Dawgs vs. Rebels: The Game Day Experience Vol III

Okay, all this is a week old, thanks to a debilitating cold I had last week and assorted other responsibilities. So I won't delve into too many details, as everyone's focus has now turned to the accursed and despised Vols. (Number ONE on my "Hated UGA Rivals" list, followed closely by the Gators). All in all, it was a comparatively subdued weekend, thanks mainly to the relatively early kick off time. Though that didn't seem to stop the Freebird from bending the laws of time and space to get far drunker with an early kickoff than he has with a 6 PM kickoff. Perhaps he's a Time Lord, like Doctor Who.

Two interesting things from the aiport before the flight. First, the older guy checking my bags curbside noticed the "G" logo on my shirt and said "how 'bout them Dawgs." I asked him if he was a UGA fan, and he said," "not really," but that he always responds to the "G" logo because he was a Green Bay fan, and we share a logo. I mentioned my time in cheeseland, and we started talking. Turns out, he was a Packers fan because his son played there: Antonio Freeman -- Packers wideout, Virginia Tech grad (who hasn't killed dogs or been suspended for screaming at his head coach -- guess that only happens in Atlanta) and former member of the Area 51 Fantasy Football team! (his dad didn't offer up that last tidbit, that's just my observation). His dad was a truly nice guy, and we chatted for about 10 minutes while I enjoyed a pre-flight smoke. I gave him a nice tip for checking my bag, though if I had ever spawned an NFL player, I'd expect to be playing golf in the Caribbean in my old age, surrounded by nubile island girls, not checking bags for some drunk with a "G" on his shirt. The second thing I noticed at the airport was during the X-Ray Shuffle, when the dude in front of me pulled out all the gizmos from his rollaboard. There was a tiny black box, about the size of an outdoor Bose speaker, labeled "REM-Master." Being a sleep apnea sufferer myself, I instantly recognized the device as a CPAP (or, as a charming ex used to call it, the "snuffaluffagus."). But his was tiny! I haven't gotten a new one in quite some time. CPAP envy! Once the whole "pre-existing condition" bullshit on insurance passes through, I'm gonna have to see about an upgrade.

After the MARTA pickup, Freebird and I made our usual stop for provisions in Dawsonville. Inexplicably, the same value pricing for tallboys was present: $8.99 for a 12 pack of Lite tallboys. $9.49 for a 12 pack of twelve-ounce Lites. I'm in marketing, and I have a hard time understanding this one. Was there extra inventory of tallboy cans that Miller is desperate to get rid of? It also carried over to suitcases -- where the tallboys were also priced cheaper than the twelve ouncers. Odd. But welcome, for those of us appreciate the lower cost per ounce of beery goodness. We also stopped at a hole in the wall restaurant for some dinner and sat by the jukebox (the bar was occupied by a hairy gent proudly wearing his third tier strip club t-shirt. I'm sure at some point he paid $20 to finger-bang a mother of four). On the jukebox was taped a note reading: "No rap or metal until after 10. Thanks. management." The way it was laid out on the page, however, featured a section torn out. It could have been a "heavy" in front of "metal." Meaning that previously, before 10, "regular" metal was quite alright, but you really had to save the "heavy" stuff for after 10. (Poison or Winger would be okay at 8:37, but no Black Sabbath until 10:03, I guess). Or, it could have been an entirely different genre that was prohibited until after 10. What else could fall into pre-10 ban? Boy bands? Polka music?

I should have recognized Freebird was in for a fun weekend when he observed on Friday night that diminutive Va Tech running back Noel Devine was like a "black hobbit." But we were disappointed that he was wearing shoes. If a hobbit was really part of a team, would the NCAA discriminate against them and make them wear shoes? Samoans get to keep their wild hair, and there was a trend in the 70s for letting kickers go barefoot. We wonder about these things.

From my previous Game Day posts, you know that occasionally there can be some marital discord over driving skill in the Free Ride to the game. I usually play like the Swiss, read my paper and drink my screwdriver. This time, we were transporting the Wee Free to the designated babysitter dropoff, and Miz Freebird took the wheel for the first leg. Not long into the journey, we were on a long straightaway, and she decides to adjust the AC (apparently, I did something to the fan to take it off "auto"). As she looks down to fiddle with the controls, and sunlight is beaming directly into the windshield, the car drifts a bit to the right. Just at that moment, we notice some older dude jogging on the right side of the road. From my vantage point in the passenger's seat (Freebird was in the back, watching Barney), we missed the jogger by 3 feet. Not that close, if it's a putt. Pretty close, if you have a ton or so of SUV bearing down on you at 50 MPH as a jogger. In the rear view mirror, we saw the dude shaking his fists at us as we sped down the road. No harm, no foul. Though it could have been something like this. Later, there was an "almost" incident with a truck and trailer at a 2 way stop, but all things considered, the near miss with jogger roadkill was much, much funnier. She also pointed out that she hates to take her vehicle to the tailgate because it always gets messy. Yep, there's the leaky coolers and bags of chips and such that can make a mess. Scrubbing a 50 year old dude and his Nikes off the front fender would have also required some elbow grease and Turtle Wax.

I heard about this at the tailgate, and most of my regular readers will get a kick out of it. Any Theta Chis recognize the setting?



Also, many of us would recognize waking up on a couch in the front yard and the car in the ballroom.

For some bizarre reason, the people tailgating next to us decided to provide the soundtrack to Freaknik. Not sure that's really the traditional staple of southern tailgates, but kids these days. Plus, after the whole meme about "Soulja Boy" and the sideline tailback dancing, I fear it could spread. Is it too much to ask for a little REM, Allman Brothers or even Clarence Carter? (Clarence Carter, Clarence Carter....oooooooooohhhhh shit! Clarence Carter). Sigh. I'm old.

One serious note. We had several "special guest tailgaters" this past weekend, and Hank was regaling his friends with old time tales of our youth. He spoke fondly of the many afternoons and weekends at my casa, playing hoops, cards and video games with Sam and Bettye, and I got a little misty (hidden, of course, behind the shades). Thanks for the memories. Sometimes, I get caught up in all the shit of day to day life, and forget that. It's nice to hear someone else's fond recollections of them and that time in my life.

For the game, the Freebirds were like George and Weezie, and moved on up with the M's. The special guest stars enjoyed the game with us, except for the fact that someone very near to us evidently shit their pants without the aid of an astronaut diaper. Two rows down, some idiotic breeders brought their infant to the game. For a while, we watched the baby bake in the sun like sausage on a Waffle House griddle, and thought it was the kid who couldn't control his bowels. However, after junior probably suffered third degree sunburn, they took the kid back up to the shade of the concourse and the stench remained. I'm guessing someone in our section went to the Varsity or T-Stand the night before.

Not much to say about the game that hasn't already been said by now. We're not as bad as we looked in the first half, nor as good as we looked in the second. The D needs to stiffen, the RBs need to keep on keepin' on, and the receivers (cough*Chandler*cough) need to catch the ball. I loved the pure testicular fortitude CMR showed going on 4th and calling for a perfectly executed onside kick. Our coaching and playcalling has occasionally shown a serious sack of onions (like the aforementioned plays, and the end zone strike on first down in OT vs. Bama) but we need to do this throughout the game -- particularly in the second half.

After the game, we (finally -- given the previous late kickoff times) wound up at Applebees for the 5th Quarter show. Much food and beer was enjoyed by all. However, I found myself in a truly bizarre collision of universes. One of our "long lost" fraternity brothers was going to show up with his wife. He did (without his somewhere between Errol Flynn and Magnum PI mustache) and as I walked over to the table to say howdy, I saw -- sitting at the table with him, and apparently part of his "party -- the CFO of the homebuilder I worked for a year or so ago. What the fuck? (I think I may have blurted this out loud). Apparently, he and Brother Niles Crane are old friends. Truly bizarre. What are the odds of that? Is everything really connected? Like the Tommy Westphall multiverse? Holy Fuck.

While I was getting over that, Freebird was quaffing another Brewtus and pontificating about the Trade School win over Clemson. The point that was very, very important for him to make to the world at large was this this was another "typical Chan Gailey win." Of course, he's right. I was explaining this to a Terp alum at work yesterday (they play the bugs today). Every year, Chan wins one game he shouldn't and gives fans hope the program is heading in the right direction. Then he loses games he shouldn't, gets beat like a rented mule by the Dawgs, and turns in another "not quite enough to get fired" season. But it wasn't enough for the table to understand this keen observation. Freebird wanted to call in to Dave's talk show (keep in mind, Dave was sitting 12 feet from us -- broadcasting from Applebees) and let the entire Southeastern listening audience know this. When he couldn't make his cell phone work or find the right telephone number to connect to the broadcast two tables away, he screamed across the bar: "What number do I need to call y'all???!!!" In a lucid moment, I suggest programming a speed dial for 960 the Ref for future Corso-esque football insight sharing.

The ride the E's was entertaining. For once, the boys didn't pass out, and Miz Freebird got over an hour of erudite and eloquent commentary from her passengers. (And bonus? No pedestrians died). When we hit the driveway in Lawrenceville, Freebird quickly wandered out of the car and we weren't' quite sure where he went. Apparently, he went into the house and greeted our friends. When Miz E came out moments later to see us, she immediately went to Miz Freebird, and reflecting on the 2 or 3 minutes just spent with a drunk/drunk/drunk* Freebird, said "you need a hug."

*Actual measurement scale. Much like DEFCONs.

All in all, a fantastic weekend. We kicked some Rebel ass, and as usual, the Freebirds and Es were wonderful and gracious hosts for my visit back to the homeland. Many thanks to them (and Thomas Brown) and all the other tailgaters for making my "home away from home" a terrific "mini-vacation." See y'all in November.