Recap of the Weekend: The loss of hope and generic tequila makes Bradley a dull boy

Nothing hurts worse than the loss of hope. Hope is the driving force that keeps us alive. Well, that and Nutella, but I digress. Hope carries us to new heights, hope restores us on bad days and hope makes life worth living, even when it may not be. Rarely have I experienced the complete loss of hope in my life, I am one of those that hangs on forever, til the bitter end....I'd be that last guy at Pickett's Charge saying "we got this!"

**Side note: I went to Gettysburg two years ago and walked the exact path of Pickett's Charge. 600 yards of open ground with no cover, outnumbered and outgunned. It's like driving a car made of balsa wood in the wrong direction down I-75 at rush hour. Robert E. Lee had an "Auburn" moment that day, I've surmised. Just an inordinate, inexplicable amount of stupidity.

I lost hope Saturday, completely and utterly. I have been disappointed before watching UGA losses. 2002 Florida. 2004 Tennessee. 2007 Tennessee. 2008 Bama. All of those games were heartbreaking, games you look back on and want to punch random inanimate objects. This Saturday's loss however, tops them all. My hope for UGA football climbed to the top of the Empire State Building and took a header into a garbage truck owned by some morally casual Italians named Sal and Tony. Then it was compacted in said garbage truck, shipped off to the landfill in New Jersey, where two homeless guys use it for a toilet. "Wow, that's a little extreme," you might think. Well, when you see an entire team quit on national television, I don't think there is any room for anything other than extreme.

I listened to all the talk. I believed we were ready.

"Win it for Bennett!"

"Statement game."

"Coming out party."

"Gurshall for Heisman."

"Spurrier has gout, he's out for the season."

The Pourhouse was excited. People were buzzing beforehand, excited that Florida won so our big showdown with them in three weeks would be epic. One for the ages. "I can't wait to see Muschamp's face when we whup their asses!" one guy remarked. "I'm glad we got Murray and not Mettenberger!" another replied. A confidence brimming over with the $1.00 Bud Light special and a week's worth of fluff from all the sportscasters predicting that UGA's offense would win the day. I could hear Longstreet telling the doomed soldiers of Pickett's Brigade:

"Gentlemen, tomorrow is our day. Disregard their superior numbers. Disregard your lack of footwear. Disregard the lack of cover. Disregard the grapeshot coming from their cannons. Just believe."

We kickoff and you can tell Williams-Brice is absolutely erupting. They get the ball and march it right down our throats. Five plays and two and a half minutes. Our All-American brownie eater, Bacarri Rambo, had an interception stolen right out of his hands on the second play. Our line provided zero push. Their quarterback, a Georgian named Connor Shaw, had a field day against our pathetic secondary. His pass to Bruce Ellington for the first score was so wide open that Shawn Williams might has well have been standing in Athens on that play. I say to myself, "Harumph. Inauspicious beginning. We will bounce back." A sneaking suspicion told me that we would not, though.

The only bouncing I saw was the ball off Kelcy Quarles's hand on Murray's second pass, right into the waiting hands of their linebacker. Murray had an awful night, one of the worst performances I have ever seen by a three year starter. He had that look from his freshman year again. When I saw that look, I knew we were done. It's the look I mentioned last week. It's the look I have seen at least 2-3 times a season since he took over as quarterback. It's the "holy $#@# we are losing" mouth opened stare that spells disaster. He didn't get much help from his supporting cast either. Wooten dropped the 75th pass of his career. Kenarious Gates got flat out abused by Jadeveon Clowney. This guy ran his mouth all week and backed it up. Kudos to him.....the chocolate chip Kudos that tasted so good. (c'mon 90's kids, you had a box of Kudos a week. I know I did) If we are giving Kudos to Clowney, then our O-line gets Kashi. A bowl of Kashi with no milk. Kashi is a disgusting, organic concoction  that has an aftertaste like potting soil. (Believe me I know, I accidentally ate plenty of it at Cass Grocery hauling it around) Our line was physically manhandled all night. Carolina brought the heat and we wilted like a plastic bag in a campfire at Rock Creek in Blue Ridge.

Carolina scored again, quickly. Shaw found his tight end, once again, so open that he could have tweeted "I Luv My Momma #soufcrackalacky" and Moonwalked into the corner. He was also from the state of Georgia. It was 14-0 in about five minutes. Some angst reared its head in the Pourhouse. They showed the replay. Amarlo Herrera must have forgotten where he was or was worried about his Physics test on Monday, because he was about twelve steps slow on the play. Speaking of twelve steps, I think some people at the Pourhouse took their first of twelve on this night. One kid was drinking straight from the pitcher, talking about how much he was sick of Bobo, Richt, Obama, the elevator in his building, global warming, Al Gore and the price of cigarettes. I saw one group do three tequila shots a piece and then stare angrily at the bar. Usually, when Jose Cuervo introduces himself at a party, good things happen and the chances of dark secrets being made increases. Not tonight. It was angry drinking, with generic tequila and the only dark secret lingering this night was "just where on I-85 did our football get off the bus?"

We get the ball back and punt almost immediately. Bobo ran his patented "let's give us no chance to gain a first down" offense and Collin Barber came in to kick it away after about 17 seconds of offensive futility. The ball careened through the night sky into the arms of Ace Sanders. He drops it and picks it up and runs straight up the middle. A couple of walk-ons almost made the tackle and they would have, if they had been in the same zip code as Sanders. He dashed untouched for another score. Our horrendous special teams play continues and it is 21-0. The Carolina fanbase is beside themselves. ESPN is kicking themselves for picking up this debacle. UGA players are playing with themselves on the sideline and the coaching staff is standing by themselves, exposed in a garnet spotlight of unprepared, uninspired football that officially derailed our season. The rest of the game is of no consequence. They scored fourteen more. We scored a meaningless touchdown with two minutes to go. Murray overthrew everything and everyone. Our receivers could not catch a bullet in the ass during a Mexican gang fight over a brick of meth. Gurley and Marshall ran hard, but with very few holes, it was all for naught. Their offensive line "bullied" our defensive line. They held us against our locker and gave us an "Indian Rug Burn" and called us fat nerds. As far as our secondary goes, the only words that come to mind are "porous," "Swiss cheese," "cardboard cutout" and "sticky icky." All the while, Spurrier just smirked. He knew.

Why was this loss different? Why do I feel different than when Tennessee stole our national championship hopes in 2004? Or when DJ Shockley's only pass against Florida in 2002 cost us that game and another national championship shot? Because my hope is gone, it's officially broken. Back then, I would chalk it up to one thing or another and move on. Back then, I felt like we were on the brink of a great run. Flash forward to last Saturday, I realized that I can no longer, in my heart of hearts, invest any more emotion or belief that we will ever be successful under Mark Richt. We have the most favorable schedule that we've had in YEARS. We have upperclassmen everywhere. Our coaches are all seasoned veterans. All-Americans, Heisman hopefuls, freshman phenoms....and yet, we are reduced to a footnote once again by virtue of a 35-7 shellacking by a school that we used to count as a victory every season. Out-everythinged by a much tougher, better coached group of players, most of which I have never even heard of. Who the hell is DJ Swearinger? Akeem Auguste? Courtney Taylor?  6-0 is what they are. I don't know what we are.

So, we continue on to Kentucky. I've never been happier for an off week and less captivated by the remainder of a season since Ray Goff. Who cares now? We had the biggest stage in college football and the only performances I can remember that have been worse than ours are:

1) Roseanne Barr's rendition of the Star Spangled Banner
2) Keanu Reeves in "Feeling Minnesota"
3) Bill Clinton's "definition of is" rambling that reduced my brain to ashes
4) Adam Sandler movies post-2004
5) The dinner scene in Twister when everyone drops their forks when Jamie Gertz says "F5"

To quote Remember the Titans: "Attitude reflect(s) leadership, Captain." We have no leader, plain and simple. That ship has sailed. It sailed into the Bermuda Triangle and is in the Twilight Zone with Jimmy Hoffa, Ted Williams's frozen head and Christian Slater's acting career. I will never hate Coach Richt and I am thankful for what he has done. He brought us back from the worst decade in the history of our school. However, if we continue on this path, I'll be thanking the next coach for the very same thing.