "Motel 6" Jenkins, who put their center and guard on a sandwich and ate them at halftime. No, really, I saw him. Richt asked him if wanted something to drink and he said, "you know I want some Kool-Aid!" (+1 for Friday reference)
Then...we go on "offense." (and I mean "offense" like something smelly or bad that is disagreeable to one's visual, olfactory or auditory senses) Crowell runs the ball twice and is injured. Our guard, Chris Burnette rolled onto his ankle. OK, cool. Carlton Thomas will carry us. Oh, wait. Carlton is out too, for "personal reasons" according to the Sports Information Director. So, out trots our walk-on running back, Brandon Harton. Kentucky drops back in a coverage defense for the rest of the game. Brandon gained over 100 yards on this day, but you wouldn't have known it unless you peeped the box score. He did bust a few long runs in the 4th to get important first downs and get us in position to score, but poor Brandon took so many licks and took so many losses, you can just rename him "Dow Jones" Harton. Quite honestly, the line stunk the place up. Brandon had very few holes up until about ten minutes to go in the fourth. Murray was completely inept. Overthrows, underthrows, audibles that got Brandon Harton nearly killed...it was a spectacle, in the same sense as a trainwreck or a school bus fire. Mitchell, King and Conley begged for a good throw, but Murray looked like a hungover frat boy playing Ultimate Frisbee on Sunday morning.
The re-awakening of Blair Walsh was nice to see. After going through a year long funk, the little man from Boca Raton finally came through when we needed him. Seriously, watching him this year was like watching Greg Norman choke the Masters away to Nick Faldo in 1996. If you will remember, Greg had a SIX SHOT lead that he blew, hole by painstaking hole, as the gallery watched in horror. I thought Verne Lundquist was going to drown himself in Rae's Creek. When the 18th hole mercifully ended and Faldo knew he won the Green Jacket, he did not even celebrate. He just hugged Norman. I just wanted to hug Blair Walsh....like Joaquin Phoenix hugged Richard Harris in the Gladiator. Fortunately, he did not cost us a game, but he did make the collective rear-ends of 92,000 people pucker up tighter than a snare drum every time he trotted onto the field. Today, he was the hero. Unpuckered, I rejoiced for him and drank deeply from my surgically enhanced Coca-Cola as he kicked field goal after field goal. He better get his mind right though. Greg Norman has a clothing line and a cheap wine enterprise that affords him $600,000 yachts and such. Being a kicker prone to shank and slice ain't going to blow the skirt up of any NFL scouts. Maybe he should get a clothing line of his own....Jorts by Blair Walsh. He can stencil his name in red and black across the right rear pocket, I bet they'd sell like mad at Wal-Mart. Then he could buy that 12 foot Johnboat, complete with a Minnkota trolling motor, that he's always wanted and putter around Lake Allatoona. Take that, Greg Norman.
Rumors begin to circulate. Where is Carlton Thomas? Is his momma sick? Did his girlfriend have a baby? Did Frostproof, Florida actually have a frost? No. The information was hidden. It was the Ark of the Covenant on Saturday. I guess if the SID released his whereabouts, Mark Richt's face would have melted off and I would have been tied to a post with Harrison Ford, with him screaming "keep your eyes shut....or hand me that airplane bottle of Jack." (+1 for Raiders of the Lost Ark reference) Only after the game did we learn that Carlton had tried to sneak a human of the female persuasion into his hotel room the night before the game. He obviously got caught, which allowed us to learn two things: 1) Carlton Thomas is heterosexual; 2) women, indeed, do weaken legs...or your constitution. (+1 for Rocky reference) C'mon, Carlton. It's one night, the illustrious beauties meandering on the banks of Lake Lanier can wait until Sunday. And now...you can buy alcohol on Sunday, so when you have that "sea donkey" moment, you can just get a "sixer" and forget about it. (+4 for Booty Call and Dazed and Confused reference in the same sentence).
The score at halftime was 10-9 Kentucky. They score on a turnover by us, where the referees basically gift wrap a touchdown for them with two horrendous calls. I watched the halftime show, grinding my teeth, imagining the crowing coming from Columbia, South Carolina.
"Yay...we are going to the SEC Championship again, maybe we'll come within 35 this time!"
(taking a giant pull from my surgically enhanced Coca-Cola) As Vinny texts me, "I'm about to kill myself," I contemplate my reaction if we blew this one. Headbutt Laura? No, definitely not. Kill the fat guy next to me who bitches about something every three seconds? Maybe, if he keeps whining about Brandon Harton, I could. Power clean the first person in blue and toss them into the foul creek the runs by the stadium? Yes. Then, I thought better of it. I like Kentucky people, they are class for the most part, and their basketball team is my adopted tournament squad, since UGA goes about as often as Republican governor gets elected in Georgia. We trot out for the second half and I feel like we will take control. We get the ball and sputter again. Harton loses his helmet for the 87th time. I get another text from Vinny, referring to our offense in a manner that cannot be transcribed here. We eventually go up 12-10, but I'm just about at the end of my rope. My Coca-Cola is gone and I just polished off two hot dogs with the ferocity of two Cassvillians arguing over whether Ken Schrader's #25 Budweiser car or Bill Elliott's #94 McDonald's car looked better.
The drought gets broken finally. Murray finds Marlon Brown in the back of the end zone to make it 19-10. The defense is absolutely killing Kentucky. Shawn Williams lays out their tight end and dances around him, barking and likely foaming at the mouth. I love me some Shawn Williams. He reminds me of those nasty Miami safeties from the early 2000's, who would rip your head off and then take over South Beach on Saturday night with Nevin Shapiro (allegedly) (not that I care though, I love the U and always will). Jarvis gets 2.5 sacks and blocks a pass with such force that the ball turned back into a pig, oinked loudly and ran out of the tunnel by the south end zone. We hold on for a 19-10 victory and the SEC East banner resides in Athens. I watch the players celebrate and I realize that this team, while straining my very soul for the last 60 minutes, still has my heart. I love these guys. After the 0-2 start, the "Fire Richt Yesterday" bantering, the close calls to Tennessee and Ole Miss, the suspensions, and the overall stress of the season, we are 9-2 and going to Atlanta. I imagine the Columbia, South Carolina crowd again. The inferiority complex shining through, crying in their umbrella drinks, as they lament another year of irrelevance. It warms the heart, it really does.
It's on to Atlanta, twice. Before we meet one of the vaunted triumvirate of our Western SEC brethren, we gotta play Tech. I cannot express my utter hatred for these people (disclaimer: all my friends that attended Tech are excluded, I've never had a problem with any of you). It goes beyond any other opponent. It's not even close. I hate going to their stadium, I hate driving on North Avenue, hell, I hate their g&%$^$n sign that sits on I-75, polluting the atmosphere with drivel about their next chemistry experiment. Every totally negative experience that I've ever had at a college football game happened against Tech. Even at LSU, they'll cuss you six ways from Sunday and then offer you a plate of jambalaya. Even with Florida, you can have a drink with a Gator and get along just fine. Not with Tech. It's pure hate and I'll be there, regardless of my disdain for their stadium, to pull the Dawgs through. Somebody asked me today, "do you think the Dawgs can make it ten in a row on Saturday?"
To quote our beloved Voice, "Yeah, Yeah, Yeah!"
32-17 Dawgs and I'll probably go to jail. Oh well, worth it! Happy Thanksgiving!
Other Highlights:
1) Laura allowed the car to run out of gas on the way home Saturday. I was awakened with an "uh oh" and a sputtering sound, coasting to a stop in middle of the off ramp at Marietta. For some reason, she can audit banks and large corporations, but the whole "gas light/empty" thing....slightly more challenging. It was all good, though. Thanks be to Officer Trehern of the Marietta Police Department for saving me a three mile walk.
2) I paid for and attended a viewing of "Breaking Dawn." It may be the worst 1 hour and 45 minute waste of film I've witnessed since watching Tech's offensive game film from the 2002 beating in Athens. (51-7 and it could have been 70, but Richt fell asleep with the rest of the team.) Seriously, Kristen Stewart is awkwardly bad, like Tech's offensive line and receivers. Robert Pattinson, with his afflicted "I love you, Bella, but I'm so...torn...up...inside" blabbering, reminded me of Paul Johnson explaining just how Tech blew the 2009 game against us. You suck, that's how.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Practical Knowledge....courtesy of 1810
I turned 30 this year. At such a milestone, one cannot help but take inventory of a life lived and decide whether you've lived up to your expectations and the expectations of others.(the "others" for me can be counted on two hands) I have to say I feel pretty dang good about life. I can't complain about anything worthwhile. I love my job somedays, my family every day and I am in good health except for my aching knees, thanks to years of basketball, absolutely no stretching and injuries I neglected because I refused to take pills...and still do.
You look back on your childhood and adolescence with fondness. You remember the good times and often wish for simpler days when you cruised the strip, blew precious gas money and just hoped a semi-attractive female gave you five seconds of her time. You look back on decisions that shaped you and your education. I was educated in the superb public schools of Georgia, which battles Mississippi, Alabama, and South Carolina for the lowest ranking public education system in the country. My senior year of high school, we were 49th, edging South Carolina by a nose. I'm telling you, I demanded a recount, nobody remembers who came in second, or next to last. I wanted the Class of '99 to make their mark, we needed that 50th place to etch our place in history.
"Hell you think your class was bad...you should have seen '99. Dude. Unreal." #winning
Unleash all the familiar stories. Teen pregnancy. 510 on the SAT. F's in Health and Team Sports. Students who care more about their cars and cussing out teachers than Physical Science. You know, the important stuff. Honestly, they haven't changed in adulthood either. I see people who can't afford their light bill, but by God, they got a Chrysler 300M with all the bells and whistles for a cool $650 per month. They can't pay child support but they lease a 63" television from Aaron's with 235% interest. I mean, really, what would life be without giant TV's and a false front of financial security?
**Sidenote: Seriously, what is it with Atlanta and Chrysler 300's? They are EVERYWHERE and people trick these things out and cruise around like it means something. FYI, it's not a Rolls or a Bentley, no matter how much you want it to be.
Anyhow, I am not disparaging my state. I am merely stating facts here. Anyone who attended school in Georgia would agree with me.
Here's another fact for you: I barely use my school education in the practical world. Other than simple arithmetic, grammar rules, and when Jeopardy comes on at 7:30, I'm at a loss. I am the king of useless knowledge and proud of it though. I can name all 159 Georgia counties without looking. Honestly, my PE teacher, Coach Henry Atwater, allowed me to shoot basketball the entire period every semester I was in his class. I would work on my free throws, post moves, shooting from the elbow and left handed layups. I have shot approximately 10,000 basketballs since high school. You know how many times I've been asked to solve a calculus problem since that time? 0.
10,000 > 0
See? Simple math. Coach Atwater was the man. I can still drill 'em from the elbow and my left handed layups are money. I couldn't tell you what "x" equals in an equation if my UgaSports.com subscription depended on it. Quite honestly, I don't need to know and refuse to put in the effort at this point. I never wanted to be an engineer or a computer programmer.
My most useful education came from Cass Grocery. As far as practical usage, there was no better place to learn. 1810 ran the gambit when it comes to reading, writing, math, science, health, law, and foreign language. Standing up there for 12-14 hours a day, interacting with the good people of Bartow County, taught yours truly everything I needed to make it to 30 years and beyond. I credit these people, along with my family and co-workers, in shaping the man you see before you in the present day. Here are some examples of what Cass Grocery taught me, correlated with public education of course.
Foreign Language:
A) Public School: "You need to learn a foreign language. It increases your ability to interact with other cultures. Now conjugate this, please."
B) Cass Grocery: The universal language is money. When one would feign the lack of an understanding of English for their benefit, I would simply increase the price of their purchase. Suddenly, their English was perfect as they questioned why their six pack of beer now costs $20. We didn't get ripped off and they knew we were not going to put up with lying, stealing and other such nonsense. Conjugate that, please.
Reading
A) Public School: "Identify the subject, verbs, and the predicate of this sentence. It will help you communicate effectively later in life. I swear. No, really. Y'all wake up!"
B) Cass Grocery: Once my Dad was working at the store and this woman accused him of selling cigarettes to her underage son. She handed Dad the receipt, showing the purchase of cigarettes, the time of purchase, and the date. She proceeded to dress Dad down, told him she called the police and that he was in big trouble. Her arrogance was palpable to be sure. My dad was strangely calm. Unfortunately for her, she failed to read the top of the receipt, which read "Cass-White Amoco, 1234 Cass-White Road, Cartersville, Georgia" and the time, which was 10:30 PM. 1810 never stayed open past 8:00 PM. There have been awkward moments at 1810, but this one may have topped them all. I'm talking "Finkle is Einhorn? Einhorn is Finkle?" awkwardness (+1 for Ace Ventura reference). The unholy tirade that ensued is legendary.
Math
A) (drawing a triangle) "I want you to find the angles in this triangle and calculate the area of said triangle. This will help you....uh, find angles and stuff."
B) Cass Grocery: (customer holding a PVC fitting):
"Hey Brad, I got this thingy right here that Daddy is trying to fix. We need a doodad that twists in there with a whatchamacallit to hold it in there."
(customer does hand motions for the twisting of the doodad and the holding action of the whatchamacallit as he hands me the fitting) I then use deductive reasoning (also known as picking up and trying every threaded fitting until he says, "yeah that's it") to solve his problem. No angles, no calculation of area. Toilet (non-triangle shaped, I guess) is fixed.
Science
A) "Keep your hands away from the Bunsen Burner, it is hot and could cause harm to your person. Y'all put down that frog! Hey, no smoking in here."
B) Cass Grocery:
Dad: "Hey, we just got a new shipment of Liquid Fire in. See the name? Liquid Fire. It's an industrial pipe cleaner with acid in it. Don't let that stuff get on you. It will burn clear through to the bone and I'm not driving your ass to the hospital because you were stupid."
Me: "Ok, Dad."
Law:
A) Public Education: "You should not hit people. You should not do drugs. You should not hit people while on drugs. You could go to jail."
B) Cass Grocery: (actual conversation I had when I was 14, edited to be true to form):
Me: "Hey, Bobby, you alright? I saw the cops at your house last night coming home from Kennesaw."
Bobby: "Oh hell, boy, you ain't gonna believe this. My ex old lady showed up drunk at the house, wantin' to see them youngins. I pulled out them papers and done showed her, you can't see the damn kids if you're drunk or I don't thank (think) its in their best intrists (interests) or whatever. You know how she is, that woman don't know nuthin (nothing) but two things: drinkin and pissin me off. That bitch got all mad and punched me right in the mouth. Then her damn boyfriend got out of the car. I told that sorry sumbitch to stay right whar (where) he was or he woulda got his head blowed off. I went in the house and told Momma to take the youngins to the basement. I got me a baseball bat and went out thar (there) and told her to take her happy ice (ass) on back to that dumpster she calls a house and don't come back here no more. She sassed me and crossed her arms and said her name was on the house too and she wasn't nowheres (nowhere) without the kids. So you know what I done? I baseballbatted (hit it with a baseball bat) her car, busted out them headlights. She said, "I'm on (I'm gonna) call the cops!" Call em! Call em! I said. Take me to damn jail. I don't keer (care). The cops come upair (up there) and started asking us stuff. I told I knowed mah (my) rights and I ain't criminatin (incriminating) myself or nuthin. So, they take me in for busting her car and damned if they didn't bust her for a DUI. Then they run licenses and pick up her boyfriend on a warrant! Sumbitch had three charges up at Calhoun for forgin' checks! Momma bailed me out. That damn car is still in my driveway, I'm gonna light it on far (fire) when I get home."
Me: "Dang. You need a pack of Marlboros?" (with a full understanding of constitutional and state law)
So, there you have it. For every calculated piece of curriculum I heard from my teachers, there was another lesson learned at 1810. I say that I definitely use advice like "don't never check a hot car's radiator" or "don't drink too much, or your old lady will divorce you and take everthang (everything) you got" much more than calculus, conjugated words, and the various forms of foliage that grow in southeastern Uzbekistan. (which is near Macon, Georgia...right?)
Disclaimer: This is no way discourages education, nor casts aspersions on my former teachers or current teachers. It is hard to mold (change and/or shape) minds that are already molded (rotting/covered in fungi).
That's a homonym. See? I learned something.
B) Cass Grocery: (actual conversation I had when I was 14, edited to be true to form):
Me: "Hey, Bobby, you alright? I saw the cops at your house last night coming home from Kennesaw."
Bobby: "Oh hell, boy, you ain't gonna believe this. My ex old lady showed up drunk at the house, wantin' to see them youngins. I pulled out them papers and done showed her, you can't see the damn kids if you're drunk or I don't thank (think) its in their best intrists (interests) or whatever. You know how she is, that woman don't know nuthin (nothing) but two things: drinkin and pissin me off. That bitch got all mad and punched me right in the mouth. Then her damn boyfriend got out of the car. I told that sorry sumbitch to stay right whar (where) he was or he woulda got his head blowed off. I went in the house and told Momma to take the youngins to the basement. I got me a baseball bat and went out thar (there) and told her to take her happy ice (ass) on back to that dumpster she calls a house and don't come back here no more. She sassed me and crossed her arms and said her name was on the house too and she wasn't nowheres (nowhere) without the kids. So you know what I done? I baseballbatted (hit it with a baseball bat) her car, busted out them headlights. She said, "I'm on (I'm gonna) call the cops!" Call em! Call em! I said. Take me to damn jail. I don't keer (care). The cops come upair (up there) and started asking us stuff. I told I knowed mah (my) rights and I ain't criminatin (incriminating) myself or nuthin. So, they take me in for busting her car and damned if they didn't bust her for a DUI. Then they run licenses and pick up her boyfriend on a warrant! Sumbitch had three charges up at Calhoun for forgin' checks! Momma bailed me out. That damn car is still in my driveway, I'm gonna light it on far (fire) when I get home."
Me: "Dang. You need a pack of Marlboros?" (with a full understanding of constitutional and state law)
So, there you have it. For every calculated piece of curriculum I heard from my teachers, there was another lesson learned at 1810. I say that I definitely use advice like "don't never check a hot car's radiator" or "don't drink too much, or your old lady will divorce you and take everthang (everything) you got" much more than calculus, conjugated words, and the various forms of foliage that grow in southeastern Uzbekistan. (which is near Macon, Georgia...right?)
Disclaimer: This is no way discourages education, nor casts aspersions on my former teachers or current teachers. It is hard to mold (change and/or shape) minds that are already molded (rotting/covered in fungi).
That's a homonym. See? I learned something.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Recap of the Weekend...or payback is better than Mama Kim's sweet potato casserole (almost)
Nah, nothing is better than Mama Kim's sweet potato casserole. Seriously, that woman covered sweet potatoes with marshmallows and pecans in such a way that it caused yours truly to contemplate voluntary manslaughter when somebody took the last piece at Christmas 1998. Luckily, morality prevailed and my brother is still among us today. I told you, my appetite is legen....wait for it.......dary. (+1 for How I Met Your Mother reference)
Well, well, well....I don't know how to start. When I saw Trooper Taylor chest bumping and towel spinning before kickoff , I prayed to God and Erk Russell that he would tear his ACL and have to go to Athens Regional, where the pro Georgia staff would blare Larry Munson highlights in his room while they sewed his knee back together with barbed wire. This guy chest bumped Nick Fairley after he injured Aaron Murray at Auburn last year, making an enemy out of the Dawgnation and especially yours truly. It's all I could think about on Saturday before the game. As I poured my Wild Turkey and Sprite (Wild Turkey in honor of our enemies, the War EaglePlainsTigersmen), I contemplated another loss to these people. Auburn. The same Auburn who copies our fight song. The same Auburn, whose roster is routinely made up of Georgians. The same Auburn with a giant alumni club in Atlanta. We could not endure another loss and I could not endure another Trooper Taylor Show. I would certainly have gone to Ace Hardware in Adairsville, bought the most expensive chainsaw they had and cut his Escalade in half. (+1 for Any Given Sunday reference)
During warmups, I saw our guys looking at Auburn's sideline and I saw some confident nodding, so I felt pretty good. I assume they were sizing up Auburn's players, or commenting on the girth of their cheerleaders, but in any event, things looked up. Auburn's band played #1 of the 4,967 songs they would play on Saturday. Seriously, these geeks never shut up. They even played when UGA was honoring some faculty during a commercial break, which I thought was extremely rude. However, I have become accustomed to this, inadequacy often breeds intolerable rudeness.
They kicked off to us and Boykin did his usual damage and got us decent field position. Murray trotted out there and picked Auburn apart with precision passing and Crowell and Carlton Thomas gashed them for 8-10 yards every touch. Marching down the field, I noticed that Trooper Taylor started his towel waving. I could see myself, standing in line at Ace Hardware amongst the good people of Adairsville, holding a nice Husqvarna with an evil grin on my face. Then approaching Auburn with that same grin, calling Harvey Updyke on his cell in prison, saying "prepare to be one-upped, you nutcase." Dad would bail me out, I'm sure of it.
Murray finds King in the end zone to make it 7-0. I'm really proud of Tavarres King, the guy has flat stepped up since Boise State.
**Sidenote: I love saying "flat" when describing actions. It's a Southern saying that adds emphasis when needed. Like when some old fan says, "That Malcolm Mitchell can flat out run, boy." It means that Malcolm Mitchell can, indeed, run very fast. Mama Kim could flat cook a sweet potato casserole. See? It works.
We kick the ball back to Auburn and the WarEaglePlainsTigersMen basically mirror us offensively. They march down the field, pass to McCalebb, pass to Blake, pass to Lutzenkirchen. Poor guy. It probably took him thirty minutes to bubble in his name on the SAT. That would explain his low score and his acceptance into Auburn. However, the dude is a pretty good tight end. Malzahn and his "smoke and mirrors" offense run a trick play, where Uzomah and Lutzenkirchen hook up for a score. Two Georgians. Grrrrrrr. Trooper's towel is in full swing, chest bumps all around......and I can smell the 2:1 oil in my chainsaw.
Murray marches us right back down the field again. Carlton Thomas is on fire. The little man from Frostproof, Florida came out to make statement, to be forgiven for his indiscretions that got him suspended last week. Statement made. He had 127 yards this day and threw several key blocks that helped Murray stay in the pocket and toss TD's all over Auburn's secondary. Michael "Mighty Whitey" Bennett catches a 40 yarder falling down, over his left shoulder to make it 14-7. The Georgia sideline erupts and Jarvis Jones's internal computer turns on and zeroes in on Clint Moseley. Shawn Williams does the same. Shawn Williams is Predator Junior, as Emory Blake would find out in the second quarter. Our defense has become a swagger infested killing machine....jaws flapping, along with dreadlocks and Jarvis Jones's shoulder gun frying quarterbacks like a six piece bucket at Church's. Abry Jones, Jenkins, Tyson, Washington and Geathers are denying the middle like an overbearing bouncer checking ID's at the old Crystal Chandelier in Rome. Auburn would have a total of 9 first downs all day. The second leading rushing team in the SEC looked like a hungover fraternity flag football team trying to run the Statute of Liberty. Inept. Incapable. Incapacitated.
The game turned on the kickoff after Mighty Whitey scored. Tre Mason took our kickoff from one yard deep in the end zone and sprints up the middle with abandon. I give the man credit, he seemed fearless....or really stupid. Quintavious "Cootie" Harrow of Columbus, Georgia was sprinting from the right side, unblocked and zeroed in on Mason's chest. Cootie unleashed a lick that sent Mason to the turf, his shoulder blades striking the ground first. The Sanford Stadium crowd, already sensing something was brewing, went berserk. A collective "ooooooohhhhhh" came forth from 92,000 people. The entire kickoff team swarmed Cootie. It's already on Youtube with 2,000 hits. Auburn returned to their sideline, tail between their legs, reminiscing about the beatdown delivered to them by the LSU Tigers courtesy of big hits on kickoffs. Little did they know, another embarrasment was coming their way. They punted quickly on that series.
We traded fumbles with Auburn at the 50 yard line. Crowell dropped a ball trying to cut around a blocker. Then on Auburn's first play, Dyer tried to execute a reverse to McCalebb, which he dropped and Geathers fell on it. Onterrio McCalebb saw Kwame coming and cleared out, he was giving up 175 pounds and 6 inches. It would have been like an anvil hitting Wile E. Coyote if Kwame landed on Onterrio. Kwame and Onterrio....sounds like a cheesy clothing store in the mall. It would be like Hollister, you walk by and are instantly high from the overpowering smell of cheap cologne. Anyhow, we drive down easily, courtesy of another great route by King and runs by Crowell and Thomas. Murray finds fullback Bruce Figgins for a ten yard completion and score to make it 21-7. I love Bruce Figgins. The man waylays people on running plays, gets little credit except for "I wouldn't want to fight Bruce Figgins," from the occasional opposing player. Trooper's towel has gone silent. In fact, I can't really see him. Somebody saw him checking Craigslist on his laptop for "Irrelevant and Useless Positions of Meaninglessness" under the bench, so that explains his absence.
Then the game got out of hand, courtesy of the defense. It was like the early 80's all over again, when we were Junkyard as hell and battered people. I swear I heard "Owner of a Lonely Heart" blaring out of the speakers of an '84 Camaro on Baldwin Street. I've said it before, I would NEVER have survived the early 80's at UGA. Too much good football + less rules + a 19-20 year old me = a massive brawl with Notre Dame fans at the 1980 National Championship and we all fall into Lake Ponchartrain fighting in the back of a pickup truck that was on fire. Auburn receives the kickoff and Quan Bray gets nowhere. They run two unsuccessful plays. On third down, Moseley bobbles the snap for a second and then fires a pass to his right. In his haste, he did not see Bacarri Rambo hiding behind his receiver. Rambo jumps the route, taking his league leading interception to the house on a zigzag run that was effectuated by a devastating block on Emory Blake by Shawn Williams. Shawn hit Blake so hard that Blake's car threw a rod back in Auburn. Shawn and Baccari are two southwest Georgia boys that bleed red and black and flat destroy people every week. To the good people of Early and Seminole County, thank you for sending us these heat seeking missiles. The sideline and the stadium exploded. We got a penalty. It didn't matter. This game was over. I picked Jeremy Brock up over my head and Gorilla pressed him, channeling my inner Ultimate Warrior from Parts Unknown.
The second half saw Murray throw a total of one pass. A heavy dose of Crowell and Thomas is all we needed. We basically double dawg dared Auburn to stop us, and they got their tongues stuck to the pole and we stole their lunch money. (+1 for Christmas Story reference) They did nothing offensively. They could not run. They could not pass. Grantham looked at Gus Malzahn, Ric Flair strutted from one hash to another, and said "Wooooooooo!" It was beautiful. Richt had a evil smirk on his face as our first team offense trotted out there again and again, battering them into submission. Payback for Fairley. Payback for the Cam Newton Show, when he blew kisses to our defense in a brash display of cockiness before the game started last year. I can't stand that guy. It ain't the money thing, it ain't the cocky attitude....I just don't like him. Speaking of not liking someone, Trooper Taylor disappeared in the second half. He took his backwards hats, towels and chest bumps and went to apply for the assistant waterboy position at Georgia State. Bill Curry would be happy to have him, I'm sure. A piece of Tech scum like Curry and a showboat like Taylor go together like Auburn and probation. It just fits.
I predicted 31-13 and I am happy to say it was worse than that. Our rivalry was voted as one of the nastiest in college football in the Sporting News and I have to agree somewhat. It only happened recently but it's definintely nasty these days. We got along with all Auburn folks, but there was an edge to this game. It was like two guys meeting a year after one stole the other's girlfriend, it's cool now but everybody is just waiting on the tension to get sliced with the knife. Well, our guys chainsawed the tension and stacked up Auburn's team like next year's firewood. (see the chainsaw theme again? I'm obsessed. I'm in the car on the way to Ace now) I thoroughly enjoyed this game. We have to clinch the SEC East next week against Kentucky or it's all for naught. I feel our guys will be ready. 35-10 Dawgs and I will be there, to relish in the victory, with my damn chainsaw.
Other Highlights:
1) Penn State played their first game without Joe Paterno since 1965. Other things that haven't happened since 1965: a) Me giving a damn about a Big Ten game; b) Me allowing a man to rape a child in my presence AND not killing him with a baseball bat; c) Me drinking gluten free beer
2) Boise and Stanford both go down in unimpressive fashion, rendering the West Coast as relevant as cassette tapes, Rob Lowe, decaf coffee, sugar free brownies, Auburn's running game and Nevin Shapiro's standing reservation at Joe's Crab Shack in Miami.
3) Florida State and Miami played and nobody cared. That has not happened in my lifetime. Other things that have not happened in my lifetime: a) Watched a Braves game from 1st to the 9th inning without sleeping; b) Driven on I-285 without construction being done; and c) Left Athens without a "dude, guess what you did" story.
Well, well, well....I don't know how to start. When I saw Trooper Taylor chest bumping and towel spinning before kickoff , I prayed to God and Erk Russell that he would tear his ACL and have to go to Athens Regional, where the pro Georgia staff would blare Larry Munson highlights in his room while they sewed his knee back together with barbed wire. This guy chest bumped Nick Fairley after he injured Aaron Murray at Auburn last year, making an enemy out of the Dawgnation and especially yours truly. It's all I could think about on Saturday before the game. As I poured my Wild Turkey and Sprite (Wild Turkey in honor of our enemies, the War EaglePlainsTigersmen), I contemplated another loss to these people. Auburn. The same Auburn who copies our fight song. The same Auburn, whose roster is routinely made up of Georgians. The same Auburn with a giant alumni club in Atlanta. We could not endure another loss and I could not endure another Trooper Taylor Show. I would certainly have gone to Ace Hardware in Adairsville, bought the most expensive chainsaw they had and cut his Escalade in half. (+1 for Any Given Sunday reference)
During warmups, I saw our guys looking at Auburn's sideline and I saw some confident nodding, so I felt pretty good. I assume they were sizing up Auburn's players, or commenting on the girth of their cheerleaders, but in any event, things looked up. Auburn's band played #1 of the 4,967 songs they would play on Saturday. Seriously, these geeks never shut up. They even played when UGA was honoring some faculty during a commercial break, which I thought was extremely rude. However, I have become accustomed to this, inadequacy often breeds intolerable rudeness.
They kicked off to us and Boykin did his usual damage and got us decent field position. Murray trotted out there and picked Auburn apart with precision passing and Crowell and Carlton Thomas gashed them for 8-10 yards every touch. Marching down the field, I noticed that Trooper Taylor started his towel waving. I could see myself, standing in line at Ace Hardware amongst the good people of Adairsville, holding a nice Husqvarna with an evil grin on my face. Then approaching Auburn with that same grin, calling Harvey Updyke on his cell in prison, saying "prepare to be one-upped, you nutcase." Dad would bail me out, I'm sure of it.
Murray finds King in the end zone to make it 7-0. I'm really proud of Tavarres King, the guy has flat stepped up since Boise State.
**Sidenote: I love saying "flat" when describing actions. It's a Southern saying that adds emphasis when needed. Like when some old fan says, "That Malcolm Mitchell can flat out run, boy." It means that Malcolm Mitchell can, indeed, run very fast. Mama Kim could flat cook a sweet potato casserole. See? It works.
We kick the ball back to Auburn and the WarEaglePlainsTigersMen basically mirror us offensively. They march down the field, pass to McCalebb, pass to Blake, pass to Lutzenkirchen. Poor guy. It probably took him thirty minutes to bubble in his name on the SAT. That would explain his low score and his acceptance into Auburn. However, the dude is a pretty good tight end. Malzahn and his "smoke and mirrors" offense run a trick play, where Uzomah and Lutzenkirchen hook up for a score. Two Georgians. Grrrrrrr. Trooper's towel is in full swing, chest bumps all around......and I can smell the 2:1 oil in my chainsaw.
Murray marches us right back down the field again. Carlton Thomas is on fire. The little man from Frostproof, Florida came out to make statement, to be forgiven for his indiscretions that got him suspended last week. Statement made. He had 127 yards this day and threw several key blocks that helped Murray stay in the pocket and toss TD's all over Auburn's secondary. Michael "Mighty Whitey" Bennett catches a 40 yarder falling down, over his left shoulder to make it 14-7. The Georgia sideline erupts and Jarvis Jones's internal computer turns on and zeroes in on Clint Moseley. Shawn Williams does the same. Shawn Williams is Predator Junior, as Emory Blake would find out in the second quarter. Our defense has become a swagger infested killing machine....jaws flapping, along with dreadlocks and Jarvis Jones's shoulder gun frying quarterbacks like a six piece bucket at Church's. Abry Jones, Jenkins, Tyson, Washington and Geathers are denying the middle like an overbearing bouncer checking ID's at the old Crystal Chandelier in Rome. Auburn would have a total of 9 first downs all day. The second leading rushing team in the SEC looked like a hungover fraternity flag football team trying to run the Statute of Liberty. Inept. Incapable. Incapacitated.
The game turned on the kickoff after Mighty Whitey scored. Tre Mason took our kickoff from one yard deep in the end zone and sprints up the middle with abandon. I give the man credit, he seemed fearless....or really stupid. Quintavious "Cootie" Harrow of Columbus, Georgia was sprinting from the right side, unblocked and zeroed in on Mason's chest. Cootie unleashed a lick that sent Mason to the turf, his shoulder blades striking the ground first. The Sanford Stadium crowd, already sensing something was brewing, went berserk. A collective "ooooooohhhhhh" came forth from 92,000 people. The entire kickoff team swarmed Cootie. It's already on Youtube with 2,000 hits. Auburn returned to their sideline, tail between their legs, reminiscing about the beatdown delivered to them by the LSU Tigers courtesy of big hits on kickoffs. Little did they know, another embarrasment was coming their way. They punted quickly on that series.
We traded fumbles with Auburn at the 50 yard line. Crowell dropped a ball trying to cut around a blocker. Then on Auburn's first play, Dyer tried to execute a reverse to McCalebb, which he dropped and Geathers fell on it. Onterrio McCalebb saw Kwame coming and cleared out, he was giving up 175 pounds and 6 inches. It would have been like an anvil hitting Wile E. Coyote if Kwame landed on Onterrio. Kwame and Onterrio....sounds like a cheesy clothing store in the mall. It would be like Hollister, you walk by and are instantly high from the overpowering smell of cheap cologne. Anyhow, we drive down easily, courtesy of another great route by King and runs by Crowell and Thomas. Murray finds fullback Bruce Figgins for a ten yard completion and score to make it 21-7. I love Bruce Figgins. The man waylays people on running plays, gets little credit except for "I wouldn't want to fight Bruce Figgins," from the occasional opposing player. Trooper's towel has gone silent. In fact, I can't really see him. Somebody saw him checking Craigslist on his laptop for "Irrelevant and Useless Positions of Meaninglessness" under the bench, so that explains his absence.
Then the game got out of hand, courtesy of the defense. It was like the early 80's all over again, when we were Junkyard as hell and battered people. I swear I heard "Owner of a Lonely Heart" blaring out of the speakers of an '84 Camaro on Baldwin Street. I've said it before, I would NEVER have survived the early 80's at UGA. Too much good football + less rules + a 19-20 year old me = a massive brawl with Notre Dame fans at the 1980 National Championship and we all fall into Lake Ponchartrain fighting in the back of a pickup truck that was on fire. Auburn receives the kickoff and Quan Bray gets nowhere. They run two unsuccessful plays. On third down, Moseley bobbles the snap for a second and then fires a pass to his right. In his haste, he did not see Bacarri Rambo hiding behind his receiver. Rambo jumps the route, taking his league leading interception to the house on a zigzag run that was effectuated by a devastating block on Emory Blake by Shawn Williams. Shawn hit Blake so hard that Blake's car threw a rod back in Auburn. Shawn and Baccari are two southwest Georgia boys that bleed red and black and flat destroy people every week. To the good people of Early and Seminole County, thank you for sending us these heat seeking missiles. The sideline and the stadium exploded. We got a penalty. It didn't matter. This game was over. I picked Jeremy Brock up over my head and Gorilla pressed him, channeling my inner Ultimate Warrior from Parts Unknown.
The second half saw Murray throw a total of one pass. A heavy dose of Crowell and Thomas is all we needed. We basically double dawg dared Auburn to stop us, and they got their tongues stuck to the pole and we stole their lunch money. (+1 for Christmas Story reference) They did nothing offensively. They could not run. They could not pass. Grantham looked at Gus Malzahn, Ric Flair strutted from one hash to another, and said "Wooooooooo!" It was beautiful. Richt had a evil smirk on his face as our first team offense trotted out there again and again, battering them into submission. Payback for Fairley. Payback for the Cam Newton Show, when he blew kisses to our defense in a brash display of cockiness before the game started last year. I can't stand that guy. It ain't the money thing, it ain't the cocky attitude....I just don't like him. Speaking of not liking someone, Trooper Taylor disappeared in the second half. He took his backwards hats, towels and chest bumps and went to apply for the assistant waterboy position at Georgia State. Bill Curry would be happy to have him, I'm sure. A piece of Tech scum like Curry and a showboat like Taylor go together like Auburn and probation. It just fits.
I predicted 31-13 and I am happy to say it was worse than that. Our rivalry was voted as one of the nastiest in college football in the Sporting News and I have to agree somewhat. It only happened recently but it's definintely nasty these days. We got along with all Auburn folks, but there was an edge to this game. It was like two guys meeting a year after one stole the other's girlfriend, it's cool now but everybody is just waiting on the tension to get sliced with the knife. Well, our guys chainsawed the tension and stacked up Auburn's team like next year's firewood. (see the chainsaw theme again? I'm obsessed. I'm in the car on the way to Ace now) I thoroughly enjoyed this game. We have to clinch the SEC East next week against Kentucky or it's all for naught. I feel our guys will be ready. 35-10 Dawgs and I will be there, to relish in the victory, with my damn chainsaw.
Other Highlights:
1) Penn State played their first game without Joe Paterno since 1965. Other things that haven't happened since 1965: a) Me giving a damn about a Big Ten game; b) Me allowing a man to rape a child in my presence AND not killing him with a baseball bat; c) Me drinking gluten free beer
2) Boise and Stanford both go down in unimpressive fashion, rendering the West Coast as relevant as cassette tapes, Rob Lowe, decaf coffee, sugar free brownies, Auburn's running game and Nevin Shapiro's standing reservation at Joe's Crab Shack in Miami.
3) Florida State and Miami played and nobody cared. That has not happened in my lifetime. Other things that have not happened in my lifetime: a) Watched a Braves game from 1st to the 9th inning without sleeping; b) Driven on I-285 without construction being done; and c) Left Athens without a "dude, guess what you did" story.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Georgia Rivers...a lesson in truth.
Years ago, there was a family I heard about, their location I will leave to your speculation. It was not a good family, the husband was an abusive drunk, the wife powerless and the poor kids were trapped in the middle. He barely worked and when he did, he was usually fired within weeks for one reason or another, usually alcohol or drug related. He was "white trash" in every sense of the word: no good to anyone, contributed nothing to society and basically ruined the lives of everyone around him.
He beat his wife on a continual basis. This was back in the day when arrests did not happen unless the woman pressed charges. Unfortunately, pressing charges was not as easy as it sounds and there was no guarantee the charges would stick. Dragging an angry drunk through court and coming out the loser was a recipe for disaster. So, this pattern continued for years. She lied to friends and family about bruises. She used makeup to hide black eyes. A sweet girl with nowhere to go, trapped without a way out.
One night, after hitting the bottle especially hard, the husband decided she deserved a beating. This time, he graduated from fists and used a baseball bat. A tiny, defenseless woman against a drunken, raging idiot is no contest. He battered her unconscious. Realizing his mistake, he skipped town. She was found by neighbors, the police were called and a manhunt ensued. Her family was notified and they came from all directions to see her. "Brain damage" is a term sometimes used in jest by my generation, a way to describe somebody who acts funny or crazy. "Sometimes, I swear you have brain damage," I've heard after antics in college. No, this was real damage. Her right side will be essentially useless for the rest of her life.
The manhunt turned up nothing. Probably gone to Alabama. Back then, you could disappear and really be gone. Police radios and wanted posters had nothing on pitch black Southern nights. Southern nights love to hide things. Compliment that with stolen tags and family willing to hide you in every town within a 100 mile radius, and you're history.
Two men went fishing that weekend in a local river. Striper fishing is extremely popular in these parts. Get a John boat, a trolling motor and a 25 lb test line and you're good to go. Navigating the rocks and limbs are another story. Georgia rivers love to hide things. After cruising down the river a piece, the driver feels a large thump and a screeching noise on the bottom of the boat. I'm sure a collective sigh came from both men as they paused to look over the side. The offending rock rolled from underneath the boat and exposed itself to the fishermen. It was not the particular size or shape of the rock that inspired the men to coast to the bank of the river. It was the fact that tied to this rock was an unidentified white male, dead as the driftwood piling up on the rocks down the river.
This white male was tied neatly to the rock. Hands and feet hugging the former igneous inhabitant of the Georgia clay. The face, nondescript, with the glaring exception of the tiny hole in the middle of the forehead. The tiny hole yielded to a much larger, less neat hole in the back of the head. It does not take a law degree or years in the field to figure out what had taken place here. The driver of the boat ran to his truck and drove to town. The police and the coroner followed him to the spot, and surveyed the situation.
The face, formerly nondescript, matched the subject of the manhunt earlier that week. Facts began to mount up. Discussion ensued. A young girl lay in a hospital bed, by this man's hand. A despicable man, one whom these police officers knew all to well. The young children were emotionally scarred. He left town. Her family was by her side all week, except two brothers. They had been gone for a couple of days. A vacation was needed to clear their heads. They were back now, though.
"He hit his head on a rock and drowned," was the consensus.
Georgia rivers are fickle. Sometimes, they hide things. Other times, they get a mind of their own and decide that driftwood is the only thing they are going to carry this day. In any event, the river rolled along, but the investigation did not. It ended right there on the banks. Penn State.....you didn't even check the rock that hit your boat. You let the driftwood pile up. Take a lesson from an old Georgia river before it's too late.
Sadly, it is already too late.
He beat his wife on a continual basis. This was back in the day when arrests did not happen unless the woman pressed charges. Unfortunately, pressing charges was not as easy as it sounds and there was no guarantee the charges would stick. Dragging an angry drunk through court and coming out the loser was a recipe for disaster. So, this pattern continued for years. She lied to friends and family about bruises. She used makeup to hide black eyes. A sweet girl with nowhere to go, trapped without a way out.
One night, after hitting the bottle especially hard, the husband decided she deserved a beating. This time, he graduated from fists and used a baseball bat. A tiny, defenseless woman against a drunken, raging idiot is no contest. He battered her unconscious. Realizing his mistake, he skipped town. She was found by neighbors, the police were called and a manhunt ensued. Her family was notified and they came from all directions to see her. "Brain damage" is a term sometimes used in jest by my generation, a way to describe somebody who acts funny or crazy. "Sometimes, I swear you have brain damage," I've heard after antics in college. No, this was real damage. Her right side will be essentially useless for the rest of her life.
The manhunt turned up nothing. Probably gone to Alabama. Back then, you could disappear and really be gone. Police radios and wanted posters had nothing on pitch black Southern nights. Southern nights love to hide things. Compliment that with stolen tags and family willing to hide you in every town within a 100 mile radius, and you're history.
Two men went fishing that weekend in a local river. Striper fishing is extremely popular in these parts. Get a John boat, a trolling motor and a 25 lb test line and you're good to go. Navigating the rocks and limbs are another story. Georgia rivers love to hide things. After cruising down the river a piece, the driver feels a large thump and a screeching noise on the bottom of the boat. I'm sure a collective sigh came from both men as they paused to look over the side. The offending rock rolled from underneath the boat and exposed itself to the fishermen. It was not the particular size or shape of the rock that inspired the men to coast to the bank of the river. It was the fact that tied to this rock was an unidentified white male, dead as the driftwood piling up on the rocks down the river.
This white male was tied neatly to the rock. Hands and feet hugging the former igneous inhabitant of the Georgia clay. The face, nondescript, with the glaring exception of the tiny hole in the middle of the forehead. The tiny hole yielded to a much larger, less neat hole in the back of the head. It does not take a law degree or years in the field to figure out what had taken place here. The driver of the boat ran to his truck and drove to town. The police and the coroner followed him to the spot, and surveyed the situation.
The face, formerly nondescript, matched the subject of the manhunt earlier that week. Facts began to mount up. Discussion ensued. A young girl lay in a hospital bed, by this man's hand. A despicable man, one whom these police officers knew all to well. The young children were emotionally scarred. He left town. Her family was by her side all week, except two brothers. They had been gone for a couple of days. A vacation was needed to clear their heads. They were back now, though.
"He hit his head on a rock and drowned," was the consensus.
Georgia rivers are fickle. Sometimes, they hide things. Other times, they get a mind of their own and decide that driftwood is the only thing they are going to carry this day. In any event, the river rolled along, but the investigation did not. It ended right there on the banks. Penn State.....you didn't even check the rock that hit your boat. You let the driftwood pile up. Take a lesson from an old Georgia river before it's too late.
Sadly, it is already too late.
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Recap of the Weekend or 7-2 is better than Herman Cain's 9-9-9 plan
The Dawgs had Homecoming on Saturday and welcomed the New Mexico State Aggies into the formerly friendly confines of Sanford Stadium. I say "formerly friendly" because Mark Richt used to take his foot off the gas once we were up by 21 points on a cupcake teams, but it was not so on this day. Evil Richt does not do such things. Evil Richt throws in the 4th quarter. Evil Richt runs double reverses. Evil Richt suspends players when its convenient......I like me some Evil Richt. The score was 63-16 and we dominated the outmatched New Mexicans on both sides of the ball, like we did the old Mexicans in 1845 when we decided that Texas, California, Arizona and others needed to be in little States club.
The pregame was the highlight of the day. Everybody is in a good mood on Homecoming Weekend. They played highlights of last week's victory over Florida, causing the crowd to go nuts before the band could spell "G-E-O-R-G-I-A." Richard Samuel came out for the captain's toss on crutches. When they announced his name, the crowd went crazy. I got a lump in my throat. A young man from Cassville had 92,000 stand up in unison and scream their heads off. I could not have asked for a better moment....... unless Erk Russell suddenly appeared and headbutted somebody. They probably would have had to haul me off on a stretcher at that point and Vinny would have dipped a log of Copenhagen in twelve seconds. God bless Coach Russell, he was a man's man.
It started out kind of slow, we looked a little sluggish on defense. They completed some passes, a couple of fakes worked and our guys weren't reacting too well. Offensively, we sputtered around, fumbled the ball away and I thought, "Oh great, one of THESE games." I am sure the unbelievable cold did not help. The wind was blowing about 25 miles per hour, lowering the temperature to about -47 and causing Vinny and I to declare this game "the most miserable clear day ever." Then, at about 7:45 in the first quarter, the offense got going and by "going" I mean completely annihilating New Mexico State's defense. We haven't seen firepower like this since August 1945, when Little Boy was dropped on Hiroshima. Our "Little Boy" was Brandon Harton, a 5'6 walkon running back from tiny Reidsville, Georgia. Reidsville is known for two things: the Georgia State Prison and now, Brandon Harton. This mighty mite ran all over NMSU all day long, grinding out tough yards, breaking long runs, blocking, and basically fulfilling his lifelong dream of playing ball at UGA. I will ALWAYS be a Brandon Harton fan. Harton ran for over 100 yards on this day. Freshman Chris Conley continues to show that he is destined for greatness, catching a touchdown striding down the Georgia sideline like a 6'4 gazelle and having over 120 yards on the day. Branden Smith, Brandon Boykin, Rhett McGowan, Michael Bennett, Aron White, Orson Charles and Kyle Karempelis all found the end zone on Saturday. Karempelis exacted cheers from the student section when he ran onto the field. "The Greek Streak" looked sharp out there. The only thing he could've done to complete the day was to spray Windex on a fallen NMSU defender (+1 for My Big Fat Greek Wedding reference)
The defense allowed some yards but honestly, NMSU never really threatened us at all. Big John Jenkins, Jones, Geathers and Tyson have the middle closed off and Jarvis and Alec Ogletree are hunting heads like New Guinea cannibals on a stranded cruise ship. They popped NMSU's quarterback several times and I actually felt sorry for him. Some of his throws were sidearmed dying quails that landed in the hedges, I swear, three guys from south Georgia sitting near me pulled out 12 gauges and took aim. When I asked how they were able to bring guns, they just announced their yearly donation to me. Money talks. Apparently, the hedges were also a magnet for aviation minded UGA players, namely Aron White and Tavarres King. Hell, Tavarres completely disappeared in the south end zone hedge after a missed pass. Vinny said, "Hell, that damn hedge ate him. Get McGowan in there." King emerged unharmed, and McGowan had to wait til the second half to get his PT. McGowan is another northwest Georgian, a Calhoun boy, near and dear to the heart of yours truly, and I will always be a Rhett McGowan fan. White hurdled a xylophone and some cymbals into the same hedge right before halftime, causing the band to have a collective heart attack. Not because Aron could have been hurt, but the thought of buying another brand new Zildjian crash was just beyond them.
It was essentially an uneventful day for the Dawgs, which is a welcome sight if you ask me. I don't like eventful patsy games, when the nobody bucks up and we play half assed and let them hang around. We lost to Southern Miss that way in 1996. UAB almost got us in 2003. Middle Tennessee was in doubt until the 4th quarter in 2004 as was Troy in 2007. You leave the game with a bad taste in your mouth, when it should have been a day of high fives, free flowing libations, and post game Little Italy. Then the fratmosphere gets thick downtown and everybody has a great time. The "fratmosphere" consists of the 19-21 year olds with combed over hair, unnecessarily large pickup trucks, Daddy's credit cards, and a outward love of Johnny Cash (and an inward love of techno, don't lie) No, on those bad days, you just get a Wendy's double stack, sit in your house with flat Miller High Life and mope while you watch the late Washington State-Idaho game, with guys named Wisnewski and Fuaala-H'aaio running the wishbone until you want to gouge your eyes out. Thankfully, I did not have to endure that madness on Saturday.
What I did endure was one of the closest defensive struggles of my lifetime. The Game of the Century was the grudge match I expected it to be. I predicted the score at work this week: 6-3 Alabama with a last second field goal. What an unbelievable performance by both squads, my Dad and I predict that 85% of the starting lineups for each team would be in the NFL. The speed was unreal. The offenses simply could not afford take chances because when they did, they usually turned it over. Jarrett Lee and McCarron were exposed slightly, as neither seemed to be able to make the big throw, even with superb protection. Trent Richardson gained some yards but never really damaged LSU, and Ware did not damage Bama either. Marquis Maze and Reuben Randle, normally good for a big play or two, were bottled up most of the night. There was a lot of jawing, big hits and emotion in this game. When Bama's defense got a penalty in the first quarter to prolong a LSU drive, Nick Saban killed three walkons and gave Kirby Smart such an evil look, that Kirby's milk spoiled in his fridge back home. In contrast, I saw LSU get a stupid penalty and they panned over to Les Miles, who was staring into space with a clueless grin on his face. I knew what he was thinking...."Yep, Tony Chachere's IS better on chicken than Tabasco." I can't help but like the guy, though. What a game. It was the national championship if you ask me. I've seen Boise State firsthand and they would have no shot at either of these teams.
Speaking of shots, my Dawgs now have one. We lead the East and I speak for the Dawgnation when I say.....wooooooooo Pig Sooie!!!!!!! I've never thanked a pig before, unless I was at the Waffle House and bacon was laid before me, but I digress......thank you Arkansas. The newly elitist South Carolina fanbase has fallen silent for the time being. I'm not used to South Carolina people speaking to me as if we were an also-ran, "oh, you guys should beat Kentucky and hopefully get to the Capital One Bowl, we're really pulling for you." I puke in my mouth just thinking about that condescending jab I heard in the elevator of the courthouse last week. Of course, not all Carolina people are this way, it's the Johnny Come Lately bunch, as always. We just have to hold on and beat Auburn and Kentucky, for the love of Herschel Walker. If you asked me a month ago if we had a prayer of making it to Atlanta, I would have said, "yeah, if we took a damn field trip to the Varsity after beating Tech." We'd look so cute in our little paper hats.
No, this is real. We could very well face LSU, Bama or Arkansas in the Dome. All three are tough, battle tested and play in the best division (right now) in college football. They are big, fast, strong, and determined. But you know what? SO ARE WE. I am so sick and tired of hearing about how we don't have a prayer, the East shouldn't even show up, blah blah blah. Football is a funny game. The ball bounces one way or another, Lady Luck gets a random text from The Man Upstairs telling her that rent is due, she gets mad and here we go. Plus, I've got Chuck Norris on board now, so roundhouse kicks to the throat are forthcoming. Chuck Norris eats Honey Badger sliders for breakfast. If, and that's a big if, we make it to the Dome, I will be there. Auburn is our biggest roadblock, and they have been a roadblock for UGA too many times. In fact, Auburn has been the overbearing State Trooper with an ax to grind that puts you in jail for failing to use a turn signal. Nonetheless, Auburn is my favorite SEC game that we play every year. It's always a good game and this year, we will be looking for some payback. I'm calling it right now....Dawgs 31 Agbarn WarPlainTigersmen Eagles 13.
Other Highlights...
1) Did I mention Arkansas beat Carolina? Repetition is the key to memorization. Arkansas rocks. The best state for duck hunting and Gamecock stuffing in the Union, I'm telling you.
2) In a bit of shocking news, Kim Kardashian is dumping Kris Humphries. In making a list of "Things I Give a Damn About," this was 3,456th. It was right between "the lint in my sweatpants" and "one of my pens at the office is drying out, but I can't remember which one it is." Snore.
3) Justin Beiber debuts a rap Christmas album, then is instantly hit with a paternity suit. Justin, just buy a Viking helmet and a big clock necklace and wear them all day, then nobody will care how many illegitimate kids you have.
4) Welcome to the SEC, St. Louis television market! Oh....I mean, Missouri. My bad. :-/
5) Much ado has been made about Mark Richt's suspension of our three running backs, post Florida. Of course, the public crucifies him and the outcry was that Richt withheld the results until the game was over. "What about his faith? What about his values?" our rivals wondered aloud. The facts came out and it was clear that Richt did NOT withhold anything. Even if he did, remember this: this man is fighting for his job. He has made a home in Athens, his parents moved to Athens, his wife and kids are in Athens, and lastly, his legacy resides in Athens. Secondly, while Richt is outward about his faith, he does not publicly condemn anyone for not sharing it with him. The jabs and the hypocrisy accusations are completely out of line. A Florida loss would likely have resulted in the loss of his job. Which means he would have to find a new job, move, uproot his family and all he has worked for in the last 10 years. This win probably saved his career and his decision to play Crowell, positive test or not, was a huge one for Georgia and for his livelihood. Any of us would have done the same to save our careers and our families from being uprooted. Anyone who says otherwise is a liar or they are smoking sticky-icky from the same left handed cigarette our running backs did.
Go Dawgs.
The pregame was the highlight of the day. Everybody is in a good mood on Homecoming Weekend. They played highlights of last week's victory over Florida, causing the crowd to go nuts before the band could spell "G-E-O-R-G-I-A." Richard Samuel came out for the captain's toss on crutches. When they announced his name, the crowd went crazy. I got a lump in my throat. A young man from Cassville had 92,000 stand up in unison and scream their heads off. I could not have asked for a better moment....... unless Erk Russell suddenly appeared and headbutted somebody. They probably would have had to haul me off on a stretcher at that point and Vinny would have dipped a log of Copenhagen in twelve seconds. God bless Coach Russell, he was a man's man.
It started out kind of slow, we looked a little sluggish on defense. They completed some passes, a couple of fakes worked and our guys weren't reacting too well. Offensively, we sputtered around, fumbled the ball away and I thought, "Oh great, one of THESE games." I am sure the unbelievable cold did not help. The wind was blowing about 25 miles per hour, lowering the temperature to about -47 and causing Vinny and I to declare this game "the most miserable clear day ever." Then, at about 7:45 in the first quarter, the offense got going and by "going" I mean completely annihilating New Mexico State's defense. We haven't seen firepower like this since August 1945, when Little Boy was dropped on Hiroshima. Our "Little Boy" was Brandon Harton, a 5'6 walkon running back from tiny Reidsville, Georgia. Reidsville is known for two things: the Georgia State Prison and now, Brandon Harton. This mighty mite ran all over NMSU all day long, grinding out tough yards, breaking long runs, blocking, and basically fulfilling his lifelong dream of playing ball at UGA. I will ALWAYS be a Brandon Harton fan. Harton ran for over 100 yards on this day. Freshman Chris Conley continues to show that he is destined for greatness, catching a touchdown striding down the Georgia sideline like a 6'4 gazelle and having over 120 yards on the day. Branden Smith, Brandon Boykin, Rhett McGowan, Michael Bennett, Aron White, Orson Charles and Kyle Karempelis all found the end zone on Saturday. Karempelis exacted cheers from the student section when he ran onto the field. "The Greek Streak" looked sharp out there. The only thing he could've done to complete the day was to spray Windex on a fallen NMSU defender (+1 for My Big Fat Greek Wedding reference)
The defense allowed some yards but honestly, NMSU never really threatened us at all. Big John Jenkins, Jones, Geathers and Tyson have the middle closed off and Jarvis and Alec Ogletree are hunting heads like New Guinea cannibals on a stranded cruise ship. They popped NMSU's quarterback several times and I actually felt sorry for him. Some of his throws were sidearmed dying quails that landed in the hedges, I swear, three guys from south Georgia sitting near me pulled out 12 gauges and took aim. When I asked how they were able to bring guns, they just announced their yearly donation to me. Money talks. Apparently, the hedges were also a magnet for aviation minded UGA players, namely Aron White and Tavarres King. Hell, Tavarres completely disappeared in the south end zone hedge after a missed pass. Vinny said, "Hell, that damn hedge ate him. Get McGowan in there." King emerged unharmed, and McGowan had to wait til the second half to get his PT. McGowan is another northwest Georgian, a Calhoun boy, near and dear to the heart of yours truly, and I will always be a Rhett McGowan fan. White hurdled a xylophone and some cymbals into the same hedge right before halftime, causing the band to have a collective heart attack. Not because Aron could have been hurt, but the thought of buying another brand new Zildjian crash was just beyond them.
It was essentially an uneventful day for the Dawgs, which is a welcome sight if you ask me. I don't like eventful patsy games, when the nobody bucks up and we play half assed and let them hang around. We lost to Southern Miss that way in 1996. UAB almost got us in 2003. Middle Tennessee was in doubt until the 4th quarter in 2004 as was Troy in 2007. You leave the game with a bad taste in your mouth, when it should have been a day of high fives, free flowing libations, and post game Little Italy. Then the fratmosphere gets thick downtown and everybody has a great time. The "fratmosphere" consists of the 19-21 year olds with combed over hair, unnecessarily large pickup trucks, Daddy's credit cards, and a outward love of Johnny Cash (and an inward love of techno, don't lie) No, on those bad days, you just get a Wendy's double stack, sit in your house with flat Miller High Life and mope while you watch the late Washington State-Idaho game, with guys named Wisnewski and Fuaala-H'aaio running the wishbone until you want to gouge your eyes out. Thankfully, I did not have to endure that madness on Saturday.
What I did endure was one of the closest defensive struggles of my lifetime. The Game of the Century was the grudge match I expected it to be. I predicted the score at work this week: 6-3 Alabama with a last second field goal. What an unbelievable performance by both squads, my Dad and I predict that 85% of the starting lineups for each team would be in the NFL. The speed was unreal. The offenses simply could not afford take chances because when they did, they usually turned it over. Jarrett Lee and McCarron were exposed slightly, as neither seemed to be able to make the big throw, even with superb protection. Trent Richardson gained some yards but never really damaged LSU, and Ware did not damage Bama either. Marquis Maze and Reuben Randle, normally good for a big play or two, were bottled up most of the night. There was a lot of jawing, big hits and emotion in this game. When Bama's defense got a penalty in the first quarter to prolong a LSU drive, Nick Saban killed three walkons and gave Kirby Smart such an evil look, that Kirby's milk spoiled in his fridge back home. In contrast, I saw LSU get a stupid penalty and they panned over to Les Miles, who was staring into space with a clueless grin on his face. I knew what he was thinking...."Yep, Tony Chachere's IS better on chicken than Tabasco." I can't help but like the guy, though. What a game. It was the national championship if you ask me. I've seen Boise State firsthand and they would have no shot at either of these teams.
Speaking of shots, my Dawgs now have one. We lead the East and I speak for the Dawgnation when I say.....wooooooooo Pig Sooie!!!!!!! I've never thanked a pig before, unless I was at the Waffle House and bacon was laid before me, but I digress......thank you Arkansas. The newly elitist South Carolina fanbase has fallen silent for the time being. I'm not used to South Carolina people speaking to me as if we were an also-ran, "oh, you guys should beat Kentucky and hopefully get to the Capital One Bowl, we're really pulling for you." I puke in my mouth just thinking about that condescending jab I heard in the elevator of the courthouse last week. Of course, not all Carolina people are this way, it's the Johnny Come Lately bunch, as always. We just have to hold on and beat Auburn and Kentucky, for the love of Herschel Walker. If you asked me a month ago if we had a prayer of making it to Atlanta, I would have said, "yeah, if we took a damn field trip to the Varsity after beating Tech." We'd look so cute in our little paper hats.
No, this is real. We could very well face LSU, Bama or Arkansas in the Dome. All three are tough, battle tested and play in the best division (right now) in college football. They are big, fast, strong, and determined. But you know what? SO ARE WE. I am so sick and tired of hearing about how we don't have a prayer, the East shouldn't even show up, blah blah blah. Football is a funny game. The ball bounces one way or another, Lady Luck gets a random text from The Man Upstairs telling her that rent is due, she gets mad and here we go. Plus, I've got Chuck Norris on board now, so roundhouse kicks to the throat are forthcoming. Chuck Norris eats Honey Badger sliders for breakfast. If, and that's a big if, we make it to the Dome, I will be there. Auburn is our biggest roadblock, and they have been a roadblock for UGA too many times. In fact, Auburn has been the overbearing State Trooper with an ax to grind that puts you in jail for failing to use a turn signal. Nonetheless, Auburn is my favorite SEC game that we play every year. It's always a good game and this year, we will be looking for some payback. I'm calling it right now....Dawgs 31 Agbarn WarPlainTigersmen Eagles 13.
Other Highlights...
1) Did I mention Arkansas beat Carolina? Repetition is the key to memorization. Arkansas rocks. The best state for duck hunting and Gamecock stuffing in the Union, I'm telling you.
2) In a bit of shocking news, Kim Kardashian is dumping Kris Humphries. In making a list of "Things I Give a Damn About," this was 3,456th. It was right between "the lint in my sweatpants" and "one of my pens at the office is drying out, but I can't remember which one it is." Snore.
3) Justin Beiber debuts a rap Christmas album, then is instantly hit with a paternity suit. Justin, just buy a Viking helmet and a big clock necklace and wear them all day, then nobody will care how many illegitimate kids you have.
4) Welcome to the SEC, St. Louis television market! Oh....I mean, Missouri. My bad. :-/
5) Much ado has been made about Mark Richt's suspension of our three running backs, post Florida. Of course, the public crucifies him and the outcry was that Richt withheld the results until the game was over. "What about his faith? What about his values?" our rivals wondered aloud. The facts came out and it was clear that Richt did NOT withhold anything. Even if he did, remember this: this man is fighting for his job. He has made a home in Athens, his parents moved to Athens, his wife and kids are in Athens, and lastly, his legacy resides in Athens. Secondly, while Richt is outward about his faith, he does not publicly condemn anyone for not sharing it with him. The jabs and the hypocrisy accusations are completely out of line. A Florida loss would likely have resulted in the loss of his job. Which means he would have to find a new job, move, uproot his family and all he has worked for in the last 10 years. This win probably saved his career and his decision to play Crowell, positive test or not, was a huge one for Georgia and for his livelihood. Any of us would have done the same to save our careers and our families from being uprooted. Anyone who says otherwise is a liar or they are smoking sticky-icky from the same left handed cigarette our running backs did.
Go Dawgs.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
My Very Own Roast....PG-13 version.
If anybody knows me well, you'll know that I love the roasts on Comedy Central. I never miss watching one. I love insult humor and the roasts are insult humor in its highest form. Jeff Ross, Lisa Lampanelli, and Greg Giraldo (RIP) usually appear on these with a gathering of famous movie stars/musicians/comedians in order to poke good natured fun at a specific guest of honor, along with everyone else sitting on the stage (known as a "dais"). Some of the greatest one-liners ever have come from these events. I mean seriously, when Greg Giraldo told Flavor Flav that he looked like a "skeleton wrapped in electrical tape," I laughed for twenty minutes. I encourage each of you to tune in to a roast one day, I promise you will die laughing.
I've always wanted to be on the dais of a roast. I can take a joke and I know I can dish it out too. It is highly doubtful that I will ever be asked, but I could definitely see myself sitting there with a dry martini, ragging on the likes of Snoop Dogg, Andy Dick, Hulk Hogan and Gary Busey. Then I thought, I can have my own roast on here, I own this blog. I can invite my very own dais/guest of honor and roast them into submission without repercussions.
At my roast, I will have a smattering of football coaches, Terrell Owens, Jeff Gordon, Jerry Springer, Lindsay Lohan and Keanu Reeves. The guest of honor will be none other than Kenny Chesney. I will be adorned with a Hugh Hefner-like red robe, aviators, a glass of Bushmill's and flip flops and socks. It will be held on Saturday night at Patty's Truck Stop in Adairsville, Georgia at 2:00 AM (no lot lizards allowed). When I am introduced, the speakers will blast "Eruption" by Van Halen and there I'll be......
Good evening ladies and gentlemen...and welcome to the 1st Annual "Patty's Truck Stop, Drop and Roast." We are here tonight to honor Kenny Chesney....a man with pec implants, female tendencies and a shellace. Sounds like Chaz Bono ought to be up here.
Look at this collection of slobs....Tommy Tuberville made it out tonight. Tommy, when you wear a hat, your head looks like an Imperial fighter from the Empire Strikes Back.You have some strange nicknames...Wingnut? You think its because of your ears? Nah, it's because you've screwed every team you've been associated with. Congratulations on the loss to Iowa State last week, maybe you can bomb Texas Tech back to the Stone Age like you did Ole Miss.
There's former Florida coach, Urban Meyer. (Urban waves) Urban slithered in here late so he wouldn't have to walk in with Nick Saban. You whiny little quitter, Saban caused you to fake a heart condition and retire twice, you're like a bad 70's rock star who hit the pipe too hard.
I'd like to thank our sponsors: Natural Light, Castrol GTX, Purina and the Waffle House for their support, especially the free hash browns, which Charlie Weis polished off in less than an hour, thanks Charlie.
God, Charlie, your front butt is bigger than Nick Saban's ego. (Saban shoots me a bird) When you run, your stomach looks like two pit bulls wrestling in a sleeping bag. Your front butt is so big, it has a gravitational pull...and it pulled Notre Dame down to its lowest point since Lou Holtz left it in shambles in the early 90's.
Hey, Lou, I see you out there, you Granny looking waste of space. Don't laugh. (Lou looks around aimlessly and says something to Mike Slive, who has to wipe the slobber off his face) You are to football announcing what Mel Gibson is to Rosh Hashanah, except you slur more words. Listen to yourself. You sound like a walkie-talkie that Lindsay dropped in a toilet after her last eight ball.
Steve Spurrier, where are you? (Steve tips his visor) Oh, there you are with your fruity ass homing beacon, I mean, visor. Great job in the NFL, I haven't seen losing like that since Kirstie Alley's eighth diet. The Fun N' Gun? More like One n' Done. You are more outdated than Tecmo Bowl. The last time your were relevant, Pluto was a planet. You're famous for throwing your visor, you should be famous for throwing away the professional careers of every Florida quarterback since 1990.
Speaking of other planets, I see Paul Johnson made it in here. (He looks around sheepishly) Who invited you? I'm sure the invitation said "Roast" not "World of Warcraft." It's pretty sad that your fanbase knows more about orcs and goblins than Calvin Johnson. They should show your games on GPTV between two Ken Burns specials about drying paint and rusting cars.
I was told earlier tonight that Keanu Reeves might not make it. I hoped against hope but somehow he was able to land his spaceship in the parking lot. Thank God the star from "Feeling Minnesota" and "A Walk in the Clouds" made it out to Patty's tonight. You played a washed up loser in "The Replacements," I suppose you didn't even have to audition for that one.You are most famous for The Matrix and stopping bullets with a simple "no." If we could end your career that way, I'd pass out blue pills right now. Your acting is so bad, it makes me feel awkward, kind of like watching Richard Pryor standup with my grandmother. You just want to dig a hole and bury yourself in it.
Don't laugh, Lindsay. You've buried your career deeper than Vanderbilt in the SEC East race. (I flip Vandy's coach a bird). You had it all, then you threw it all away with pills, cocaine and the bottle. Some people say you could have been the next Amy Winehouse...let's hope so. (lots of uncomfortable laughs....it's a roast, get over it) You've been arrested more times than Auburn's been on probation. Every time you go to Court, you cry, beg and promise never to do it again, if you were talking about your music career, I think the judge would've bought it. Part of your probation is working at the morgue, which is fitting, because your career died about three years ago. (Lindsay flips me a bird) Somebody go out to the gutter and find her dealer quick, before she sobers up.
You need to sober up too, Jeff. Nobody likes you. You have less fans than diabetes. How are you still in NASCAR? You have less in common with NASCAR fans than RuPaul. You once forgot the words to "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" at a Cubs game and you drive a rainbow colored car sponsored by a French manufacturer. Seriously, do you put on your eye shadow in the car at Daytona? If cigarettes still sponsored cars, you'd get Virginia Slims in a heartbeat. You probably drink beer through a straw too. (Jeff candidly puts down his Natty Light can with a straw) .....I freakin' knew it. You are one pathetic loser...
I'm talking to you, Terrell Owens. Or should I say, Terellevant OGodPleaseRetireAlready? You are like a bad daytime soap opera, your drama is tired and the only people who care about you have nothing better to do. You destroy more teams than free agency. You're like Dennis Rodman without the rings and the Madonna fling. People call you a "cancer" to team unity, well, you're 37, which is like being 127 in the NFL, so you're more like cholera to team unity. You had a workout in LA and nobody came to watch except a couple of kids and your agent. Sounds like a Keanu Reeves movie after 2001 or a Vandy game since.....well, ever. Your career started out well in San Francisco and died in Cincinnati, you're like a sad reverse of the Oregon Trail game.
Speaking of dead, where are all the Tennessee coaches? Probably couldn't get out of the deer stand or off work from the DOT. I understand. It's hard to get to Georgia when you've hocked you car to bond out half the players on your roster anyway. Good work hiring Lane Kiffin though, an unproven, loudmouth, overpaid jerk from out of town that screwed you and left after one bad year, all that was left was probation, tears and a string of people getting arrested and moving out. Sounds like a paternity test show from Jerry Springer.
And we come to our guest of honor, Tennessee fan and former hillbilly, Kenny Chesney. Kenny, you fruity little man. You have pec implants. You were married to Renee Zellweger and she annulled it in a day, saying it was "fraudulent," just like your music. You went from flannel shirts to shell necklaces quicker than criminal charges get dismissed in Gainesville, Florida. Look at your pre-worn cowboy hat and fake tan, you look like the Backstreet Boys and the Village People fell in a blender with Ricky Martin. You've ruined country music worse than the 90's ruined Eddie Murphy, you're like the Beverly Hills Cop 3 of Nashville. Somehow, you have so many hits. More hits than Lindsay took in her limo before she got here. More hits than Arkansas has fans. Your name has been on the charts more than Steven Garcia gets chances at South Carolina, and by charts I mean at the clinic after your last Key West visit. How do you get away with copying Jimmy Buffett? You're like a redneck Milli Vanilli, you've Robbed and Fabbed your way to the top but instead of a repeating tape, you've got Uncle Kracker.
So, enjoy your night Kenny. My hat is off to you, as are my ears and eyes. Here's to the only man who can turn the Grand Ole Opry into Club Med.
I've always wanted to be on the dais of a roast. I can take a joke and I know I can dish it out too. It is highly doubtful that I will ever be asked, but I could definitely see myself sitting there with a dry martini, ragging on the likes of Snoop Dogg, Andy Dick, Hulk Hogan and Gary Busey. Then I thought, I can have my own roast on here, I own this blog. I can invite my very own dais/guest of honor and roast them into submission without repercussions.
At my roast, I will have a smattering of football coaches, Terrell Owens, Jeff Gordon, Jerry Springer, Lindsay Lohan and Keanu Reeves. The guest of honor will be none other than Kenny Chesney. I will be adorned with a Hugh Hefner-like red robe, aviators, a glass of Bushmill's and flip flops and socks. It will be held on Saturday night at Patty's Truck Stop in Adairsville, Georgia at 2:00 AM (no lot lizards allowed). When I am introduced, the speakers will blast "Eruption" by Van Halen and there I'll be......
Good evening ladies and gentlemen...and welcome to the 1st Annual "Patty's Truck Stop, Drop and Roast." We are here tonight to honor Kenny Chesney....a man with pec implants, female tendencies and a shellace. Sounds like Chaz Bono ought to be up here.
Look at this collection of slobs....Tommy Tuberville made it out tonight. Tommy, when you wear a hat, your head looks like an Imperial fighter from the Empire Strikes Back.You have some strange nicknames...Wingnut? You think its because of your ears? Nah, it's because you've screwed every team you've been associated with. Congratulations on the loss to Iowa State last week, maybe you can bomb Texas Tech back to the Stone Age like you did Ole Miss.
There's former Florida coach, Urban Meyer. (Urban waves) Urban slithered in here late so he wouldn't have to walk in with Nick Saban. You whiny little quitter, Saban caused you to fake a heart condition and retire twice, you're like a bad 70's rock star who hit the pipe too hard.
I'd like to thank our sponsors: Natural Light, Castrol GTX, Purina and the Waffle House for their support, especially the free hash browns, which Charlie Weis polished off in less than an hour, thanks Charlie.
God, Charlie, your front butt is bigger than Nick Saban's ego. (Saban shoots me a bird) When you run, your stomach looks like two pit bulls wrestling in a sleeping bag. Your front butt is so big, it has a gravitational pull...and it pulled Notre Dame down to its lowest point since Lou Holtz left it in shambles in the early 90's.
Hey, Lou, I see you out there, you Granny looking waste of space. Don't laugh. (Lou looks around aimlessly and says something to Mike Slive, who has to wipe the slobber off his face) You are to football announcing what Mel Gibson is to Rosh Hashanah, except you slur more words. Listen to yourself. You sound like a walkie-talkie that Lindsay dropped in a toilet after her last eight ball.
Steve Spurrier, where are you? (Steve tips his visor) Oh, there you are with your fruity ass homing beacon, I mean, visor. Great job in the NFL, I haven't seen losing like that since Kirstie Alley's eighth diet. The Fun N' Gun? More like One n' Done. You are more outdated than Tecmo Bowl. The last time your were relevant, Pluto was a planet. You're famous for throwing your visor, you should be famous for throwing away the professional careers of every Florida quarterback since 1990.
Speaking of other planets, I see Paul Johnson made it in here. (He looks around sheepishly) Who invited you? I'm sure the invitation said "Roast" not "World of Warcraft." It's pretty sad that your fanbase knows more about orcs and goblins than Calvin Johnson. They should show your games on GPTV between two Ken Burns specials about drying paint and rusting cars.
I was told earlier tonight that Keanu Reeves might not make it. I hoped against hope but somehow he was able to land his spaceship in the parking lot. Thank God the star from "Feeling Minnesota" and "A Walk in the Clouds" made it out to Patty's tonight. You played a washed up loser in "The Replacements," I suppose you didn't even have to audition for that one.You are most famous for The Matrix and stopping bullets with a simple "no." If we could end your career that way, I'd pass out blue pills right now. Your acting is so bad, it makes me feel awkward, kind of like watching Richard Pryor standup with my grandmother. You just want to dig a hole and bury yourself in it.
Don't laugh, Lindsay. You've buried your career deeper than Vanderbilt in the SEC East race. (I flip Vandy's coach a bird). You had it all, then you threw it all away with pills, cocaine and the bottle. Some people say you could have been the next Amy Winehouse...let's hope so. (lots of uncomfortable laughs....it's a roast, get over it) You've been arrested more times than Auburn's been on probation. Every time you go to Court, you cry, beg and promise never to do it again, if you were talking about your music career, I think the judge would've bought it. Part of your probation is working at the morgue, which is fitting, because your career died about three years ago. (Lindsay flips me a bird) Somebody go out to the gutter and find her dealer quick, before she sobers up.
You need to sober up too, Jeff. Nobody likes you. You have less fans than diabetes. How are you still in NASCAR? You have less in common with NASCAR fans than RuPaul. You once forgot the words to "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" at a Cubs game and you drive a rainbow colored car sponsored by a French manufacturer. Seriously, do you put on your eye shadow in the car at Daytona? If cigarettes still sponsored cars, you'd get Virginia Slims in a heartbeat. You probably drink beer through a straw too. (Jeff candidly puts down his Natty Light can with a straw) .....I freakin' knew it. You are one pathetic loser...
I'm talking to you, Terrell Owens. Or should I say, Terellevant OGodPleaseRetireAlready? You are like a bad daytime soap opera, your drama is tired and the only people who care about you have nothing better to do. You destroy more teams than free agency. You're like Dennis Rodman without the rings and the Madonna fling. People call you a "cancer" to team unity, well, you're 37, which is like being 127 in the NFL, so you're more like cholera to team unity. You had a workout in LA and nobody came to watch except a couple of kids and your agent. Sounds like a Keanu Reeves movie after 2001 or a Vandy game since.....well, ever. Your career started out well in San Francisco and died in Cincinnati, you're like a sad reverse of the Oregon Trail game.
Speaking of dead, where are all the Tennessee coaches? Probably couldn't get out of the deer stand or off work from the DOT. I understand. It's hard to get to Georgia when you've hocked you car to bond out half the players on your roster anyway. Good work hiring Lane Kiffin though, an unproven, loudmouth, overpaid jerk from out of town that screwed you and left after one bad year, all that was left was probation, tears and a string of people getting arrested and moving out. Sounds like a paternity test show from Jerry Springer.
And we come to our guest of honor, Tennessee fan and former hillbilly, Kenny Chesney. Kenny, you fruity little man. You have pec implants. You were married to Renee Zellweger and she annulled it in a day, saying it was "fraudulent," just like your music. You went from flannel shirts to shell necklaces quicker than criminal charges get dismissed in Gainesville, Florida. Look at your pre-worn cowboy hat and fake tan, you look like the Backstreet Boys and the Village People fell in a blender with Ricky Martin. You've ruined country music worse than the 90's ruined Eddie Murphy, you're like the Beverly Hills Cop 3 of Nashville. Somehow, you have so many hits. More hits than Lindsay took in her limo before she got here. More hits than Arkansas has fans. Your name has been on the charts more than Steven Garcia gets chances at South Carolina, and by charts I mean at the clinic after your last Key West visit. How do you get away with copying Jimmy Buffett? You're like a redneck Milli Vanilli, you've Robbed and Fabbed your way to the top but instead of a repeating tape, you've got Uncle Kracker.
So, enjoy your night Kenny. My hat is off to you, as are my ears and eyes. Here's to the only man who can turn the Grand Ole Opry into Club Med.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
About Me
- Brad
- I'm good at people watching and the memorization of useless facts. I'm voracious eater, reader, Crossfitter and Dawg fan. Shamelessly devoted to the cause of making 9-5 not suck so bad.