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.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
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.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Recap of the Weekend...or Jarvis Jones pays rent in Florida's backfield
Ahhhhhh. My coffee tastes better today. My sausage and eggs tasted like the best 44 oz Porterhouse ever cooked. The birds are chirping, the squirrels are staying off my bird feeder and it ain't all that cold outside. Yes, we have defeated the hated Gators, as yours truly predicted a week ago. Not without its roadblocks, this victory was sweet nonetheless. Sweet because we broke a losing streak. Sweet because Florida's fringe fanbase is unbearable to deal with. Sweet because Mark Richt manned up on fourth down. Sweet because we stuck it to that turncoat, sour grapes, heart attack-in-waiting Will Muschamp. His remarks this week regarding UGA were inexcusable, unforgettable and excellent bulletin board material. Interesting though, Will is now 0-5 as a coach against UGA (he was an assistant at Auburn and LSU). It is just sad to me that a former defensive captain, from Rome freakin' Georgia, could disparage his alma mater in public. So I have a message for you, Will....and I'll put it in terms you can understand.
"&(&(*IHKJKLJSNSSKKSKIJSMJPK<OIIJEMEHHENSP:KOMS"
(that's Tasmanian Devil for "you suck and when Jeremy Foley fires you after the 2012 season and you get a job coaching defensive backs at Slippery Rock University, every bridge into Georgia will be nice and burned for you."
Anyhow, moving along. The first half was the stuff of legend.....if a legend is watching a Twilight marathon with fifteen teenagers, all equipped with Iphones with "Gold Digger" as their ringtone and every hour on the hour, they all scratch a fork across a plate in unison. I could not count how many times I looked at my Dad and said "here we go again." The opening kickoff was taken by Florida and ran straight up the gut to the 50. Luckily, a holding penalty negated it. It would be the only kickoff that went in our favor all day. The first play from scrimmage was a 78 yard pass and run by Jeff Demps, who was luckily only at 90%, so Brandon Boykin was able to haul him in from behind. Gary Danielson reminded us that Jeff Demps was hurt about 3,465 times before the next play from scrimmage took place.
I swear, I thought Gary was going to walk down to the field and propose to Demps on one knee. Verne could be the best man and Chris "Time to Die, Bitch" Rainey could be the ringbearer, since he is about 5'3. They could have honeymooned at the illustrious Adam's Mark hotel in Jacksonville and then lived at Demp's free house in Gainesville.....oh wait, Auburn is in two weeks, my bad.
Then our defense stood up and said "Naw, dawg." They held the vaunted Gator offense to no score, as a limping John Brantley misfired a couple of passes, Rainey dropped one and their replacement kicker booted one about 15 yards wide right. The announcers then made light of the fact that Charlie Weis was in the booth calling the game, rather than on the sidelines. "So he can get a better view of what's working," says Verne. Wrong, Verne, on all accounts. I have it on good authority that Lang's Seafood of Kingsland, Georgia was providing an all you can eat buffet up there. Men of Weisian girth do not miss all you can eat buffets. It just does not happen. When Rainey dropped that pass, he ate 42 popcorn shrimp in one bite. When other assistants cast a judgmental eye, he said "lay off me, I'm starving." (+1 for SNL reference)
A couple of series passed by without event, and then Florida broke the drought with a gutsy 4th and 19 pass play to the end zone, caught by Reed. Our safety completely missed the coverage and stood there like a bump on a pickle as Ogletree, our linebacker, got burned on the mismatch. Weis polishes off two catfish filets and radioes to Muschamp, "Damn Will, they don't have any tartar up here." We get the ball back and end up with a field goal by Walsh. Field goals ain't gonna get it done, we all know that and Mark Richt knows it too. We kick off and Demps takes it on 2, runs to the left hash, and bolts down the sideline untouched for a score. Gary Danielson meets him on the sideline, gets down on one knee with a ring, while five jort wearing trailer trash girls stand behind him and say, "He went to Jared." I pour myself a nice gin and gin, walk into the yard to keep from cussing in front of mom, and stare into the pasture. 17-3 and we are doing nothing on offense. A turnover. Walsh misses the first of two field goals. Our special teams are abominable. I am going to just walk through the barbed wire fence, find the first Brahma bull I see, and kick him squarely in the face. Getting trampled to death by an enraged 2,000 bull could not be worse than watching this.
Just before the half, Florida gets the ball back yet again. I draw up in a knot, imagining the 24-3 that is about to happen, and listening to the "Gator Bait" chant, which rivals "Rocky Top" as the most broken of broken records in the SEC. The defense, as it has done for the last month, holds and forces a punt. We have time for a score. Crowell and company get down to the red zone and bog down. It's 4th down and our maligned field goal kicker stays on the sideline. Richt is going for the touchdown because he knows it is now or never. A season and a career are on the line. Murray takes the snap and heaves it to our freshman receiver Michael "Mighty Whitey" Bennett, who comes down with it for the touchdown. 17-10! Gary Danielson says "we have a new ballgame!" Jeff Demps files for divorce, citing "irreconcilible differences" and sends Gary into a shame spiral. "He's gonna get the house and my 401(k)," Gary says to himself. Charlie Weis drinks hush puppy batter through a straw until security stops him.
The second half WAS stuff of legend...and by legend, I mean Jarvis Jones mutilating Florida's O-line and Richard Samuel manning up in a way that will be talked about for years. We owned Florida in the second half. Todd Grantham now has a half interest in Will Muschamp's house in Gainesville. President Adams set up a bogus research facility in Jeremy Foley's backyard, so he can hide his newest dishwasher that the alumni paid for. Florida gained 26 yards in the second half. Brantley misfired all over the place. They tried Demps in a misdirection at the goal line and he was knocked into December 2009 by Sanders Commings, causing Gary to leave the booth and attempt hari kari on the banks of the St. John's. Jarvis Jones looked at Florida's left tackle, Xavier Nixon, and said "here's my rent" and went to live in Florida's backfield. He abused Nixon so badly that Nixon filed a temporary restraining order in Duval County. Don't worry, Jarvis, I'm going to get Bobby Lee Cook to defend you.
We score again on a 4th down play where Tavarres King outjumped Florida's cornerback and tiptoed in bounds to make it 17-17. We kick off again and Andre Debose gets 10...20...30...40....57 yards to our twenty. As I empty my bottle of gin, I just grit my teeth. I've given up on the kickoff team at this point, they are like a bad dream. It's like dealing with fire ants, you can wipe out nest after nest, but they come back every year. Maybe the defense will hold again. The line allows no running back to get past the line of scrimmage and our secondary has their receivers on lock down. Rainey is limping around because Brandon Boykin rolled him up earlier. Plus, Jarvis Jones's new house gets in Brantley's way when he tries to throw. They settle for a field goal. It's 20-17 but I tell you, I'm feeling good. Charlie is looking for Maalox, it's gotta be the crab cakes.
Crowell has a shin contusion and is sitting this series out, so here comes Richard Samuel. There's eleven minutes to go and everything is on the line. Richard has not had much success running the ball this season, until this night. A fire inside Richard Samuel flickered, went from pilot light to raging inferno, and that man decided that Florida would not stop him. He hit holes harder than Chris Rainey hits his girlfriend. One play told us all we needed to know about Richard Samuel. He plowed over Jon Bostic, Florida's largest linebacker, and stood up, looked to the crowd and did the "Hulk Hogan: I'm about to gorilla press this P.O.S. right here" dance. It was over. The young man from Cass, asked to switch positions three times in his career, maligned by some Dawg fans for running too tentatively, will not be stopped. He scores on a ten yard run where Florida's defenders tripped over each other trying to get out of the way. 24-20 and your truly runs into the yard and stares into the pasture again. I'm gonna kick the bull, but this time, I'm gonna go down swinging.
Florida gets the ball and we hold them again and again. Butler has a couple of really bad punts but it doesn't matter. The Predator, aka Jarvis Jones, flat out destroys Nixon on a fourth down play and sacks Brantley. No, i saw the shoulder gun come out and fry Nixon, I really did. We get the ball yet again, with enough time left to give Florida a chance if we go three and out. Murray trots us out there with Samuel standing alone in the backfield. Handoff to Richard, second down and long. I'm stressed beyond belief. We have to pass in the fourth quarter in Jacksonville. I remember a few passes in Jacksonville in the fourth quarter, some dropped, some intercepted and returned for a touchdown, very few resulting in anything good. Murray takes the snap and heaves the rock to Chris Conley, of Dallas, Georgia. A true freshman. Chris outjumps their corner and comes down with the first down and then some. Conley swaggers to the sideline like a fifth year senior.
Then it was the moment that I will never forget. We are fourth and three around their fifteen and we need a first down to seal the game. There is no hiding what we are doing. Murray hands the ball to Richard, who steamrolls to the one yard line before he is brought down, dragging three Florida defenders to the ground with him. First down and the ballgame is over. Richard is mobbed by his teammates as he limps with a sprained ankle. The crowd goes crazy and players run to the stands, as Richard is helped off the field by medical staff. Although he is hurt, he is smiling. The young man from my hometown, 17 years old when he started at UGA, put the team on his back and willed us to victory. Chills ran down the collective spines of everyone at our party. Tears were in my eyes. In a fitting end, Muschamp barely looks at Richt at the handshake. Richt barely acknowledges him as well. Loosely translated, in Tasmanian Devil, that meant "Richard Samuel just dominated you, I'm going to the locker room to celebrate, be sure to get Charlie some Pepto Bismol because Lang's uses bacon grease to make their biscuits."
Other Highlights:
1) Clemson does their annual choke job and loses to Tech. Dabo Swinney withdraws from the South Carolina governor's race.
2) Texas Tech, after beating Oklahoma last week, loses to Iowa State 41-7. Talk about a hangover, that is like the day after 25 Jagerbombs and you wake up with a hospital bracelet on your wrist and a phone number written in Sharpie on your stomach.
3) Wisconsin loses to Ohio State. It was awesome background noise for my afternoon nap.
Dawgs Homecoming on Saturday. New Mexico State better watch out, or they might have to rename their school: "The Jarvis Jones Center for Concussion Research." Way to sic 'em, Dawgs. And Coach Richt...this doubting Thomas owes you an apology. I am sorry. Good luck next week.
"&(&(*IHKJKLJSNSSKKSKIJSMJPK<OIIJEMEHHENSP:KOMS"
(that's Tasmanian Devil for "you suck and when Jeremy Foley fires you after the 2012 season and you get a job coaching defensive backs at Slippery Rock University, every bridge into Georgia will be nice and burned for you."
Anyhow, moving along. The first half was the stuff of legend.....if a legend is watching a Twilight marathon with fifteen teenagers, all equipped with Iphones with "Gold Digger" as their ringtone and every hour on the hour, they all scratch a fork across a plate in unison. I could not count how many times I looked at my Dad and said "here we go again." The opening kickoff was taken by Florida and ran straight up the gut to the 50. Luckily, a holding penalty negated it. It would be the only kickoff that went in our favor all day. The first play from scrimmage was a 78 yard pass and run by Jeff Demps, who was luckily only at 90%, so Brandon Boykin was able to haul him in from behind. Gary Danielson reminded us that Jeff Demps was hurt about 3,465 times before the next play from scrimmage took place.
I swear, I thought Gary was going to walk down to the field and propose to Demps on one knee. Verne could be the best man and Chris "Time to Die, Bitch" Rainey could be the ringbearer, since he is about 5'3. They could have honeymooned at the illustrious Adam's Mark hotel in Jacksonville and then lived at Demp's free house in Gainesville.....oh wait, Auburn is in two weeks, my bad.
Then our defense stood up and said "Naw, dawg." They held the vaunted Gator offense to no score, as a limping John Brantley misfired a couple of passes, Rainey dropped one and their replacement kicker booted one about 15 yards wide right. The announcers then made light of the fact that Charlie Weis was in the booth calling the game, rather than on the sidelines. "So he can get a better view of what's working," says Verne. Wrong, Verne, on all accounts. I have it on good authority that Lang's Seafood of Kingsland, Georgia was providing an all you can eat buffet up there. Men of Weisian girth do not miss all you can eat buffets. It just does not happen. When Rainey dropped that pass, he ate 42 popcorn shrimp in one bite. When other assistants cast a judgmental eye, he said "lay off me, I'm starving." (+1 for SNL reference)
A couple of series passed by without event, and then Florida broke the drought with a gutsy 4th and 19 pass play to the end zone, caught by Reed. Our safety completely missed the coverage and stood there like a bump on a pickle as Ogletree, our linebacker, got burned on the mismatch. Weis polishes off two catfish filets and radioes to Muschamp, "Damn Will, they don't have any tartar up here." We get the ball back and end up with a field goal by Walsh. Field goals ain't gonna get it done, we all know that and Mark Richt knows it too. We kick off and Demps takes it on 2, runs to the left hash, and bolts down the sideline untouched for a score. Gary Danielson meets him on the sideline, gets down on one knee with a ring, while five jort wearing trailer trash girls stand behind him and say, "He went to Jared." I pour myself a nice gin and gin, walk into the yard to keep from cussing in front of mom, and stare into the pasture. 17-3 and we are doing nothing on offense. A turnover. Walsh misses the first of two field goals. Our special teams are abominable. I am going to just walk through the barbed wire fence, find the first Brahma bull I see, and kick him squarely in the face. Getting trampled to death by an enraged 2,000 bull could not be worse than watching this.
Just before the half, Florida gets the ball back yet again. I draw up in a knot, imagining the 24-3 that is about to happen, and listening to the "Gator Bait" chant, which rivals "Rocky Top" as the most broken of broken records in the SEC. The defense, as it has done for the last month, holds and forces a punt. We have time for a score. Crowell and company get down to the red zone and bog down. It's 4th down and our maligned field goal kicker stays on the sideline. Richt is going for the touchdown because he knows it is now or never. A season and a career are on the line. Murray takes the snap and heaves it to our freshman receiver Michael "Mighty Whitey" Bennett, who comes down with it for the touchdown. 17-10! Gary Danielson says "we have a new ballgame!" Jeff Demps files for divorce, citing "irreconcilible differences" and sends Gary into a shame spiral. "He's gonna get the house and my 401(k)," Gary says to himself. Charlie Weis drinks hush puppy batter through a straw until security stops him.
The second half WAS stuff of legend...and by legend, I mean Jarvis Jones mutilating Florida's O-line and Richard Samuel manning up in a way that will be talked about for years. We owned Florida in the second half. Todd Grantham now has a half interest in Will Muschamp's house in Gainesville. President Adams set up a bogus research facility in Jeremy Foley's backyard, so he can hide his newest dishwasher that the alumni paid for. Florida gained 26 yards in the second half. Brantley misfired all over the place. They tried Demps in a misdirection at the goal line and he was knocked into December 2009 by Sanders Commings, causing Gary to leave the booth and attempt hari kari on the banks of the St. John's. Jarvis Jones looked at Florida's left tackle, Xavier Nixon, and said "here's my rent" and went to live in Florida's backfield. He abused Nixon so badly that Nixon filed a temporary restraining order in Duval County. Don't worry, Jarvis, I'm going to get Bobby Lee Cook to defend you.
We score again on a 4th down play where Tavarres King outjumped Florida's cornerback and tiptoed in bounds to make it 17-17. We kick off again and Andre Debose gets 10...20...30...40....57 yards to our twenty. As I empty my bottle of gin, I just grit my teeth. I've given up on the kickoff team at this point, they are like a bad dream. It's like dealing with fire ants, you can wipe out nest after nest, but they come back every year. Maybe the defense will hold again. The line allows no running back to get past the line of scrimmage and our secondary has their receivers on lock down. Rainey is limping around because Brandon Boykin rolled him up earlier. Plus, Jarvis Jones's new house gets in Brantley's way when he tries to throw. They settle for a field goal. It's 20-17 but I tell you, I'm feeling good. Charlie is looking for Maalox, it's gotta be the crab cakes.
Crowell has a shin contusion and is sitting this series out, so here comes Richard Samuel. There's eleven minutes to go and everything is on the line. Richard has not had much success running the ball this season, until this night. A fire inside Richard Samuel flickered, went from pilot light to raging inferno, and that man decided that Florida would not stop him. He hit holes harder than Chris Rainey hits his girlfriend. One play told us all we needed to know about Richard Samuel. He plowed over Jon Bostic, Florida's largest linebacker, and stood up, looked to the crowd and did the "Hulk Hogan: I'm about to gorilla press this P.O.S. right here" dance. It was over. The young man from Cass, asked to switch positions three times in his career, maligned by some Dawg fans for running too tentatively, will not be stopped. He scores on a ten yard run where Florida's defenders tripped over each other trying to get out of the way. 24-20 and your truly runs into the yard and stares into the pasture again. I'm gonna kick the bull, but this time, I'm gonna go down swinging.
Florida gets the ball and we hold them again and again. Butler has a couple of really bad punts but it doesn't matter. The Predator, aka Jarvis Jones, flat out destroys Nixon on a fourth down play and sacks Brantley. No, i saw the shoulder gun come out and fry Nixon, I really did. We get the ball yet again, with enough time left to give Florida a chance if we go three and out. Murray trots us out there with Samuel standing alone in the backfield. Handoff to Richard, second down and long. I'm stressed beyond belief. We have to pass in the fourth quarter in Jacksonville. I remember a few passes in Jacksonville in the fourth quarter, some dropped, some intercepted and returned for a touchdown, very few resulting in anything good. Murray takes the snap and heaves the rock to Chris Conley, of Dallas, Georgia. A true freshman. Chris outjumps their corner and comes down with the first down and then some. Conley swaggers to the sideline like a fifth year senior.
Then it was the moment that I will never forget. We are fourth and three around their fifteen and we need a first down to seal the game. There is no hiding what we are doing. Murray hands the ball to Richard, who steamrolls to the one yard line before he is brought down, dragging three Florida defenders to the ground with him. First down and the ballgame is over. Richard is mobbed by his teammates as he limps with a sprained ankle. The crowd goes crazy and players run to the stands, as Richard is helped off the field by medical staff. Although he is hurt, he is smiling. The young man from my hometown, 17 years old when he started at UGA, put the team on his back and willed us to victory. Chills ran down the collective spines of everyone at our party. Tears were in my eyes. In a fitting end, Muschamp barely looks at Richt at the handshake. Richt barely acknowledges him as well. Loosely translated, in Tasmanian Devil, that meant "Richard Samuel just dominated you, I'm going to the locker room to celebrate, be sure to get Charlie some Pepto Bismol because Lang's uses bacon grease to make their biscuits."
Other Highlights:
1) Clemson does their annual choke job and loses to Tech. Dabo Swinney withdraws from the South Carolina governor's race.
2) Texas Tech, after beating Oklahoma last week, loses to Iowa State 41-7. Talk about a hangover, that is like the day after 25 Jagerbombs and you wake up with a hospital bracelet on your wrist and a phone number written in Sharpie on your stomach.
3) Wisconsin loses to Ohio State. It was awesome background noise for my afternoon nap.
Dawgs Homecoming on Saturday. New Mexico State better watch out, or they might have to rename their school: "The Jarvis Jones Center for Concussion Research." Way to sic 'em, Dawgs. And Coach Richt...this doubting Thomas owes you an apology. I am sorry. Good luck next week.
Monday, October 24, 2011
Recap of the Weekend....Getting by on the bye week
So, the Dawgs were off on Saturday. As were the Gators. And the Gamecocks. Kentucky played Jacksonville State and Vandy played Army. The SEC East was quieter than my radio when I hear post 2001 Kenny Chesney song come on. The only team to tee it up was Tennessee, who played a tune up game with Alabama, and was promptly destroyed 37-6. They played Alabama close for a half, simply on adrenaline/hatred, and then the Tide woke up and the rout was on. I saw Saban's face as they ran into the locker room at halftime and I knew it was over. He looked like Robert Patrick in Terminator 2: Judgment Day and Tennessee was John Connor, except he gets caught this time and the Terminator makes mincemeat out of him. I swear, after the game ended, I saw Saban's arm morph into a sword and then back to an arm again.
Speaking of mincemeat, Auburn was turned into Spam by LSU on Saturday. There was a five minute interval where LSU scored 21 points, delivered two devastating hits on kickoffs, caused and recovered a fumble, and made Gene Chizik suddenly realize that he needed another $180,000 and possibly a hand grenade to have a prayer in this game. Alas, it was not to be. It turned out to be a snoozefest and poor Vern and Gary had to invent topics to discuss as they painfully watched the game end. I was fully expecting a "What is Britney doing with her life?" comment. LSU and Alabama are head and shoulders above the rest of us, and the November 5th game is shaping up to be epic.
I spent my weekend in Franklin, North Carolina. What a beautiful town and the western North Carolina mountains are something to see in the Fall. I went to Franklin's annual Pumpkin/Halloween festival on Saturday, which was awesome for people watching. There was banjo picking, funnel cakes at every corner and some of the local high schoolers did the "Thriller Dance" in the town square. It was disturbing to see so many Tennessee and Florida fans roaming about, though. They were EVERYWHERE. I understood the Tennessee contingent, as Franklin is a stone's throw from the Tennessee line. But Florida? After asking around, I found out that Franklin is a summer destination for snowbirds who live in Florida for half the year and then escape the heat in the mountains. A bunch of old Yankees, with skin like a Naugahyde couch, in their most loud blue and orange. Tennessee people in their loudest, Cheetos orange garb. I thought it uncanny, however, that somehow all of these people got together and decided to be hick trash for Halloween. It's amazing how the human spirit works, it really is.
I love rural North Carolina though. It is the quintessential South. Mountains, barbeque, moonshine, farms and roads called "Leon Caldwell Avenue" or "Burnt Church Road." Rural areas do not have subdivisions called "Rolling Meadows" or "Whispering Springs." They name their roads after people or events, which I love. Drive through Eastern Cobb County, Georgia. Once you navigate through the strip malls and the red lights, you will get to the residential areas. They have all these ridiculous names that seem to imply that you could possibly be in Italy or on some mountainside in the Rockies. Nope. I guess the names make the residents happy.
"Where do you guys live?"
"Rolling River Estates."
"Ooooooh, that sounds nice. I bet your Publix is really awesome."
I live in Cobb and I say this with all confidence: It is a rule that in suburban Atlanta, you must have a Publix every 500 yards. And a Starbucks (which I dig). However, it's so unbelievably homogeneous and uninspiring, kind of like a Georgia Tech football game. (who got spanked by Miami this weekend, which caused yours truly to blissfully consume three racks of ribs from Rib Country)
So, what are the rules for rural areas? We sure did not have a Publix. Or red lights. Or Starbucks. Honestly, there are not many rules for us. We are not homogeneous. Take Cassville for example (disclaimer: yes, I know we have subdivisions now). We had one store, lots of barbed wire fence, roads named after families and areas, one cemetery, three churches, a post office and a fire station. We had a county dumpster close by (with a spraypainted sign that said "No Dumpster Diving" of course) and we had several trailer parks, which is a given down here. There is also a rule that everyone must grow at least one tomato plant, at least one family member must actually like turnip greens and of course, everybody is at least 1/32 Cherokee.
Franklin was much bigger but it still had that small town feel. The only problem was the lack of a Waffle House. They had Huddle House. I committed sacrilege and actually ate there. When I asked for ketchup and the waitress handed me a bottle of Hunt's, I just looked to the sky and said "Be not far from me O Lord, O my strength, haste thee to help me." (+1 for Saving Private Ryan reference) (this is one of the prayers that Barry Pepper uttered before he smoked a Nazi during the Normandy landing) Hunt's ketchup is like going to the beach for vacation and it rains every day. If they served Pepsi, I would have gone bulimic in the bathroom and just bailed.
There is one constant in small towns and that is the local nut. The guy that everybody knows and understands that there is SOMETHING wrong with him, but nobody is quite sure what. It may be physical or mental, but he just can't get right. (+1 for Life reference) We had several over the years, including one man who was about 6'8. He used to roam around Cassville in the 60's and 70's and refused to cross Highway 41 on foot so he would crawl through a drainage ditch that ran under the highway. He would do work on people's farms for money and then spend it all on candy. Once, he was told to dig post holes for a new pasture that was being prepared. The farmer, a relative of mine, unfortunately did not inform him of exactly how many post holes he needed, so when he returned at the end of the day, he found the man in a 15 foot post hole, still digging. He would go around town at Christmas and everybody always had a gift for him and my grandmother used to cook him an entire pot of grits, which he would consume on their doorstep with all his presents scattered around. We had another guy for about ten years that wore a Santa Claus outfit and carried around a bucket everywhere he went. I never knew his name and I never looked in that bucket. Then there was another man who would walk between Cassville and White daily, muttering to himself. I would see him at the Waffle House from time to time, bumming cigarettes from customers and occasionally affording a cup of coffee. The list goes on and on, so maybe Cassville had nut(s) plural, but at least we were original.
Then of course, you had the meth addicts. They were less endearing than the crazies, but they were entertaining just the same. There was one lady who was hooked on meth that used to come in the store and want ice cream and candy at 6 AM. She had the telltale scabs on her arms and face, the rotting teeth and the faraway look. I was pretty young back then and I asked my Dad what was wrong with her, he said, "my first thought would be....a lot." (+1 for ConAir reference) She would buy 2-3 Snickers bars and plow through them on the bench and then walk back home. One day, she just started walking down the double yellow line on Cassville Road in traffic, singing "Seventeen" by Stevie Nicks. I just walked out there and escorted her home, and she never broke stride, "just like the one winged dooooove!"
Other Highlights:
1) Wisconsin lost to Michigan State on a Hail Mary pass with 0:00 left on the clock. That's one more undefeated team down and the second time in my life that I did not use a Big Ten game for background noise as I napped.
2) A Franklin resident had a tractor parked out in front of his pasture with a plywood sign that said "Mahindra Tractors = JUNK" The offending tractor was disassembled and had birds nesting on it. Mahindra is located in Mumbai, India. Indian tractors? What's next? Cream of Wheat in the Waffle House? Forgettaboutit.
3) Occupy Atlanta is upon us. Since I am apolitical, I will not launch into a tirade about what a massive waste of time this liberal, pinko nonsense really is. Get a job, Democrats! =) (if you do not realize that I am joking, my brother will come by and hit you in the head with a tack hammer, because you're a retard) (+1 for Tommy Boy reference)
4) Booked another trip to NYC, which means three things....cocktails, pizza, cannolis, steak, Broadway, the NBA store, Mickey Mantle's, the 21 Club, Central Park, Katz's Deli, Gramercy Park Hotel, Beacon Theater, McSorley's, Sabrett hot dogs at 4 AM, and Little Italy manicotti with a Peroni to wash it down. (I'm using Otis Nixon arithmetic here)
5) The NBA owners and players union met for 16 hours straight to try and resolve this lockout. Nothing was accomplished. Guys are talking about starting their own League and more and more are going overseas. In 16 hours, I could have eaten five steaks, watched three football games, juggled my fantasy team, written 10 blogs, ran a mile and worked on my deadlift personal record. Just sayin.
It's Georgia - Florida week, or as I've come to call it, Halloween. I'm not saying it's the biggest game of the year, I'm saying it's the most pivotal. If we lay an egg down there again, look for Richt to be gone after the Tech game. If we pull it off and somehow beat Auburn and Tech, then we will likely meet LSU/Bama in the Georgia Dome. Then we will need Lady Luck, Erk Russell, Jesus, George Patton, Chuck Norris, the ghost army from The Return of the King, and a big game from Crowell to pull that one off. I've been on the horn all week with Chuck Norris, so stay tuned. Have a great week.
Speaking of mincemeat, Auburn was turned into Spam by LSU on Saturday. There was a five minute interval where LSU scored 21 points, delivered two devastating hits on kickoffs, caused and recovered a fumble, and made Gene Chizik suddenly realize that he needed another $180,000 and possibly a hand grenade to have a prayer in this game. Alas, it was not to be. It turned out to be a snoozefest and poor Vern and Gary had to invent topics to discuss as they painfully watched the game end. I was fully expecting a "What is Britney doing with her life?" comment. LSU and Alabama are head and shoulders above the rest of us, and the November 5th game is shaping up to be epic.
I spent my weekend in Franklin, North Carolina. What a beautiful town and the western North Carolina mountains are something to see in the Fall. I went to Franklin's annual Pumpkin/Halloween festival on Saturday, which was awesome for people watching. There was banjo picking, funnel cakes at every corner and some of the local high schoolers did the "Thriller Dance" in the town square. It was disturbing to see so many Tennessee and Florida fans roaming about, though. They were EVERYWHERE. I understood the Tennessee contingent, as Franklin is a stone's throw from the Tennessee line. But Florida? After asking around, I found out that Franklin is a summer destination for snowbirds who live in Florida for half the year and then escape the heat in the mountains. A bunch of old Yankees, with skin like a Naugahyde couch, in their most loud blue and orange. Tennessee people in their loudest, Cheetos orange garb. I thought it uncanny, however, that somehow all of these people got together and decided to be hick trash for Halloween. It's amazing how the human spirit works, it really is.
I love rural North Carolina though. It is the quintessential South. Mountains, barbeque, moonshine, farms and roads called "Leon Caldwell Avenue" or "Burnt Church Road." Rural areas do not have subdivisions called "Rolling Meadows" or "Whispering Springs." They name their roads after people or events, which I love. Drive through Eastern Cobb County, Georgia. Once you navigate through the strip malls and the red lights, you will get to the residential areas. They have all these ridiculous names that seem to imply that you could possibly be in Italy or on some mountainside in the Rockies. Nope. I guess the names make the residents happy.
"Where do you guys live?"
"Rolling River Estates."
"Ooooooh, that sounds nice. I bet your Publix is really awesome."
I live in Cobb and I say this with all confidence: It is a rule that in suburban Atlanta, you must have a Publix every 500 yards. And a Starbucks (which I dig). However, it's so unbelievably homogeneous and uninspiring, kind of like a Georgia Tech football game. (who got spanked by Miami this weekend, which caused yours truly to blissfully consume three racks of ribs from Rib Country)
So, what are the rules for rural areas? We sure did not have a Publix. Or red lights. Or Starbucks. Honestly, there are not many rules for us. We are not homogeneous. Take Cassville for example (disclaimer: yes, I know we have subdivisions now). We had one store, lots of barbed wire fence, roads named after families and areas, one cemetery, three churches, a post office and a fire station. We had a county dumpster close by (with a spraypainted sign that said "No Dumpster Diving" of course) and we had several trailer parks, which is a given down here. There is also a rule that everyone must grow at least one tomato plant, at least one family member must actually like turnip greens and of course, everybody is at least 1/32 Cherokee.
Franklin was much bigger but it still had that small town feel. The only problem was the lack of a Waffle House. They had Huddle House. I committed sacrilege and actually ate there. When I asked for ketchup and the waitress handed me a bottle of Hunt's, I just looked to the sky and said "Be not far from me O Lord, O my strength, haste thee to help me." (+1 for Saving Private Ryan reference) (this is one of the prayers that Barry Pepper uttered before he smoked a Nazi during the Normandy landing) Hunt's ketchup is like going to the beach for vacation and it rains every day. If they served Pepsi, I would have gone bulimic in the bathroom and just bailed.
There is one constant in small towns and that is the local nut. The guy that everybody knows and understands that there is SOMETHING wrong with him, but nobody is quite sure what. It may be physical or mental, but he just can't get right. (+1 for Life reference) We had several over the years, including one man who was about 6'8. He used to roam around Cassville in the 60's and 70's and refused to cross Highway 41 on foot so he would crawl through a drainage ditch that ran under the highway. He would do work on people's farms for money and then spend it all on candy. Once, he was told to dig post holes for a new pasture that was being prepared. The farmer, a relative of mine, unfortunately did not inform him of exactly how many post holes he needed, so when he returned at the end of the day, he found the man in a 15 foot post hole, still digging. He would go around town at Christmas and everybody always had a gift for him and my grandmother used to cook him an entire pot of grits, which he would consume on their doorstep with all his presents scattered around. We had another guy for about ten years that wore a Santa Claus outfit and carried around a bucket everywhere he went. I never knew his name and I never looked in that bucket. Then there was another man who would walk between Cassville and White daily, muttering to himself. I would see him at the Waffle House from time to time, bumming cigarettes from customers and occasionally affording a cup of coffee. The list goes on and on, so maybe Cassville had nut(s) plural, but at least we were original.
Then of course, you had the meth addicts. They were less endearing than the crazies, but they were entertaining just the same. There was one lady who was hooked on meth that used to come in the store and want ice cream and candy at 6 AM. She had the telltale scabs on her arms and face, the rotting teeth and the faraway look. I was pretty young back then and I asked my Dad what was wrong with her, he said, "my first thought would be....a lot." (+1 for ConAir reference) She would buy 2-3 Snickers bars and plow through them on the bench and then walk back home. One day, she just started walking down the double yellow line on Cassville Road in traffic, singing "Seventeen" by Stevie Nicks. I just walked out there and escorted her home, and she never broke stride, "just like the one winged dooooove!"
Other Highlights:
1) Wisconsin lost to Michigan State on a Hail Mary pass with 0:00 left on the clock. That's one more undefeated team down and the second time in my life that I did not use a Big Ten game for background noise as I napped.
2) A Franklin resident had a tractor parked out in front of his pasture with a plywood sign that said "Mahindra Tractors = JUNK" The offending tractor was disassembled and had birds nesting on it. Mahindra is located in Mumbai, India. Indian tractors? What's next? Cream of Wheat in the Waffle House? Forgettaboutit.
3) Occupy Atlanta is upon us. Since I am apolitical, I will not launch into a tirade about what a massive waste of time this liberal, pinko nonsense really is. Get a job, Democrats! =) (if you do not realize that I am joking, my brother will come by and hit you in the head with a tack hammer, because you're a retard) (+1 for Tommy Boy reference)
4) Booked another trip to NYC, which means three things....cocktails, pizza, cannolis, steak, Broadway, the NBA store, Mickey Mantle's, the 21 Club, Central Park, Katz's Deli, Gramercy Park Hotel, Beacon Theater, McSorley's, Sabrett hot dogs at 4 AM, and Little Italy manicotti with a Peroni to wash it down. (I'm using Otis Nixon arithmetic here)
5) The NBA owners and players union met for 16 hours straight to try and resolve this lockout. Nothing was accomplished. Guys are talking about starting their own League and more and more are going overseas. In 16 hours, I could have eaten five steaks, watched three football games, juggled my fantasy team, written 10 blogs, ran a mile and worked on my deadlift personal record. Just sayin.
It's Georgia - Florida week, or as I've come to call it, Halloween. I'm not saying it's the biggest game of the year, I'm saying it's the most pivotal. If we lay an egg down there again, look for Richt to be gone after the Tech game. If we pull it off and somehow beat Auburn and Tech, then we will likely meet LSU/Bama in the Georgia Dome. Then we will need Lady Luck, Erk Russell, Jesus, George Patton, Chuck Norris, the ghost army from The Return of the King, and a big game from Crowell to pull that one off. I've been on the horn all week with Chuck Norris, so stay tuned. Have a great week.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Professional Sports: In a state of flux....capacitor.
Flash back to 1989. It's October, and the World Series is between Oakland and San Francisco. The Bay Bridge Series. The Bash Brothers. Will the Thrill. Jose Uribe. Brett Butler. Walt Weiss. Dennis Eckersley's mustache. All were in place for a great series between two teams that had little trouble dispatching their opponents in their respective League Championship Series. Although the Series was marked by an earthquake and domination by the A's (swept the Giants 4-0 and it was never in doubt), it was this baseball fan's dream. I watched every game, owned every single player's trading card (Topps, Fleer, Upper Deck, Bowman....I hoarded them) and knew the stats and hometown of every guy on the field. This was nothing new, as I was religious about sports back then. The NBA Finals and The Super Bowl were no different. I cried when the Pistons won the Finals in '88'- and '89 because I hated Laimbeer so much. I watched Joe Montana connect with Jerry Rice again and again in the '90 Super Bowl, slaughtering the Broncos 55-10. From 1987-1997, you could not keep me away from it. Emmitt and the Cowboys smacking the Bills down 52-17. The 1990 Reds who somehow pulled out a World Series win over the heavily favored A's. Jordan and the Bulls over the Blazers in 1992 and the Suns in 1993. Nique windmill slamming in the old Omni. Aaaah, the good ol days.
Then something happened. A disturbance in the Force (+6 for Star Wars reference, since I'm sure it was said in all of them) occurred.
**Sidenote: Sir Alec Guinness (Obi Wan Kenobi) has one of the all time greatest lines in the first Star Wars. He, Luke, C3PO and R2D2 are standing on a hill above Mos Eisley, where they first meet Han Solo. Kenobi says aloud to the group, "Mos Eisley spaceport...you will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy. We must be cautious." I swear I heard somebody say this when I was passing through Acworth once....or was it Jonesboro?
Sorry for the digression. Anyhow, I got older and more conscious about my surroundings. I watched too much TV, logged on to Prodigy (remember Prodigy? 37 seconds to connect. Woohooo.) and learned too much about the personal lives of the players. Heroes retired. Steroids. Lockouts and strikes. Contract disputes. Voila....I was done. It was not a one day decision where I just decided to stop caring, it just sort of faded away, like the graduation rates from my high school. The information age completely annihilated my interest in professional sports. Sounds oxymoronic, right? Wrong. Ignorance is bliss when it comes to other's lives. Of this, I am certain.
Do I really need to know that Jordan gambled on golf? Or the fact that Mickey Mantle drank constantly, or Jerry Rice said a cuss word in an interview three years ago? Hell no. I don't care. Do we need to be inundated with talking heads discussing everything from T.O.'s newest "hey, look at me!" antics to Ozzie Guillen's latest tirade? No. It does not matter. Derek Jeter may be a womanizer, or not. He may drink a lot, carouse with multiple women and vote for Rick Perry. It had no bearing on his unbelievable putout of Jeremy Giambi in 2001. It had no bearing on his 3,000th hit. Nor did it effect the numerous World Series rings that now adorn his fingers.
I bought into all that nonsense, though. I even lost interest in the NBA for awhile. I stopped collecting cards, my posters came off the walls, my stat memorizations ended. Jordan was gone. Nique was gone. Instead of seeing Allen Iverson the player, I saw "hey, there's the guy who hates practice, maybe beats his girlfriend sometimes and can't get along with his coaches." I didn't see the unbelievable ability. I didn't see the toughness, where he charged into the lane against bigger men and played hurt. I thought of all the talk shows, the breaking news stories and the internet fodder. Yeah, he may not be the best guy in the world. He may have domestic problems. But at the end of the day, I should have just enjoyed watching him and now he's gone.
I miss the old days. Where sports news was reported without the personal diatribes, the character flaws meaning more than home runs or touchdowns, and the words of non-competitors carrying more weight than the competitors. Going back to Mickey Mantle, when I was a kid, he was all my Dad ever talked about when it came to baseball. I believed the 1961 Yankees were the greatest baseball team ever. (I still do, but it's a dead heat with the '98 Yankees and the '27 Yankees, all things considered) Dad never mentioned the drinking, the carousing, and the self destructive behavior. It was known back then, but not reported, or at least not to the magnitude of today's media. People left them alone. Heck, Mickey used to walk to Yankee Stadium before games. If they got in a bar fight the night before, so what? If he hit three home runs to beat Cleveland, the Bronx was happy. He could go home and get cussed out by his wife later, it was of no concern to the Pinstriped fanbase. Obviously, the Mick did just fine in his career, as did many of those Yankee players, who were just as wild as he. If they existed now, they would be demonized and picked apart by everyone. (Don't read the newest Mantle book called "The Last Boy," it focuses on his personal life and his shortcomings much more than his baseball career)
So, I've decided to get in my DeLorean (aka my 1997 Ford Ranger from high school) get to 88 miles per hour and go back in time. Back when I did not know about the athletes, I just enjoyed their accomplishments. Like Sir Charles once said, "I am not a role model." He was crucified for this statement, but I could not agree more. He was a fallible man playing a kid's game for millions of dollars. He is not there to teach life lessons, he is there to win and make money (in no particular order, but Charles did plenty of both). I am there to witness these events, not to analyze his political beliefs and his rap sheet. I watched every NBA game I could this season. I watch the NFL and MLB again. I'm talking smack to my friend Vinny about the Red Sox choking away the wild card. Why? Because I care. Yankees vs. Red Sox is a bitter rivalry and a monumental disaster like that one cannot go unmentioned. I'm not focusing on the contract problems, who is whining about their pay, who got drunk in the 6th inning, nor am I listening to the talking heads issue their opinions about post game interviews and such. I'm getting behind my teams. I'm enjoying every touchdown, every dunk and every home run again.
I'm back where Shawn Kemp just has a high top fade and a 45 inch vertical. And it's so nice to be back.
Then something happened. A disturbance in the Force (+6 for Star Wars reference, since I'm sure it was said in all of them) occurred.
**Sidenote: Sir Alec Guinness (Obi Wan Kenobi) has one of the all time greatest lines in the first Star Wars. He, Luke, C3PO and R2D2 are standing on a hill above Mos Eisley, where they first meet Han Solo. Kenobi says aloud to the group, "Mos Eisley spaceport...you will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy. We must be cautious." I swear I heard somebody say this when I was passing through Acworth once....or was it Jonesboro?
Sorry for the digression. Anyhow, I got older and more conscious about my surroundings. I watched too much TV, logged on to Prodigy (remember Prodigy? 37 seconds to connect. Woohooo.) and learned too much about the personal lives of the players. Heroes retired. Steroids. Lockouts and strikes. Contract disputes. Voila....I was done. It was not a one day decision where I just decided to stop caring, it just sort of faded away, like the graduation rates from my high school. The information age completely annihilated my interest in professional sports. Sounds oxymoronic, right? Wrong. Ignorance is bliss when it comes to other's lives. Of this, I am certain.
Do I really need to know that Jordan gambled on golf? Or the fact that Mickey Mantle drank constantly, or Jerry Rice said a cuss word in an interview three years ago? Hell no. I don't care. Do we need to be inundated with talking heads discussing everything from T.O.'s newest "hey, look at me!" antics to Ozzie Guillen's latest tirade? No. It does not matter. Derek Jeter may be a womanizer, or not. He may drink a lot, carouse with multiple women and vote for Rick Perry. It had no bearing on his unbelievable putout of Jeremy Giambi in 2001. It had no bearing on his 3,000th hit. Nor did it effect the numerous World Series rings that now adorn his fingers.
I bought into all that nonsense, though. I even lost interest in the NBA for awhile. I stopped collecting cards, my posters came off the walls, my stat memorizations ended. Jordan was gone. Nique was gone. Instead of seeing Allen Iverson the player, I saw "hey, there's the guy who hates practice, maybe beats his girlfriend sometimes and can't get along with his coaches." I didn't see the unbelievable ability. I didn't see the toughness, where he charged into the lane against bigger men and played hurt. I thought of all the talk shows, the breaking news stories and the internet fodder. Yeah, he may not be the best guy in the world. He may have domestic problems. But at the end of the day, I should have just enjoyed watching him and now he's gone.
I miss the old days. Where sports news was reported without the personal diatribes, the character flaws meaning more than home runs or touchdowns, and the words of non-competitors carrying more weight than the competitors. Going back to Mickey Mantle, when I was a kid, he was all my Dad ever talked about when it came to baseball. I believed the 1961 Yankees were the greatest baseball team ever. (I still do, but it's a dead heat with the '98 Yankees and the '27 Yankees, all things considered) Dad never mentioned the drinking, the carousing, and the self destructive behavior. It was known back then, but not reported, or at least not to the magnitude of today's media. People left them alone. Heck, Mickey used to walk to Yankee Stadium before games. If they got in a bar fight the night before, so what? If he hit three home runs to beat Cleveland, the Bronx was happy. He could go home and get cussed out by his wife later, it was of no concern to the Pinstriped fanbase. Obviously, the Mick did just fine in his career, as did many of those Yankee players, who were just as wild as he. If they existed now, they would be demonized and picked apart by everyone. (Don't read the newest Mantle book called "The Last Boy," it focuses on his personal life and his shortcomings much more than his baseball career)
So, I've decided to get in my DeLorean (aka my 1997 Ford Ranger from high school) get to 88 miles per hour and go back in time. Back when I did not know about the athletes, I just enjoyed their accomplishments. Like Sir Charles once said, "I am not a role model." He was crucified for this statement, but I could not agree more. He was a fallible man playing a kid's game for millions of dollars. He is not there to teach life lessons, he is there to win and make money (in no particular order, but Charles did plenty of both). I am there to witness these events, not to analyze his political beliefs and his rap sheet. I watched every NBA game I could this season. I watch the NFL and MLB again. I'm talking smack to my friend Vinny about the Red Sox choking away the wild card. Why? Because I care. Yankees vs. Red Sox is a bitter rivalry and a monumental disaster like that one cannot go unmentioned. I'm not focusing on the contract problems, who is whining about their pay, who got drunk in the 6th inning, nor am I listening to the talking heads issue their opinions about post game interviews and such. I'm getting behind my teams. I'm enjoying every touchdown, every dunk and every home run again.
I'm back where Shawn Kemp just has a high top fade and a 45 inch vertical. And it's so nice to be back.
Monday, October 17, 2011
Recap of the Weekend...or 5-2 feels like flat Coke and cheap whiskey
Mental taxation. That is the phrase I use to describe the debauched, uninspired, perplexing and fallacious game that the Georgia Bulldogs played on Saturday. Notice I did not say "Dawgs." They don't deserve the moniker "Dawgs." There was nothing junkyard about this game, it just belonged in one. We have laid some eggs in Nashville, of this there is no doubt, but this one was a whole dozen of eggs. Big, brown, organic eggs for you Paleo dieters out there. I rank this game up there with our 2006 and 1994 losses to Vandy. Yes, we won on the scoreboard on Satruday and that's all that really matters....but we lost everywhere else.
There is very little worth mentioning about this game. Bobo called lateral runs all night long, our top RB sat out the first quarter because Coach "loves him" (whatever that means), and the O-line was marginal at best. The lone bright spots were receivers Marlon Brown and Michael Bennett, who flourished in the absence of Malcolm Mitchell. The defense was at its most porous, giving up over 200 yards rushing to an offense that was held to 4 yards rushing by Alabama and 41 yards rushing by South Carolina. When they flashed that particular statistic across the screen, I went in my house, grabbed my blender, filled it with rubbing alcohol, stuck my hand in there and hit puree. I thought my Dad was going to eat one of my holly bushes. Vinny dipped a log of Copenhagen in 12 minutes, Jeremy bit his Miller Lite bottle in half and Laura opened a third bottle of wine and said "this is a really dry red, don't you think?" If by "dry red" you mean some of the worst football of the season, then you got it. A whole case of it. Playing on this wine metaphor further, we drank it all night, got hammered, drunk texted our old flame with an "I loooooove you akhasansshf" then puked in the yard while Vandy, playing the part of the bitchy sorority sister, refused to hold our hair back.
Our special teams gets a paragraph all on their own. The hat trick of special teams futility was achieved on this day. First, it was yet....another....fake.....&*^%&.....punt that was successful against us. In fact, nobody was even close to the Vandy player who recieved the ball. He could have sat down, finished his 2011 taxes and still gotten the first down. Another preposterous failure by a squad that is rife with preposterous failures. Second, we have a kickoff run back on us. I think one guy's fingernail scratched his sock on the 30 as he blew by us. Unacceptable. Third and finally, with less than a minute to go, we allow Vandy to block a punt that put them in a position to beat us. Hell, if the Vandy player had just picked up the ball and kept running, game over...Vandy wins. Mmmmmm, that dry red is going down smooth at this point. Pour me a freaking highball and a chaser. Fortunately, the defense held and we got out of there with a win. A fitting end to a boring, frustrating and downright piss poor game. Oh yeah, we attempted SIX field goals, and missed two of them. Ugh, I'm going to stop before I drown myself in a urinal.
The post game shenanigans were quiet entertaining, however. Apparently, Vandy's head coach James Franklin took exception to the fact that Shawn Williams, one of our defensive players who actually pulled his weight, was excited about the victory. He said some choice words to Shawn and our DC, Todd Grantham, did his best Lou Ferrigno impression, turned green and launched into James Franklin like Charlie Weis at a Chinese buffet. If you get a chance, Youtube the melee and read Grantham's lips. It's like the first 15 minutes of Full Metal Jacket. The two teams and coaches gathered, some shoves were passed around but eventually calm was restored. Our guys started hooping and hollering, motioning for our fans to cheer...in Nashville, against Vandy.....our newest rival. And that's where we lose. No longer are we mentioned among the elite. We are an afterthought. We are the Smashing Pumpkins, with our very own Billy Corgan. We were good for awhile but now, everybody asks, "what the hell happened to Georgia?" Instead of drugs and inexplicable weirdness, we are a product of complacency, of a lack of desire and an overall poor approach to the game of football. We are resorted to hoping for a Carolina loss (which I NEVER thought could happen in my lifetime) and hoping that John Brantley's faulty ankle is not healed in time for the Cocktail Party. This is not the Georgia I grew up loving.
Not to mention, even if we do win the East, we play the winner of the November 5th tilt between Alabama and LSU, which may as well be the National Championship. These two teams are head and shoulders better than anyone in the East.....Coast. And the West Coast. If we play either of these teams, we will certainly be destroyed. This makes me sad, because people used to fear us. Now, we fear everybody else. Case in point:
Ole Miss scores early on a long bomb make it 7-0 over Alabama. Oxford goes crazy. Airplane bottles of Southern Comfort are outright chugged in the stands. Guys named Butler Browning IV and Harrison Handsberg III steal a Land Rover and crash it into Archie Manning's statue. "We have a chance!" the Rebels say. Then Trent Richardson walks onto the field and says, "I must break you," and proceeds to annhilate their defense all day long and the final was 51-7. (+1 for Rocky IV reference) We barely beat Ole Miss and looked positively anemic all day.
Tennessee holds LSU scoreless for the first quarter. The orange faithful have Neyland rocking, even though they are missing their QB and top receiver, due to injuries. They gain some yards and stop LSU's ground game for the first fifteen minutes. Then LSU gathers themselves, imposes their will on Tennessee and it's 31-7 before Tennessee can say, "hey momma, is it OK to marry a third cousin?" Seriously, the turnaround was unreal. This does not happen in Athens anymore. I'm going to start watching soccer.
Other News and Notes:
1) Georgia Tech loses to Virginia in Charlottesville again. It looks like I am safe from last week's "steel wool and antifreeze" threat. You suck and your coach looks like Nien Nunb from Return of the Jedi. (google it...Paul Johnson and Nunb, dead ringers.)
2) It's Texas vs. St. Louis in the World Series. At least, there will be something to watch on the weekdays between football games.
3) Boise State is being courted by the Big East. They are going to "think about it." What is there to think about? Boise is east of....Seattle....right?
4) The NBA is going to lockout and Stern says that Christmas games are likely to be cancelled. Players are defecting to Turkey and Greece to play ball in the meantime. The only turkey and grease I'll be watching will be on my plate at Thanksgiving. Get it together, guys. You are killing the fringe fanbase.
5) People who write the ads for Atlanta and northwest Georgia title pawn companies basically play on every stereotype known to man. I swear, there was one down in College Park that said, "get paid, boyeeee!" and I heard one today in Rome that said, "Y'all get on down here and get y'all some cash, ya hear?" Terrible/Effective.
Enjoy the week. Dawgs are off before we play the Lizards down in Jacksonville. Notice I said "Dawgs" again. The Junkyard Dawgs will wake up and tear em a new one. Dawgs 20 - UFail 12.
There is very little worth mentioning about this game. Bobo called lateral runs all night long, our top RB sat out the first quarter because Coach "loves him" (whatever that means), and the O-line was marginal at best. The lone bright spots were receivers Marlon Brown and Michael Bennett, who flourished in the absence of Malcolm Mitchell. The defense was at its most porous, giving up over 200 yards rushing to an offense that was held to 4 yards rushing by Alabama and 41 yards rushing by South Carolina. When they flashed that particular statistic across the screen, I went in my house, grabbed my blender, filled it with rubbing alcohol, stuck my hand in there and hit puree. I thought my Dad was going to eat one of my holly bushes. Vinny dipped a log of Copenhagen in 12 minutes, Jeremy bit his Miller Lite bottle in half and Laura opened a third bottle of wine and said "this is a really dry red, don't you think?" If by "dry red" you mean some of the worst football of the season, then you got it. A whole case of it. Playing on this wine metaphor further, we drank it all night, got hammered, drunk texted our old flame with an "I loooooove you akhasansshf" then puked in the yard while Vandy, playing the part of the bitchy sorority sister, refused to hold our hair back.
Our special teams gets a paragraph all on their own. The hat trick of special teams futility was achieved on this day. First, it was yet....another....fake.....&*^%&.....punt that was successful against us. In fact, nobody was even close to the Vandy player who recieved the ball. He could have sat down, finished his 2011 taxes and still gotten the first down. Another preposterous failure by a squad that is rife with preposterous failures. Second, we have a kickoff run back on us. I think one guy's fingernail scratched his sock on the 30 as he blew by us. Unacceptable. Third and finally, with less than a minute to go, we allow Vandy to block a punt that put them in a position to beat us. Hell, if the Vandy player had just picked up the ball and kept running, game over...Vandy wins. Mmmmmm, that dry red is going down smooth at this point. Pour me a freaking highball and a chaser. Fortunately, the defense held and we got out of there with a win. A fitting end to a boring, frustrating and downright piss poor game. Oh yeah, we attempted SIX field goals, and missed two of them. Ugh, I'm going to stop before I drown myself in a urinal.
The post game shenanigans were quiet entertaining, however. Apparently, Vandy's head coach James Franklin took exception to the fact that Shawn Williams, one of our defensive players who actually pulled his weight, was excited about the victory. He said some choice words to Shawn and our DC, Todd Grantham, did his best Lou Ferrigno impression, turned green and launched into James Franklin like Charlie Weis at a Chinese buffet. If you get a chance, Youtube the melee and read Grantham's lips. It's like the first 15 minutes of Full Metal Jacket. The two teams and coaches gathered, some shoves were passed around but eventually calm was restored. Our guys started hooping and hollering, motioning for our fans to cheer...in Nashville, against Vandy.....our newest rival. And that's where we lose. No longer are we mentioned among the elite. We are an afterthought. We are the Smashing Pumpkins, with our very own Billy Corgan. We were good for awhile but now, everybody asks, "what the hell happened to Georgia?" Instead of drugs and inexplicable weirdness, we are a product of complacency, of a lack of desire and an overall poor approach to the game of football. We are resorted to hoping for a Carolina loss (which I NEVER thought could happen in my lifetime) and hoping that John Brantley's faulty ankle is not healed in time for the Cocktail Party. This is not the Georgia I grew up loving.
Not to mention, even if we do win the East, we play the winner of the November 5th tilt between Alabama and LSU, which may as well be the National Championship. These two teams are head and shoulders better than anyone in the East.....Coast. And the West Coast. If we play either of these teams, we will certainly be destroyed. This makes me sad, because people used to fear us. Now, we fear everybody else. Case in point:
Ole Miss scores early on a long bomb make it 7-0 over Alabama. Oxford goes crazy. Airplane bottles of Southern Comfort are outright chugged in the stands. Guys named Butler Browning IV and Harrison Handsberg III steal a Land Rover and crash it into Archie Manning's statue. "We have a chance!" the Rebels say. Then Trent Richardson walks onto the field and says, "I must break you," and proceeds to annhilate their defense all day long and the final was 51-7. (+1 for Rocky IV reference) We barely beat Ole Miss and looked positively anemic all day.
Tennessee holds LSU scoreless for the first quarter. The orange faithful have Neyland rocking, even though they are missing their QB and top receiver, due to injuries. They gain some yards and stop LSU's ground game for the first fifteen minutes. Then LSU gathers themselves, imposes their will on Tennessee and it's 31-7 before Tennessee can say, "hey momma, is it OK to marry a third cousin?" Seriously, the turnaround was unreal. This does not happen in Athens anymore. I'm going to start watching soccer.
Other News and Notes:
1) Georgia Tech loses to Virginia in Charlottesville again. It looks like I am safe from last week's "steel wool and antifreeze" threat. You suck and your coach looks like Nien Nunb from Return of the Jedi. (google it...Paul Johnson and Nunb, dead ringers.)
2) It's Texas vs. St. Louis in the World Series. At least, there will be something to watch on the weekdays between football games.
3) Boise State is being courted by the Big East. They are going to "think about it." What is there to think about? Boise is east of....Seattle....right?
4) The NBA is going to lockout and Stern says that Christmas games are likely to be cancelled. Players are defecting to Turkey and Greece to play ball in the meantime. The only turkey and grease I'll be watching will be on my plate at Thanksgiving. Get it together, guys. You are killing the fringe fanbase.
5) People who write the ads for Atlanta and northwest Georgia title pawn companies basically play on every stereotype known to man. I swear, there was one down in College Park that said, "get paid, boyeeee!" and I heard one today in Rome that said, "Y'all get on down here and get y'all some cash, ya hear?" Terrible/Effective.
Enjoy the week. Dawgs are off before we play the Lizards down in Jacksonville. Notice I said "Dawgs" again. The Junkyard Dawgs will wake up and tear em a new one. Dawgs 20 - UFail 12.
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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.