The Outlaws are one of my favorite bands of all time. Formed in Tampa, Florida in 1967, these guys combine the sounds of the Allman Brothers, ZZ Top, and Lynyrd Skynyrd into an all-out guitar assault on your ears. I swear the state of Florida is the jumping off point for so many great Southern bands. They have a dual lead guitar approach (like the above mentioned acts) and you can hear this on their biggest hits, "There Goes Another Love Song" and "Green Grass and High Tides." You will hear the former on the radio from time to time, but "Green Grass" is too long for most stations (except 104.9 The Rebel in Rome, Georgia!). Their self titled album from 1975 is a wonderful album that any Southern rock connossieur would enjoy, as it contains the aforementioned hits and this song......from the A side of the vinyl record, I bring you "Song For You." Listen for the guitar riffs....eerily similar to Skynyrd. I love it.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Obscure Song You Should Download
Another inclusion from the golden era of hip hop and NYC's plethora of talent, this song is a good "going out" song. I can see a group of guys in Brooklyn, rolling dirty in a tricked out 1993 Honda Prelude down Flatbush Avenue, with this song blaring. It has that cool 90's rap sound and some funny references. It's a fairly clean song too, which I have to admit I enjoy, because it seems that some songs just try to squeeze in as many four letter words as possible. It gets old. With that, I give you "Born To Roll" by Masta Ace.
Saturday, August 20, 2011
The Ice Cream Cooler....Satan's Little Helper
Recently, I mentioned my utter disdain for the ice cream cooler at the store. Many of you are probably thinking....how can an inanimate object cause someone such anger? It was not inanimate, if you ask me. It was alive and it existed simply to drive us all crazy. Contrary to it's appearance, the ice cream cooler had numerous working parts: a motor, a bay for the scoops with running water and a faucet, the brackets that held the product, the grips that locked the brackets to the actual box, and of course, eight 3-gallon tubs of ice cream. Then you had two kinds of sugar cones, two sizes of cups, and the napkins. You see? It's a lot more than just a cold box. It's a menagerie of metal and plastic with the potential for 1,374,768 ways to break, leak, creak, freeze, melt, crush, pulverize and terrorize those of us who had to deal with it. A plague upon humanity, a cacophony of dissonance, the ice cream cooler.
It's sad that I feel this way, because I love ice cream and it gives people so much joy, but when you put up with such a disagreeable machine for 16 years....you come to a breaking point. Everybody can relate to this if you work in an office or anywhere with machines with working parts. Even my Mom hated it, and she doesn't hate anything. When Dad sold the store, I wanted to pull a Michael Bolton and wheel it out to a field and bash it with a baseball bat while Geto Boys played in the background. Instead of a PC load letter, it was broken cones at inopportune times. (+1 for Office Space reference) It was the impossibility of lining up the tubs with the brackets. It was the PVC leaking water onto the floor overnight. It was the tubs on one half of the cooler frozen solid, and of course, 5 kids want double dips of those flavors. The issues were endless. When it was time to replace a flavor, we all groaned and sauntered to the back freezer, grabbed the newest soldier in the fight and came back. Then the fun starts.
The cooler had two brackets, which held four tubs each. These brackets were linked to the box by grips that simply locked in place by turning a knob, this knob would wedge the grip against the side of the box. No screws or nails holding it in. All it took was a hard hit and the bracket would fall (which happened 3-4 times daily). You had to align all four tubs before you could lock it into place. Then you try to lock it but the other bracket is off kilter, so you have to take both brackets out, align all eight tubs and try to wedge them all in together. This is nearly impossible for one person, so everybody has to turn their attention to it. You've got two men, with their upper bodies stuffed in a 5x6 area, trying to turn two knobs at the same time. After 23 attempts, one of you has to walk away before you lose it. I swear it caused Russell to start dipping again. Before you can finish this task, three people come in and want a double dip of chocolate. When they see the brackets out, they ask, "Is there something wrong with the ice cream??" My temperature would soar and I swear I would see tiny imps from Hell standing on top of the cooler, dancing Rockettes style, singing "Indian Outlaw" in Fran Drescher's voice.
When you replaced a flavor, you had to remove the remaining product from the old tub. You simply take the scooper and get out as much as you possibly can. These tubs were not cheap, as milk prices go, so goes ice cream. Mayfield ain't discount, everybody in the South knows this. You put this ice cream on top of the freshly opened tub, so you can sell it first. Without fail, a person asks, "what's wrong with that ice cream on top?" or "Is that the same flavor?" Cue the imps, except one has now stopped dancing and is scraping a fork across an empty plate. Some people did not want the "old" ice cream (less than three days) so they would request we get the ice cream from the new tub. The new ice cream had been in the back freezer, which was set at -2,876 Fahrenheit, so this ice cream is harder than titanium wrapped in diamonds with a steel coating. If you dropped one of those tubs off the Empire State Building, it would go through Broadway, the igneous rock shelf below the surface, past Jimmy Hoffa's body, and straight to the Earth's core. It was that hard.
Don't get me wrong, I didn't hold it against people for wanting ice cream. As I said, I love ice cream. I would stab somebody for a pistachio double dip right now. However, they always seemed to want the most when we were slammed. I'm outside pumping gas in a diesel truck that holds 45 gallons and checking somebody's oil and transmission, Dad is in the hardware helping a guy with 3/4 inch fine thread wood screws and explaining why we don't carry metric bolts, and a church group comes in wanting ice cream. 15 kids ranging from 5-14, all wanting different sizes and flavors. More fun, especially when the youth leader looks at me and says, "We ALL want some ice cream!" I stare into the distance, composing myself. One imp has affixed himself on the gas pump, Riverdancing.
So, after finally finishing with the gas customer and putting a quart of oil in Mrs. May's car (because she doesn't trust anyone else to do it), I come running in, wash my hands, and saunter to the ice cream cooler. The line of children is yapping non-stop and although they've had five minutes to decide, they still need to know each and every flavor. As mentioned before, we had the obvious flavors. There was always one person in every group who asked, "So, you guys don't have White Chocolate Mousse?" Then a few of them want to sample the chocolate, as if it's somehow changed since their last cone, 24 hours ago. A line starts to form at the register. I can hear the imps, "Half Cherokee and Choctaw! My baby, she's a Chippewaaaawaaa, she's a one of a kind!" So, the first kids order: half chocolate and half strawberry on a double cone, single vanilla in a cup, Single cherry on a cone and a double sherbet in a cup. Before you finish, three things happen....1) the single vanilla changes her mind to cherry halfway through; 2) The kid with the half chocolate/strawberry drops his cone in the floor; and 3) As I am dipping, one of the cones shatters into 6,000 pieces into the cooler. The youth leader makes a stupid joke, "Bet that happens once a day, ha!" Everybody laughs...but me. The entire line takes about 30 minutes to get through. I clean up three spills, listen to two suggestions on flavors we should get for the future, and have to give away about 437 napkins.
Sometimes, when we were extremely busy and I didn't have time to change the tubs out, I would put a lid on an empty tub. Undoubtedly, the question comes out, "what's under the lid?" So many smart aleck remarks would pop into my head, and I would just have to beat them back. "Oh sir, that's a new flavor called Air. You want a sample?" It finally got to the point where Dad had to write "EMPTY" on the lids and still, "what was under there?" would come out once an hour. Then you had the elderly couples who got ice cream every day, but seemed to act as if they've never been there before. I would go through all eight flavors again, they would look at each other for about a minute and ponder, like somebody asked them what their social security numbers were, and finally order. If the price ever increased, which it did almost monthly, you would get complaints. Funny though, the complaints always came from the people who needed ice cream about as much as I needed a hole in the head. It's hard to take somebody serious who has to turn sideways to get out the door. I had a fireman once order a triple dip of butter pecan, which was the most fattening and sugary ice cream in the cooler. When I told him the price, he exclaimed, "Good Lord! That is ridiculous! I am never getting one of these again!" He still paid for it and I watched him walk out to his Tahoe, gobbling down the calorie bomb and holding his size 54 pants up. He sat down in the driver's seat and the car lurched so hard that the ice cream fell in his lap, rolled off and onto the pavement. All I could say was, "there is a God."
I look back and laugh about it now. All the times I had sticky hands, cleaning up broken cones, and picking up all the napkins that the ceiling fans blew into the floor. Even though it caused me way more trouble than it was worth, it was all a part of working up there. Most people were easy to deal with, did not complain about the prices and if we were really busy, they would just come back later. Still though, if you ever hear about an ice cream cooler that was left on the train tracks and completely destroyed by a high speed locomotive....the imps did it.
It's sad that I feel this way, because I love ice cream and it gives people so much joy, but when you put up with such a disagreeable machine for 16 years....you come to a breaking point. Everybody can relate to this if you work in an office or anywhere with machines with working parts. Even my Mom hated it, and she doesn't hate anything. When Dad sold the store, I wanted to pull a Michael Bolton and wheel it out to a field and bash it with a baseball bat while Geto Boys played in the background. Instead of a PC load letter, it was broken cones at inopportune times. (+1 for Office Space reference) It was the impossibility of lining up the tubs with the brackets. It was the PVC leaking water onto the floor overnight. It was the tubs on one half of the cooler frozen solid, and of course, 5 kids want double dips of those flavors. The issues were endless. When it was time to replace a flavor, we all groaned and sauntered to the back freezer, grabbed the newest soldier in the fight and came back. Then the fun starts.
The cooler had two brackets, which held four tubs each. These brackets were linked to the box by grips that simply locked in place by turning a knob, this knob would wedge the grip against the side of the box. No screws or nails holding it in. All it took was a hard hit and the bracket would fall (which happened 3-4 times daily). You had to align all four tubs before you could lock it into place. Then you try to lock it but the other bracket is off kilter, so you have to take both brackets out, align all eight tubs and try to wedge them all in together. This is nearly impossible for one person, so everybody has to turn their attention to it. You've got two men, with their upper bodies stuffed in a 5x6 area, trying to turn two knobs at the same time. After 23 attempts, one of you has to walk away before you lose it. I swear it caused Russell to start dipping again. Before you can finish this task, three people come in and want a double dip of chocolate. When they see the brackets out, they ask, "Is there something wrong with the ice cream??" My temperature would soar and I swear I would see tiny imps from Hell standing on top of the cooler, dancing Rockettes style, singing "Indian Outlaw" in Fran Drescher's voice.
When you replaced a flavor, you had to remove the remaining product from the old tub. You simply take the scooper and get out as much as you possibly can. These tubs were not cheap, as milk prices go, so goes ice cream. Mayfield ain't discount, everybody in the South knows this. You put this ice cream on top of the freshly opened tub, so you can sell it first. Without fail, a person asks, "what's wrong with that ice cream on top?" or "Is that the same flavor?" Cue the imps, except one has now stopped dancing and is scraping a fork across an empty plate. Some people did not want the "old" ice cream (less than three days) so they would request we get the ice cream from the new tub. The new ice cream had been in the back freezer, which was set at -2,876 Fahrenheit, so this ice cream is harder than titanium wrapped in diamonds with a steel coating. If you dropped one of those tubs off the Empire State Building, it would go through Broadway, the igneous rock shelf below the surface, past Jimmy Hoffa's body, and straight to the Earth's core. It was that hard.
Don't get me wrong, I didn't hold it against people for wanting ice cream. As I said, I love ice cream. I would stab somebody for a pistachio double dip right now. However, they always seemed to want the most when we were slammed. I'm outside pumping gas in a diesel truck that holds 45 gallons and checking somebody's oil and transmission, Dad is in the hardware helping a guy with 3/4 inch fine thread wood screws and explaining why we don't carry metric bolts, and a church group comes in wanting ice cream. 15 kids ranging from 5-14, all wanting different sizes and flavors. More fun, especially when the youth leader looks at me and says, "We ALL want some ice cream!" I stare into the distance, composing myself. One imp has affixed himself on the gas pump, Riverdancing.
So, after finally finishing with the gas customer and putting a quart of oil in Mrs. May's car (because she doesn't trust anyone else to do it), I come running in, wash my hands, and saunter to the ice cream cooler. The line of children is yapping non-stop and although they've had five minutes to decide, they still need to know each and every flavor. As mentioned before, we had the obvious flavors. There was always one person in every group who asked, "So, you guys don't have White Chocolate Mousse?" Then a few of them want to sample the chocolate, as if it's somehow changed since their last cone, 24 hours ago. A line starts to form at the register. I can hear the imps, "Half Cherokee and Choctaw! My baby, she's a Chippewaaaawaaa, she's a one of a kind!" So, the first kids order: half chocolate and half strawberry on a double cone, single vanilla in a cup, Single cherry on a cone and a double sherbet in a cup. Before you finish, three things happen....1) the single vanilla changes her mind to cherry halfway through; 2) The kid with the half chocolate/strawberry drops his cone in the floor; and 3) As I am dipping, one of the cones shatters into 6,000 pieces into the cooler. The youth leader makes a stupid joke, "Bet that happens once a day, ha!" Everybody laughs...but me. The entire line takes about 30 minutes to get through. I clean up three spills, listen to two suggestions on flavors we should get for the future, and have to give away about 437 napkins.
Sometimes, when we were extremely busy and I didn't have time to change the tubs out, I would put a lid on an empty tub. Undoubtedly, the question comes out, "what's under the lid?" So many smart aleck remarks would pop into my head, and I would just have to beat them back. "Oh sir, that's a new flavor called Air. You want a sample?" It finally got to the point where Dad had to write "EMPTY" on the lids and still, "what was under there?" would come out once an hour. Then you had the elderly couples who got ice cream every day, but seemed to act as if they've never been there before. I would go through all eight flavors again, they would look at each other for about a minute and ponder, like somebody asked them what their social security numbers were, and finally order. If the price ever increased, which it did almost monthly, you would get complaints. Funny though, the complaints always came from the people who needed ice cream about as much as I needed a hole in the head. It's hard to take somebody serious who has to turn sideways to get out the door. I had a fireman once order a triple dip of butter pecan, which was the most fattening and sugary ice cream in the cooler. When I told him the price, he exclaimed, "Good Lord! That is ridiculous! I am never getting one of these again!" He still paid for it and I watched him walk out to his Tahoe, gobbling down the calorie bomb and holding his size 54 pants up. He sat down in the driver's seat and the car lurched so hard that the ice cream fell in his lap, rolled off and onto the pavement. All I could say was, "there is a God."
I look back and laugh about it now. All the times I had sticky hands, cleaning up broken cones, and picking up all the napkins that the ceiling fans blew into the floor. Even though it caused me way more trouble than it was worth, it was all a part of working up there. Most people were easy to deal with, did not complain about the prices and if we were really busy, they would just come back later. Still though, if you ever hear about an ice cream cooler that was left on the train tracks and completely destroyed by a high speed locomotive....the imps did it.
Friday, August 19, 2011
Obscure Song You Should Download
I can thank my mother for my love of Motown and all the harmonizing groups from the late 60's and early 70's. Her record collection from college was money, and thank the Lord she saved them all. This group was one of my favorites growing up and I'm 99.9% sure that my mom has one of their albums. They have an incredibly famous song in "Lowrider," which is one of those songs that transcends generations and will likely continue to do so, as nearly every other movie since 1980 has "Lowrider" in their soundtrack. However, they have many other wonderful songs that showcase their ability to harmonize. With that, I give you "All Day Music" by War. Enjoy! (By the way, I could NOT pass up posting the old Soul Train video.)
5 Realizations From This Week
1) I love people who have bestowed importance upon themselves when they really do not matter. I recently had a bad experience with a water department (who shall not be named, for fear of raw sewage being sent to the property in question) and all it all boiled down to the uselessness/arrogance of the employees. The action requested was to simply turn on the water to a property. There were a couple of simple hoops to jump through on their end. You would have thought that I asked them to count the bricks on the Great Wall of China. Lots of drawn out sighs, slow walking (which is a common factor with self-important wastes of organic matter), and just an overall bad disposition. Next time, I'll just buy a street key and cut it on myself and see how long it takes the bureaucracy to catch on. That's what you get when you hire people who are walking to lunch at 11:59 and packing up at 4:59, ready to blast out of the gates faster than the American 4x100 team from the 1992 Olympics.
2) I miss the signs that people used to post at the store. We had a Coke machine that sat on the front and people used it to post advertisements, sales, business openings, wrestling events, etc. Most of these were hand-written. It was a canvas for some serious artwork, if you ask me. The Van Goghs and Rembrandts of Cassville would come armed with tape, magic markers, and dreams, ready to alert the world of what was going on in their lives and why the rest of us should know about it. I cannot tell you how many "Yard Sells," "Wressling Matches," and "Rockwaller Puppies" were advertised up there. I remember somebody had a Weimaraner for sale once...it was spelled "Wine Marauder" or something like that. I especially enjoyed the wrestling ads. There must have been 20 different wrestling associations in northwest Georgia, all with the name "Outlaw" or "Mountain" in the title. There was always a guest star, somebody like "Beautiful" Bobby Eaton or Paul "Mr. Wonderful" Orndorff, coming to peruse the action. Chainsaw and ladder matches were the order of the day and undoubtedly, a local man or two would be ejected for trying to get in the ring and fight a wrestler. You just can't make this stuff up.
3) It just doesn't pay to rob a Waffle House. The two idiots were were busted in Alabama last week were messing with a Southern institution. We love our mommas. We love football. We love sweet tea. And we sure as heck love our Waffle Houses. They didn't put up with Kid Rock fighting and they sure won't abide robbery. Thanks be to the Calera, Alabama police department and their quick work....as long as they weren't Auburn fans. =)
4) The University of Miami is probably going to go down, and go down hard, for the words of an incarcerated thief with an ax to grind. The old saying goes, where there's smoke, there's fire. Well, this is the Chicago Fire of 1871 and Mrs. O'Leary's heifer poured gas on every street before she kicked the latern. ESPN is predicting the "death penalty" will be revived once again, ala SMU. If you will recall, SMU was given the death penalty for the 1987-88 seasons for transgressions similar to those of Miami. Cash, cars, homes, you name it, and SMU thumbed their noses at the NCAA the entire time. They still have not fully recovered, over twenty years later. We all lose in these situations, as the NCAA will be in our business more than ever, sniffing out every violation, trying to prove a point. Good luck to Miami and I hope Nevin Shapiro gets transferred to the federal penitentiary in Dade County.
This is nothing new, however. People are just aghast over these allegations, like it's groundbreaking. Sports have always been a hotbed for scandals. The 1919 World Series. The 1950's point shaving in college basketball. The Donaghy scandal in the NBA (for those who don't know, essentially the refs conspired to call playoff games in a certain manner so a specific team would win). Steroids. Street agents. College football is no different and next season, there will be a new scapegoat. It's easy pickings for the NCAA because every school has a dirty little underworld, they just bust the most brazen offenders. With the amount of money at stake, a certain amount of corruption is inevitable. (+1 for Last Man Standing reference, an underappreciated movie if there ever was one!)
Ponder this in legal terms, if you will: These offenses are malum prohibitum, which means they are only wrong because their respective governing body says they are. It is not inherently evil to give $1,000 and a yacht ride to a kid that plays football at the school you support. What you call an infraction, they call appreciation. This concept is why all the old men who ran moonshine for years never apologized for it. It is not illegal to make and sell moonshine, it is illegal to sell it and not pay taxes. That's why these guys went to federal prison and the men who chased them were called "revenuers." The government wanted their cut of the dough. Pure and simple.
5) Speaking of sports and moonshine running, NASCAR has absolutely lost its identity. I turned on a race the other day and I had never heard of 7 of the top 10 drivers leading the race. Half of the field was from California, sponsored by a dot com and driving a foreign car. Some guy named Boris Said (I bet he's not from North Carolina) was really mad at Greg Biffle, so they argued after the race and the crews separated them. They went straight to the press and bashed each other. Sports Illustrated then concocted an article about NASCAR feuds and the criteria they must meet to become "great." I will not go into the article's criteria, as it is meaningless because of the state of NASCAR today.
NASCAR has eliminated the men and the personalities that made it fun to watch. Arguably, the greatest single event in NASCAR history was the brawl between the Allison and Yarborough at Daytona in 1979. 20 million Americans, without football and baseball spring training just getting started, watched with amazement as these two men duked out their differences on national television. No apologies. No separations. No whining to the press. Just a brawl between two men, from tiny black dots on a map, over a wreck on the track. America realized that these rough and tumble guys took their sport seriously, and maybe, it wasn't just 1,000 left turns at 200 MPH. Alcohol and tobacco sponsored everything, because the drivers and the fans drank and smoked (the horror!). Guys had nicknames like "The King," "Handsome Harry" and "Fireball." Dale Earnhardt was a rookie that season and he drove a car sponsored by Wrangler. It could not have been set up more perfectly.
Now, it's races in Vegas while the tracks in Darlington, SC and Rockingham, NC collect dust. Alcohol and tobacco have been told they are no longer welcome at the track, replaced by DuPont and godaddy.com. When a driver wins, his contract requires him to take a sip out of five different sports/soft drinks and thank 73 different sponsors. "I would like to thank the crew on our Home Depot Toyota Powerade Jergens Microsoft Chase Manhattan Camry for their excellent job today.....(sip of a Powerade, Diet Pepsi, Red Bull, Starbucks Mocha Latte, and Mayfield chocolate milk.)" Corporate has replaced character. A feud between today's drivers? LOL....a tickle pile is more like it. NASCAR lost its roots and I'm afraid they are gone forever. In the early-mid 90's, we could not keep enough NASCAR merchandise at the store to satisfy the demands. Earnhardt helmets. Elliot shirts. Jarrett car replicas. Petty figurines. They would run out the door as fast as we stocked the shelves. In 2008, my Dad could not give that stuff away. Nobody wanted it. The Southern man is turning his back on NASCAR because NASCAR turned their backs on him.
2) I miss the signs that people used to post at the store. We had a Coke machine that sat on the front and people used it to post advertisements, sales, business openings, wrestling events, etc. Most of these were hand-written. It was a canvas for some serious artwork, if you ask me. The Van Goghs and Rembrandts of Cassville would come armed with tape, magic markers, and dreams, ready to alert the world of what was going on in their lives and why the rest of us should know about it. I cannot tell you how many "Yard Sells," "Wressling Matches," and "Rockwaller Puppies" were advertised up there. I remember somebody had a Weimaraner for sale once...it was spelled "Wine Marauder" or something like that. I especially enjoyed the wrestling ads. There must have been 20 different wrestling associations in northwest Georgia, all with the name "Outlaw" or "Mountain" in the title. There was always a guest star, somebody like "Beautiful" Bobby Eaton or Paul "Mr. Wonderful" Orndorff, coming to peruse the action. Chainsaw and ladder matches were the order of the day and undoubtedly, a local man or two would be ejected for trying to get in the ring and fight a wrestler. You just can't make this stuff up.
3) It just doesn't pay to rob a Waffle House. The two idiots were were busted in Alabama last week were messing with a Southern institution. We love our mommas. We love football. We love sweet tea. And we sure as heck love our Waffle Houses. They didn't put up with Kid Rock fighting and they sure won't abide robbery. Thanks be to the Calera, Alabama police department and their quick work....as long as they weren't Auburn fans. =)
4) The University of Miami is probably going to go down, and go down hard, for the words of an incarcerated thief with an ax to grind. The old saying goes, where there's smoke, there's fire. Well, this is the Chicago Fire of 1871 and Mrs. O'Leary's heifer poured gas on every street before she kicked the latern. ESPN is predicting the "death penalty" will be revived once again, ala SMU. If you will recall, SMU was given the death penalty for the 1987-88 seasons for transgressions similar to those of Miami. Cash, cars, homes, you name it, and SMU thumbed their noses at the NCAA the entire time. They still have not fully recovered, over twenty years later. We all lose in these situations, as the NCAA will be in our business more than ever, sniffing out every violation, trying to prove a point. Good luck to Miami and I hope Nevin Shapiro gets transferred to the federal penitentiary in Dade County.
This is nothing new, however. People are just aghast over these allegations, like it's groundbreaking. Sports have always been a hotbed for scandals. The 1919 World Series. The 1950's point shaving in college basketball. The Donaghy scandal in the NBA (for those who don't know, essentially the refs conspired to call playoff games in a certain manner so a specific team would win). Steroids. Street agents. College football is no different and next season, there will be a new scapegoat. It's easy pickings for the NCAA because every school has a dirty little underworld, they just bust the most brazen offenders. With the amount of money at stake, a certain amount of corruption is inevitable. (+1 for Last Man Standing reference, an underappreciated movie if there ever was one!)
Ponder this in legal terms, if you will: These offenses are malum prohibitum, which means they are only wrong because their respective governing body says they are. It is not inherently evil to give $1,000 and a yacht ride to a kid that plays football at the school you support. What you call an infraction, they call appreciation. This concept is why all the old men who ran moonshine for years never apologized for it. It is not illegal to make and sell moonshine, it is illegal to sell it and not pay taxes. That's why these guys went to federal prison and the men who chased them were called "revenuers." The government wanted their cut of the dough. Pure and simple.
5) Speaking of sports and moonshine running, NASCAR has absolutely lost its identity. I turned on a race the other day and I had never heard of 7 of the top 10 drivers leading the race. Half of the field was from California, sponsored by a dot com and driving a foreign car. Some guy named Boris Said (I bet he's not from North Carolina) was really mad at Greg Biffle, so they argued after the race and the crews separated them. They went straight to the press and bashed each other. Sports Illustrated then concocted an article about NASCAR feuds and the criteria they must meet to become "great." I will not go into the article's criteria, as it is meaningless because of the state of NASCAR today.
NASCAR has eliminated the men and the personalities that made it fun to watch. Arguably, the greatest single event in NASCAR history was the brawl between the Allison and Yarborough at Daytona in 1979. 20 million Americans, without football and baseball spring training just getting started, watched with amazement as these two men duked out their differences on national television. No apologies. No separations. No whining to the press. Just a brawl between two men, from tiny black dots on a map, over a wreck on the track. America realized that these rough and tumble guys took their sport seriously, and maybe, it wasn't just 1,000 left turns at 200 MPH. Alcohol and tobacco sponsored everything, because the drivers and the fans drank and smoked (the horror!). Guys had nicknames like "The King," "Handsome Harry" and "Fireball." Dale Earnhardt was a rookie that season and he drove a car sponsored by Wrangler. It could not have been set up more perfectly.
Now, it's races in Vegas while the tracks in Darlington, SC and Rockingham, NC collect dust. Alcohol and tobacco have been told they are no longer welcome at the track, replaced by DuPont and godaddy.com. When a driver wins, his contract requires him to take a sip out of five different sports/soft drinks and thank 73 different sponsors. "I would like to thank the crew on our Home Depot Toyota Powerade Jergens Microsoft Chase Manhattan Camry for their excellent job today.....(sip of a Powerade, Diet Pepsi, Red Bull, Starbucks Mocha Latte, and Mayfield chocolate milk.)" Corporate has replaced character. A feud between today's drivers? LOL....a tickle pile is more like it. NASCAR lost its roots and I'm afraid they are gone forever. In the early-mid 90's, we could not keep enough NASCAR merchandise at the store to satisfy the demands. Earnhardt helmets. Elliot shirts. Jarrett car replicas. Petty figurines. They would run out the door as fast as we stocked the shelves. In 2008, my Dad could not give that stuff away. Nobody wanted it. The Southern man is turning his back on NASCAR because NASCAR turned their backs on him.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Forget the Movies..Free Entertainment at 1810
1810. That was the address given to Cass Grocery when old Highway 41 became Cassville Road. Cassville Road used to be THE highway 41 (or Dixie Highway) until they constructed the current one. It was the main drag from Miami to Michigan until I-75 was completed in the mid-70's, thus killing hundreds of businesses in the process as travelers abandoned Highway 41 for the expediency of the Interstate. Bartow natives will notice all the abandoned buildings on the highway between Cassville and Adairsville, those used to be hotels and stores. Cass Grocery remained, however, unscathed. A bastion of small town America holding firm against the Wal-Marts and the Dollar Generals of the world. A rock that everybody else broke themselves against. (+1 for Legends of the Fall reference, and yes, I just compared the store to Tristan Ludlow, sue me)
Our people were loyal to us. Come hell or high water, they traded with us and tried their best to never enter Wal-Mart, Lowe's or those giant truck stops where nobody gives a crap who you are. They just want you in and out as quick as possible so they can take their smoke break. Not us. We may have to charge a little more for certain things, but we didn't hustle you out the door with an insincere "thank you, have a nice day" like we read it off a teleprompter. I think people appreciated that.
If we ever had a moment to rest, we would sit on the benches and people watch. These were some of the best times to get to know Cassville in all its glory. I would grab two glass bottle Coca-Colas (which are manna from Heaven, nothing in the universe tastes better), hand one to whomever was working with me and we would sit there and take it all in. You never quite knew what you would see or hear, but rarely did the citizenry ever let us down in terms of entertainment. Just like Two Run Creek, we had some very peculiar characters meandering past our little dusty corner. Here are some examples of what you may see:
1) "Get on it!!"
One thing we absolutely loved to do was entice people to lay drag at the four way stop. If a single car pulled up and nobody else was coming, we would yell "Get on it!!!" to the person driving. We would follow that up with a hand motion that signified that we wished them to burn rubber. More often than not, if that particular person was a Cassville native, they would oblige us. It did not matter what year, make or model of vehicle either, they would rev up the engine and do their best to spin their tires, inciting hoots and hollers from us. It could have been the most beat up Caprice Classic on its last leg and they would stomp the accelerator to the floor for us. Some of the best drags ever laid up there were from Honda Accords and Nissan pickups, I'm serious! My friend Rocky drove a late 80's model Ford Ranger, 4 cylinder, manual transmission, primer gray, about 200,000 miles on it....a real gem. That dude could turn his foot sideways, hold the clutch, the brake and the accelerator down at the same time and cook the tires as good as anybody. He once scored a million cool points when he actually lit a cigarette while he was spinning the tires. He took a drag, smiled and blew past us, and we obliged him with whistles and high fives.
One of the best was from a guy that lived across the street from the store. He completely restored a Ford Gran Torino, the same model used in Starsky and Hutch. It was immaculate too, with its red and white paint, shiny wheels and best of all, the roar of that engine. He spared no expense on this car, and I swear it could have pulled the store off its foundation. One day, he took it out for a spin and he came up to the four way stop. We just so happened to be sitting outside. "You think Ronnie would get on it?" asked my co-worker, Russell. "Nah, not in that car, that's his baby," I said most assuredly. "Aw hell, let's see," he replied. Russell stuck his fingers in his mouth and whistled as loud as he could, Ronnie looked over at us and Russell yelled our typical phrase and delivered the hand motion. I fully expected Ronnie to shake his head, laugh and just ease past us. Nope. I saw his eyes and knew he was going to come through for us. You always knew because a devious smile would suddenly form on their face and the revving would start. Ronnie fired up that monster engine and unleashed a drag unlike I have ever seen up there. He sat in place for ten seconds as the tires screamed on the pavement. Smoke billowed out from under the car like it was on fire. It got so thick that we could not see his car anymore. Then he released the brake and shot like a cannon out of the cloud of smoke and past us fishtailing, complete with a rebel yell and a fist pump out the window. We were hooping and hollering, jumping around and high fiving, when the smoke alarm went off in the store. We had opened the windows earlier and Ronnie had put out so much smoke that it crept into the store and set the alarm off. He got a free beer for that one.
**Ronnie also "barked second," which gets you another cheer. "Barked second" means that when your transmission shifted to second gear, the tires gave a tiny squeal. Big deal in Cassville.
Another good one was my friend, Paul. He had a shortbed Chevrolet truck that supposedly had a Corvette engine under the hood. He also had illegal slick tires on the rear, so "getting on it" had a whole new meaning for him. Further, Paul lived for it. He absolutely loved to cook his tires and make us go crazy. He would do it even if we weren't outside, so we would run out and see him. One day, he came in after work and bought some random things and shot the bull for awhile. "Alright y'all, I'm gone, " he says. "Get on it when you leave," ordered Russell. Paul backed out of the parking lot facing north and started revving in the middle of the road. Tires squealed and smoke went everywhere, I ran into the parking lot pumping my fist and egging him on. He took off like a shot and traveled about 50 feet when a Sheriff's Deputy in SWAT gear walked into the middle of street and stopped him. Apparently, we did not realize that a meth bust had just taken place about two doors down. They heard the commotion, walked outside and Paul was caught red-handed. The cop ordered him to park at the store and wait until the paddy wagon came to get the methheads, then he would get his ticket. He sat there for about an hour fuming. Just another day in Cassville.
**As far as I was concerned, I never laid drag. I drove a 1997 Ford Ranger that couldn't "pull a greased string out of a cat's @ss" according to my co-workers. I literally had to turn the air conditioning off if I went up a steep incline.
2) Out of Towners
With I-75 being so close to us, we got our fair share of "tourists" passing through. 50% wanted to see Cassville, the other half were just lost. Most of them were of the Midwestern persuasion and older, so there were plenty of black sandals with black socks (a dead giveaway, as per the late, great Lewis Grizzard. RIP Lewis, give Catfish a pat on the head for me.) People named Bob, Bill, Marge, Barb...the typical old Midwestern names. The wives would tell us how "cute" the store was and describe a similar place back in Ohio. The men would make a remark about gas prices (ours was always too high) and then stride over to the ice cream cooler.
That ice cream cooler was the BANE of my existence. I hated it. Seriously, I told Dad if I ever took over, I would roll that thing into the first fire truck barreling down Cass-White Road. It contained eight three-gallon tubs of Scotty Mayfield's finest ice cream, but to me, it was eight opportunities for aggravation, annoyance and twenty minutes of Windex and sticky hands. One half of the cooler froze too hard, so four of the eight tubs would be as hard as a brick. Those were undoubtedly the four flavors that EVERYBODY wanted, and they all wanted a double. Speaking of flavors, we carried the basics (chocolate, vanilla, cherry, strawberry, butter pecan, black walnut, rainbow sherbet) and one random that Mayfield would sell us (usually Moose Tracks, Turtle Tracks or Birthday Cake). I'll go into the ice cream cooler more later, I could write an entire book about that spawn of Satan.
Anyhow, out of towners always wanted ice cream. Always. They would act like they have never seen an ice cream cooler before, run over to it and stick their face in the glass. The undisputed king of first questions, "what flavors do you guys have?" would come out. Cassville natives already knew, or if they needed a refresher, "what flavors y'all got?" I would go through the list of painfully obvious flavors. Chocolate is chocolate....in Georgia, Ohio, Canada, Kazakhstan....it doesn't matter. Undoubtedly, the next question, "oh, you guys don't have _______?" would rear its ugly head. The blank represents some off-the-wall flavor that nobody ever wants, like Rum Raisin or some other flavor that rural Georgians would not touch with a ten foot pole. I wanted to say "yeah, we have a secret cooler under this one, that's where the Rum Raisin is, I'll run down and get it." They would pause and ponder, "I don't know Barb, what should we do?" the man would remark and wink at me, like I was 6 years old and he just told me Santa Claus was real. Both would end up getting vanilla. The vanilla is frozen solid, of course, and they want a double "scoop." Cassville people say "dip," not "scoop." He pays for the ice cream, remarks about the price (too high, as always), and notices my grandfather's mounted largemouth bass on the wall. He compares it to a fish he once caught (his was bigger, of course) and compares his life to my grandfather's, since they are of the same generation. Being in customer service, you have to watch yourself, but I wanted to say, "Sir, no two men in the universe could have less in common than you and my grandfather." He wouldn't be caught dead in black socks and sandals, that's for dang sure.
3) Giving Directions to Out of Towners
As I stated, 50% of them were just lost. They would pull up on the front when they saw us sitting there and say, "excuse me young man!" It was obvious they were lost by their frazzled appearance and the giant useless map in their lap. In their defense, rural Georgia is one of the worst marked areas in the United States. Half of the road signs are stolen (I plead the Fif...I plead the Fif....One, Two, Three, Four, Fif!) and the DOT simply never replaces them. Interstates and highways intersect but you have no idea where or how far away. It's a colossal disaster.
Giving directions is an intricate process at Cass Grocery. Whomever is the oldest has the right of first refusal. Older Cassville men LOVE to give directions. They live for it. It's a bum rush to the car to see who can start talking first. Now, these guys know exactly where you need to go and what roads you need to take. The problem is in the description. The only way to illustrate this dilemma is play out the conversation. I'll use the names "Billy" for the Cassville man and "Jo" for the out of towner woman.
Billy: "So, y'all lookin' for Calhoun, huh? I used to live upair (up there) so you in luck!"
Jo: "Oh thank goodness!"
Billy (pointing north): "Alright, y'all go up yonder a piece, get on the four lane....." ("the four lane" is highway 41, which is a four-lane highway, hence "the four lane")
Other Cassville man: "Naw, Billy, they need to get on 75!"
Billy: "Junior, shut the hell up! It ain't faster! I timed it, it ain't no quicker. Look, y'all just listen to me. Get upair on the four lane, go about twelve miles, pass by Summerville Highway.." (that's Highway 140, but these old guys don't do numbers)
Yet another Cassville man: "It ain't twelve miles! It's only ten! Hell, they's too much traffic that way, y'all need to get 411 over at Pine Log and take Summerville Highway across Folsom."
(Jo is looking more and more flustered)
Billy: "Ten, twelve, it don't matter. You'll pass by the tar (tire) place and go up the road a piece and you'll hit Calhoun."
The other men then debate the authenticity of Billy's directions, tell the out of towners about three other ways to get there and they all end up arguing as the people drive away. This happened nearly every single time. God bless us.
Our people were loyal to us. Come hell or high water, they traded with us and tried their best to never enter Wal-Mart, Lowe's or those giant truck stops where nobody gives a crap who you are. They just want you in and out as quick as possible so they can take their smoke break. Not us. We may have to charge a little more for certain things, but we didn't hustle you out the door with an insincere "thank you, have a nice day" like we read it off a teleprompter. I think people appreciated that.
If we ever had a moment to rest, we would sit on the benches and people watch. These were some of the best times to get to know Cassville in all its glory. I would grab two glass bottle Coca-Colas (which are manna from Heaven, nothing in the universe tastes better), hand one to whomever was working with me and we would sit there and take it all in. You never quite knew what you would see or hear, but rarely did the citizenry ever let us down in terms of entertainment. Just like Two Run Creek, we had some very peculiar characters meandering past our little dusty corner. Here are some examples of what you may see:
1) "Get on it!!"
One thing we absolutely loved to do was entice people to lay drag at the four way stop. If a single car pulled up and nobody else was coming, we would yell "Get on it!!!" to the person driving. We would follow that up with a hand motion that signified that we wished them to burn rubber. More often than not, if that particular person was a Cassville native, they would oblige us. It did not matter what year, make or model of vehicle either, they would rev up the engine and do their best to spin their tires, inciting hoots and hollers from us. It could have been the most beat up Caprice Classic on its last leg and they would stomp the accelerator to the floor for us. Some of the best drags ever laid up there were from Honda Accords and Nissan pickups, I'm serious! My friend Rocky drove a late 80's model Ford Ranger, 4 cylinder, manual transmission, primer gray, about 200,000 miles on it....a real gem. That dude could turn his foot sideways, hold the clutch, the brake and the accelerator down at the same time and cook the tires as good as anybody. He once scored a million cool points when he actually lit a cigarette while he was spinning the tires. He took a drag, smiled and blew past us, and we obliged him with whistles and high fives.
One of the best was from a guy that lived across the street from the store. He completely restored a Ford Gran Torino, the same model used in Starsky and Hutch. It was immaculate too, with its red and white paint, shiny wheels and best of all, the roar of that engine. He spared no expense on this car, and I swear it could have pulled the store off its foundation. One day, he took it out for a spin and he came up to the four way stop. We just so happened to be sitting outside. "You think Ronnie would get on it?" asked my co-worker, Russell. "Nah, not in that car, that's his baby," I said most assuredly. "Aw hell, let's see," he replied. Russell stuck his fingers in his mouth and whistled as loud as he could, Ronnie looked over at us and Russell yelled our typical phrase and delivered the hand motion. I fully expected Ronnie to shake his head, laugh and just ease past us. Nope. I saw his eyes and knew he was going to come through for us. You always knew because a devious smile would suddenly form on their face and the revving would start. Ronnie fired up that monster engine and unleashed a drag unlike I have ever seen up there. He sat in place for ten seconds as the tires screamed on the pavement. Smoke billowed out from under the car like it was on fire. It got so thick that we could not see his car anymore. Then he released the brake and shot like a cannon out of the cloud of smoke and past us fishtailing, complete with a rebel yell and a fist pump out the window. We were hooping and hollering, jumping around and high fiving, when the smoke alarm went off in the store. We had opened the windows earlier and Ronnie had put out so much smoke that it crept into the store and set the alarm off. He got a free beer for that one.
**Ronnie also "barked second," which gets you another cheer. "Barked second" means that when your transmission shifted to second gear, the tires gave a tiny squeal. Big deal in Cassville.
Another good one was my friend, Paul. He had a shortbed Chevrolet truck that supposedly had a Corvette engine under the hood. He also had illegal slick tires on the rear, so "getting on it" had a whole new meaning for him. Further, Paul lived for it. He absolutely loved to cook his tires and make us go crazy. He would do it even if we weren't outside, so we would run out and see him. One day, he came in after work and bought some random things and shot the bull for awhile. "Alright y'all, I'm gone, " he says. "Get on it when you leave," ordered Russell. Paul backed out of the parking lot facing north and started revving in the middle of the road. Tires squealed and smoke went everywhere, I ran into the parking lot pumping my fist and egging him on. He took off like a shot and traveled about 50 feet when a Sheriff's Deputy in SWAT gear walked into the middle of street and stopped him. Apparently, we did not realize that a meth bust had just taken place about two doors down. They heard the commotion, walked outside and Paul was caught red-handed. The cop ordered him to park at the store and wait until the paddy wagon came to get the methheads, then he would get his ticket. He sat there for about an hour fuming. Just another day in Cassville.
**As far as I was concerned, I never laid drag. I drove a 1997 Ford Ranger that couldn't "pull a greased string out of a cat's @ss" according to my co-workers. I literally had to turn the air conditioning off if I went up a steep incline.
2) Out of Towners
With I-75 being so close to us, we got our fair share of "tourists" passing through. 50% wanted to see Cassville, the other half were just lost. Most of them were of the Midwestern persuasion and older, so there were plenty of black sandals with black socks (a dead giveaway, as per the late, great Lewis Grizzard. RIP Lewis, give Catfish a pat on the head for me.) People named Bob, Bill, Marge, Barb...the typical old Midwestern names. The wives would tell us how "cute" the store was and describe a similar place back in Ohio. The men would make a remark about gas prices (ours was always too high) and then stride over to the ice cream cooler.
That ice cream cooler was the BANE of my existence. I hated it. Seriously, I told Dad if I ever took over, I would roll that thing into the first fire truck barreling down Cass-White Road. It contained eight three-gallon tubs of Scotty Mayfield's finest ice cream, but to me, it was eight opportunities for aggravation, annoyance and twenty minutes of Windex and sticky hands. One half of the cooler froze too hard, so four of the eight tubs would be as hard as a brick. Those were undoubtedly the four flavors that EVERYBODY wanted, and they all wanted a double. Speaking of flavors, we carried the basics (chocolate, vanilla, cherry, strawberry, butter pecan, black walnut, rainbow sherbet) and one random that Mayfield would sell us (usually Moose Tracks, Turtle Tracks or Birthday Cake). I'll go into the ice cream cooler more later, I could write an entire book about that spawn of Satan.
Anyhow, out of towners always wanted ice cream. Always. They would act like they have never seen an ice cream cooler before, run over to it and stick their face in the glass. The undisputed king of first questions, "what flavors do you guys have?" would come out. Cassville natives already knew, or if they needed a refresher, "what flavors y'all got?" I would go through the list of painfully obvious flavors. Chocolate is chocolate....in Georgia, Ohio, Canada, Kazakhstan....it doesn't matter. Undoubtedly, the next question, "oh, you guys don't have _______?" would rear its ugly head. The blank represents some off-the-wall flavor that nobody ever wants, like Rum Raisin or some other flavor that rural Georgians would not touch with a ten foot pole. I wanted to say "yeah, we have a secret cooler under this one, that's where the Rum Raisin is, I'll run down and get it." They would pause and ponder, "I don't know Barb, what should we do?" the man would remark and wink at me, like I was 6 years old and he just told me Santa Claus was real. Both would end up getting vanilla. The vanilla is frozen solid, of course, and they want a double "scoop." Cassville people say "dip," not "scoop." He pays for the ice cream, remarks about the price (too high, as always), and notices my grandfather's mounted largemouth bass on the wall. He compares it to a fish he once caught (his was bigger, of course) and compares his life to my grandfather's, since they are of the same generation. Being in customer service, you have to watch yourself, but I wanted to say, "Sir, no two men in the universe could have less in common than you and my grandfather." He wouldn't be caught dead in black socks and sandals, that's for dang sure.
3) Giving Directions to Out of Towners
As I stated, 50% of them were just lost. They would pull up on the front when they saw us sitting there and say, "excuse me young man!" It was obvious they were lost by their frazzled appearance and the giant useless map in their lap. In their defense, rural Georgia is one of the worst marked areas in the United States. Half of the road signs are stolen (I plead the Fif...I plead the Fif....One, Two, Three, Four, Fif!) and the DOT simply never replaces them. Interstates and highways intersect but you have no idea where or how far away. It's a colossal disaster.
Giving directions is an intricate process at Cass Grocery. Whomever is the oldest has the right of first refusal. Older Cassville men LOVE to give directions. They live for it. It's a bum rush to the car to see who can start talking first. Now, these guys know exactly where you need to go and what roads you need to take. The problem is in the description. The only way to illustrate this dilemma is play out the conversation. I'll use the names "Billy" for the Cassville man and "Jo" for the out of towner woman.
Billy: "So, y'all lookin' for Calhoun, huh? I used to live upair (up there) so you in luck!"
Jo: "Oh thank goodness!"
Billy (pointing north): "Alright, y'all go up yonder a piece, get on the four lane....." ("the four lane" is highway 41, which is a four-lane highway, hence "the four lane")
Other Cassville man: "Naw, Billy, they need to get on 75!"
Billy: "Junior, shut the hell up! It ain't faster! I timed it, it ain't no quicker. Look, y'all just listen to me. Get upair on the four lane, go about twelve miles, pass by Summerville Highway.." (that's Highway 140, but these old guys don't do numbers)
Yet another Cassville man: "It ain't twelve miles! It's only ten! Hell, they's too much traffic that way, y'all need to get 411 over at Pine Log and take Summerville Highway across Folsom."
(Jo is looking more and more flustered)
Billy: "Ten, twelve, it don't matter. You'll pass by the tar (tire) place and go up the road a piece and you'll hit Calhoun."
The other men then debate the authenticity of Billy's directions, tell the out of towners about three other ways to get there and they all end up arguing as the people drive away. This happened nearly every single time. God bless us.
Friday, August 12, 2011
Georgia's Season in Song and Movies
Game 1: Boise State
Song: "Welcome to the Jungle" by Guns N' Roses;
Quote: "It's a helluva thing, killin' a man. You take away all he's got and all he's ever gonna have." - Unforgiven, Clint Eastwood
Basically, we are going to give the Blue Turf Bimbos another mollywhopping, SEC style. I remember the first time we did it in 2005. Jared Zabransky had to be removed from the field due to "heat exhaustion" aka three turnovers and four sacks. We'll hate to do it to them on national television, but we've got something to prove. The national media wants Boise to knock us off for shock value, but we aren't taking these guys lightly. Our speed and talent will overwhelm them early. I fully expect a 100 yard game from Crowell and a monstrous coming out party for our new look D. Our newest defensive lineman, Johnathan Jenkins (6'4 340) may actually eat their center (5'11, 288) and quarterback before the game is over.
Game 2: South Carolina
Song: "We Ready" by Archie Eversole
Quote: "I'm your Huckleberry, that's just my game." - Val Kilmer, Tombstone
Last year's game in Carolina was an abomination, to say the least. We played terrible offensively and our defense allowed true freshman Marcus Lattimore to fly by us like we were cardboard cutouts. And yet....we nearly won the game. But for Ealey's fumble on their 1 yard line, I think we would have knocked them off. It was a fun trip though, as Brock, Vinny and I stayed at the fabulous Sleep Inn in western Columbia, complete with a vanload of strippers from Atlanta in town to entertain an electrical worker's convention. We also learned how to make an "Irish Pancake," increased Corona's stock by 1.3% and Vinny talked to a dog for about 30 minutes. Fun times.
Nonetheless, it's a new year, we are at home, and we are tired of the "cockadoodle-dooing" coming from the East. We've been called out, and we will be ready.
Game 3: Coastal Carolina
Song: "Let the Bodies Hit the Floor" by Drowning Pool
Quote: "Who are these f****** guys? - Neil Flynn, Major League
The Chanticleers. That's who. Seriously, I know nothing about them. Just like the fabled Indian squad from Major League, nobody knows who they are, much less what a Chanticleer is. It must come from the same land as the Hokie. Looking at their roster, they have a monster O-line (averages 299 lbs) and several D-1 (sorry, I don't do the new distinctions, they suck) transfers. Still, I'm thinking 72-2, they sack our third string waterboy for a safety with 0:04 seconds left. No Wild Thing or Jobu can save them.
Game 4: Ole Miss
Song: "Last Dance With Mary Jane" by Tom Petty
Quote: "Look for low and away....but watch for in your ear." - Ray Liotta, Field of Dreams
Why this song? Because if this new realignment happens with the SEC, we will play Ole Miss in Oxford again in about....hmmmm.....2053. I am not a fan of this expansion, we don't need an even harder road to the national championship. Then again, it may force a playoff system if a couple of conferences disappear, so stay tuned. Ole Miss gave us hell in Oxford last time we played them in 2006, and they weren't supposed to put up a fight. Even the Rebel fans were conceding defeat the night before, between shots of Southern Comfort. 14-9 was the final and I wanted to gouge my eyes out all game long because our offense was so anemic. Ole Miss always gives us a scare, you never know what to expect with them, especially with Houston Nutt as the coach. We'll go in with confidence but we will tread lightly....and we won't wink either, kid. (+1 for another quote reference)
Game 5: Mississippi State
Song: "Go To Sleep" by Ludacris
Quote: "The man in the black pajamas Dude, worthy f***** adversary." John Goodman, The Big Lebowski
We took Mississippi State lightly last year, went into Cowbell Central and came out with a loss. It was one of the worst performances of a dismal season. However, Dan Mullen has them believing in Starkville and they are no slouch, to be honest. I chose the song because it's mean, which is what we need to be in Athens when they come to town. If we hit them in the mouth early, no amount of trick plays and onside kicks will help the other Bulldogs pull out another win. They will have to meet us "eyeball to eyeball" and I don't see us flinching this time. (+1 for another quote)
Game 6: Tennessee
Song: "No More Mr. Nice Guy" by Alice Cooper
Quote: "Nazis. I hate these guys." - Harrison Ford, Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade
Last year, we clobbered Tennessee at home. We brutally murdered their secondary with passes all over the field, ran by their line like they were stuck in the mud and raided their backfield like meth head in a Sudfaed factory. In the first half. My highlight was Da'Rick Rogers getting booed off the field after his one catch for -2 yards. Coach Richt took the foot off the gas and the second half was a punting exhibition. Maybe because it was Derek Dooley on the other side? I don't know. We could have scored 65 at the rate we were going amd I vote that we do so in Knoxville this season. Tennessee is my least favorite team in the SEC (remember, I don't hate anyone). So the quote is a little misguided, but it more or less expresses my sentiments towards the "Looks like somebody barfed Cheetos" Volunteer nation.
Game 7: Vanderbilt
Song: "Once Bitten, Twice Shy" by Great White
Quote: "Only to people he know! He don't be doin that to them fools around the corner!"- Chris Tucker, Friday
Vanderbilt is like Ole Miss, they always play us tough at their place. Heck, in 2003, it was 3-2 at halftime! Seriously. We had a field goal and they had a safety. There were about 30,000 UGA fans and about 3,000 Vandy fans there. The dork in front of me kept remarking how "this is like a baseball game" and giggling like he saw a naked female for the first time. In 2007, we were a fumble away from losing to them and in 2006, at home, we did the unspeakable and let Vandy whip us. I've witnessed two Vandy wins in Athens actually (the other in 1994) and I would liken it to having a root canal while somebody scrapes a fork across an empty plate with John Mayer singing "Why Georgia" over and over. We just play apprehensively and they take full advantage every time. It seems we are the ONLY school that allows this, hence the quote. This is a year of change. Vandy is going to play Red and we will be Deebo, squeaky bike wheel and all. Let's hope their daddy shows up in the Ford Escort to haul their body away.
Game 8: Florida
Song: "Over" by Drake
Quote: "At my signal, unleash Hell." - Russell Crowe, Gladiator
Since 1991, we have basically laid an egg in Jacksonville every year. We play with two left feet, crossed eyes, bad luck and warm butter hands. I can still see Terrence Edwards dropping that wide open pass in 2002. I nearly threw myself into the St. John's River, instead, I invaded the Landing and enjoyed some warm Heineken....mmmmmm. If we played Florida like we play Tennessee or Auburn, this series would not be going this way. Forget moving the game to home and home, we just need to flush the mental toilet and know we can win. Dooley made a career out of stomping Florida, he ruined their season so many times that they lost count. Ask any older UF alum, they freaking hate UGA. I want the hate back! Evil Richt will have our guys ready and we will introduce Will Muschamp to the Benedict Arnold treatment that he deserves. Branden Smith and Boykin will get some special teams TD's and the Gators will fold like a cheap tent....just like their former coach.
Game 9: New Mexico State
Song: "Welcome Back" by John Sebastian (Welcome Back Kotter theme song)
Quote: "Our calvary will ride them down like grass. Send the horse." - British lord, pre-battle, Braveheart
New Mexico State visits us again in Athens. We are glad to have them after such a brutal stretch. Last time I saw them, we unleashed a beating that was culminated by Tony Gilbert nearly killing their quarterback on a blitz that nobody picked up. Their guard literally stepped aside and said, "look out!!" I look for much of the same this year, and by "horse," I mean a heaping helping of Boo Malcolme, Crowell, Bruce Figgins and Zander Ogletree. Zander's brother, Alec, could reproduce Tony Gilbert's sack from his new linebacker position, so we got that going for us, which is nice. (+1 for Caddyshack reference)
Game 10: Auburn
Song: "Got Money" by Lil Wayne
Quote: "Locksley! I'm gonna cut your heart out with a spoon!" -Alan Rickman, Robin Hood : Prince of Thieves
So, the song choice, total cheap shot at Auburn and their impending NCAA violations. Winn Dixie grocery bags full of money in the VIP section? Ha! Try Piggly Wiggly and Cam Newton's house. Nah, I hope it doesn't happen, it cheapens later victories. They can always say, "yeah, but we were on probation..." Last season's game was close in the first half but Auburn blew the doors open in the second. They were clearly the better team. That does NOT alleviate the cheap shots delivered upon our QB by Nick Fairley, who has since moved on to the NFL. So, we have to exact our revenge on their new linemen. Ben Jones and Cordy Glenn, our senior O-Linemen who were party to Fairley's shenanigans last year, are going to road grade us to victory at home. (I really enjoy the Auburn game actually, it's always physical and usually produces some nasty hits)
Game 11: Kentucky
Song: "Heartache Tonight" by the Eagles
Quote: "I got a hockey record, ya know. I tried to stab a guy with my skate once. I'm the only guy to ever do that." - Adam Sandler, Happy Gilmore
The Kentucky Wildcats, the walking question mark. They get new coaches every five minutes. Nobody really knows how they recruit, who they recruit, or where....they just kinda show up to the stadium with 85 guys. I chose the song because they absolutely can scare the bejesus out of you with trick plays, random fast white guys, and a couple of defensive linemen that play with a chip on their shoulder because the bigger teams overlooked them. I chose the quote because they always have one guy who is a complete freak (Tim Couch, Jared Lorenzen, Randall Cobb) and can cook up so many BS plays that somehow work, driving you insane the entire time. I swear they draw their plays in the dirt. I cringe when we play Kentucky.
Game 11: Georgia Tech
Song: "Regulate" by Warren G
Quote: "They're bugs, Wyatt! They say live and let live, well there ain't no live and let live with bugs!" -Bill Paxton, Tombstone
There is no team in the SEC that I hate. None. After the game, we can all hang out, have a drink and enjoy a little trash talk. Not with Tech. I hate them. I hate everything about them: their fans, the school, the campus, the stadium....I hate North Avenue because it touches property owned by Georgia Tech. I have never had a good experience there, although we absolutely have made a mockery of the so-called rivalry. Tech has only won once (fair and square) since 1990. I chose the song mainly for the title, we need to regulate on Tech every chance we get. Maul them into submission and never look back. Some UGA fans think my hate should be placed elsewhere but I counter with this...be at a game when we lose to them. Nothing can prepare you for the unbridled tickle pile that ensues. Ask Jim Donnan how much it matters, it was one of the reasons he was fired. As far as the quote goes, it's self explanatory. To Hell with Tech? I say to Tech with Hell....because I'd rather burn in eternity than associate with that sack of rat guts in cat vomit (+1 for Hook reference) Bangarang.
Song: "Welcome to the Jungle" by Guns N' Roses;
Quote: "It's a helluva thing, killin' a man. You take away all he's got and all he's ever gonna have." - Unforgiven, Clint Eastwood
Basically, we are going to give the Blue Turf Bimbos another mollywhopping, SEC style. I remember the first time we did it in 2005. Jared Zabransky had to be removed from the field due to "heat exhaustion" aka three turnovers and four sacks. We'll hate to do it to them on national television, but we've got something to prove. The national media wants Boise to knock us off for shock value, but we aren't taking these guys lightly. Our speed and talent will overwhelm them early. I fully expect a 100 yard game from Crowell and a monstrous coming out party for our new look D. Our newest defensive lineman, Johnathan Jenkins (6'4 340) may actually eat their center (5'11, 288) and quarterback before the game is over.
Game 2: South Carolina
Song: "We Ready" by Archie Eversole
Quote: "I'm your Huckleberry, that's just my game." - Val Kilmer, Tombstone
Last year's game in Carolina was an abomination, to say the least. We played terrible offensively and our defense allowed true freshman Marcus Lattimore to fly by us like we were cardboard cutouts. And yet....we nearly won the game. But for Ealey's fumble on their 1 yard line, I think we would have knocked them off. It was a fun trip though, as Brock, Vinny and I stayed at the fabulous Sleep Inn in western Columbia, complete with a vanload of strippers from Atlanta in town to entertain an electrical worker's convention. We also learned how to make an "Irish Pancake," increased Corona's stock by 1.3% and Vinny talked to a dog for about 30 minutes. Fun times.
Nonetheless, it's a new year, we are at home, and we are tired of the "cockadoodle-dooing" coming from the East. We've been called out, and we will be ready.
Game 3: Coastal Carolina
Song: "Let the Bodies Hit the Floor" by Drowning Pool
Quote: "Who are these f****** guys? - Neil Flynn, Major League
The Chanticleers. That's who. Seriously, I know nothing about them. Just like the fabled Indian squad from Major League, nobody knows who they are, much less what a Chanticleer is. It must come from the same land as the Hokie. Looking at their roster, they have a monster O-line (averages 299 lbs) and several D-1 (sorry, I don't do the new distinctions, they suck) transfers. Still, I'm thinking 72-2, they sack our third string waterboy for a safety with 0:04 seconds left. No Wild Thing or Jobu can save them.
Game 4: Ole Miss
Song: "Last Dance With Mary Jane" by Tom Petty
Quote: "Look for low and away....but watch for in your ear." - Ray Liotta, Field of Dreams
Why this song? Because if this new realignment happens with the SEC, we will play Ole Miss in Oxford again in about....hmmmm.....2053. I am not a fan of this expansion, we don't need an even harder road to the national championship. Then again, it may force a playoff system if a couple of conferences disappear, so stay tuned. Ole Miss gave us hell in Oxford last time we played them in 2006, and they weren't supposed to put up a fight. Even the Rebel fans were conceding defeat the night before, between shots of Southern Comfort. 14-9 was the final and I wanted to gouge my eyes out all game long because our offense was so anemic. Ole Miss always gives us a scare, you never know what to expect with them, especially with Houston Nutt as the coach. We'll go in with confidence but we will tread lightly....and we won't wink either, kid. (+1 for another quote reference)
Game 5: Mississippi State
Song: "Go To Sleep" by Ludacris
Quote: "The man in the black pajamas Dude, worthy f***** adversary." John Goodman, The Big Lebowski
We took Mississippi State lightly last year, went into Cowbell Central and came out with a loss. It was one of the worst performances of a dismal season. However, Dan Mullen has them believing in Starkville and they are no slouch, to be honest. I chose the song because it's mean, which is what we need to be in Athens when they come to town. If we hit them in the mouth early, no amount of trick plays and onside kicks will help the other Bulldogs pull out another win. They will have to meet us "eyeball to eyeball" and I don't see us flinching this time. (+1 for another quote)
Game 6: Tennessee
Song: "No More Mr. Nice Guy" by Alice Cooper
Quote: "Nazis. I hate these guys." - Harrison Ford, Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade
Last year, we clobbered Tennessee at home. We brutally murdered their secondary with passes all over the field, ran by their line like they were stuck in the mud and raided their backfield like meth head in a Sudfaed factory. In the first half. My highlight was Da'Rick Rogers getting booed off the field after his one catch for -2 yards. Coach Richt took the foot off the gas and the second half was a punting exhibition. Maybe because it was Derek Dooley on the other side? I don't know. We could have scored 65 at the rate we were going amd I vote that we do so in Knoxville this season. Tennessee is my least favorite team in the SEC (remember, I don't hate anyone). So the quote is a little misguided, but it more or less expresses my sentiments towards the "Looks like somebody barfed Cheetos" Volunteer nation.
Game 7: Vanderbilt
Song: "Once Bitten, Twice Shy" by Great White
Quote: "Only to people he know! He don't be doin that to them fools around the corner!"- Chris Tucker, Friday
Vanderbilt is like Ole Miss, they always play us tough at their place. Heck, in 2003, it was 3-2 at halftime! Seriously. We had a field goal and they had a safety. There were about 30,000 UGA fans and about 3,000 Vandy fans there. The dork in front of me kept remarking how "this is like a baseball game" and giggling like he saw a naked female for the first time. In 2007, we were a fumble away from losing to them and in 2006, at home, we did the unspeakable and let Vandy whip us. I've witnessed two Vandy wins in Athens actually (the other in 1994) and I would liken it to having a root canal while somebody scrapes a fork across an empty plate with John Mayer singing "Why Georgia" over and over. We just play apprehensively and they take full advantage every time. It seems we are the ONLY school that allows this, hence the quote. This is a year of change. Vandy is going to play Red and we will be Deebo, squeaky bike wheel and all. Let's hope their daddy shows up in the Ford Escort to haul their body away.
Game 8: Florida
Song: "Over" by Drake
Quote: "At my signal, unleash Hell." - Russell Crowe, Gladiator
Since 1991, we have basically laid an egg in Jacksonville every year. We play with two left feet, crossed eyes, bad luck and warm butter hands. I can still see Terrence Edwards dropping that wide open pass in 2002. I nearly threw myself into the St. John's River, instead, I invaded the Landing and enjoyed some warm Heineken....mmmmmm. If we played Florida like we play Tennessee or Auburn, this series would not be going this way. Forget moving the game to home and home, we just need to flush the mental toilet and know we can win. Dooley made a career out of stomping Florida, he ruined their season so many times that they lost count. Ask any older UF alum, they freaking hate UGA. I want the hate back! Evil Richt will have our guys ready and we will introduce Will Muschamp to the Benedict Arnold treatment that he deserves. Branden Smith and Boykin will get some special teams TD's and the Gators will fold like a cheap tent....just like their former coach.
Game 9: New Mexico State
Song: "Welcome Back" by John Sebastian (Welcome Back Kotter theme song)
Quote: "Our calvary will ride them down like grass. Send the horse." - British lord, pre-battle, Braveheart
New Mexico State visits us again in Athens. We are glad to have them after such a brutal stretch. Last time I saw them, we unleashed a beating that was culminated by Tony Gilbert nearly killing their quarterback on a blitz that nobody picked up. Their guard literally stepped aside and said, "look out!!" I look for much of the same this year, and by "horse," I mean a heaping helping of Boo Malcolme, Crowell, Bruce Figgins and Zander Ogletree. Zander's brother, Alec, could reproduce Tony Gilbert's sack from his new linebacker position, so we got that going for us, which is nice. (+1 for Caddyshack reference)
Game 10: Auburn
Song: "Got Money" by Lil Wayne
Quote: "Locksley! I'm gonna cut your heart out with a spoon!" -Alan Rickman, Robin Hood : Prince of Thieves
So, the song choice, total cheap shot at Auburn and their impending NCAA violations. Winn Dixie grocery bags full of money in the VIP section? Ha! Try Piggly Wiggly and Cam Newton's house. Nah, I hope it doesn't happen, it cheapens later victories. They can always say, "yeah, but we were on probation..." Last season's game was close in the first half but Auburn blew the doors open in the second. They were clearly the better team. That does NOT alleviate the cheap shots delivered upon our QB by Nick Fairley, who has since moved on to the NFL. So, we have to exact our revenge on their new linemen. Ben Jones and Cordy Glenn, our senior O-Linemen who were party to Fairley's shenanigans last year, are going to road grade us to victory at home. (I really enjoy the Auburn game actually, it's always physical and usually produces some nasty hits)
Game 11: Kentucky
Song: "Heartache Tonight" by the Eagles
Quote: "I got a hockey record, ya know. I tried to stab a guy with my skate once. I'm the only guy to ever do that." - Adam Sandler, Happy Gilmore
The Kentucky Wildcats, the walking question mark. They get new coaches every five minutes. Nobody really knows how they recruit, who they recruit, or where....they just kinda show up to the stadium with 85 guys. I chose the song because they absolutely can scare the bejesus out of you with trick plays, random fast white guys, and a couple of defensive linemen that play with a chip on their shoulder because the bigger teams overlooked them. I chose the quote because they always have one guy who is a complete freak (Tim Couch, Jared Lorenzen, Randall Cobb) and can cook up so many BS plays that somehow work, driving you insane the entire time. I swear they draw their plays in the dirt. I cringe when we play Kentucky.
Game 11: Georgia Tech
Song: "Regulate" by Warren G
Quote: "They're bugs, Wyatt! They say live and let live, well there ain't no live and let live with bugs!" -Bill Paxton, Tombstone
There is no team in the SEC that I hate. None. After the game, we can all hang out, have a drink and enjoy a little trash talk. Not with Tech. I hate them. I hate everything about them: their fans, the school, the campus, the stadium....I hate North Avenue because it touches property owned by Georgia Tech. I have never had a good experience there, although we absolutely have made a mockery of the so-called rivalry. Tech has only won once (fair and square) since 1990. I chose the song mainly for the title, we need to regulate on Tech every chance we get. Maul them into submission and never look back. Some UGA fans think my hate should be placed elsewhere but I counter with this...be at a game when we lose to them. Nothing can prepare you for the unbridled tickle pile that ensues. Ask Jim Donnan how much it matters, it was one of the reasons he was fired. As far as the quote goes, it's self explanatory. To Hell with Tech? I say to Tech with Hell....because I'd rather burn in eternity than associate with that sack of rat guts in cat vomit (+1 for Hook reference) Bangarang.
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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.