I'm Back . . . And I Still Hate Florida
Sorry gang, it's been a helluva week. On a light note, I was in Athens this afternoon when the morning practice was letting out. I was stopped on Carlton by the Stege when I was passed by a lineman on a moped. That doesn't happen to me every day. Though I admit I can't pick many players out of a lineup (and since I'm not a Miami Hurricanes fan, I probably won't have to pick my favorite players out of a lineup), I think it was Seth Watts. Can't be sure though.
Kyle King's blog presents a fascinating question: who is Georgia's biggest rival? Kyle conjectures (and I agree) that the answer to this question depends mostly on two factors: where you hail from and when your formative Dawg years were.
In my case, I hail from southeast Georgia, and graduated from high school in 1996. Therefore, I loathe the Florida Gators. I really, really do. As you'll notice from my profile, I wish mysterious ailments upon Steve Spurrier. I am fairly certain that if God were ever moved to give the world an enema, he would shove it in Gainesville. I was once assigned a little brother in my college fraternity who happened to be from Jacksonville. He made the mistake of showing up at my apartment in a t-shirt and jorts. I informed him that if I ever saw those accursed britches again, even in his dorm room, there would be wailing and gnashing of teeth. He never wore them again in my presence, thereby surviving to adulthood.
I remember well those early and mid-nineties games when I would gather with friends to watch the World's Largest Outdoor Cocktail Party. Our parents and older siblings would go to Jacksonville, and leave us behind. We were left to go to school, attend football practice, and wait for Saturday. To our parents' collective credit, their decision to leave us behind probably saved many of my childhood companions from having a juvenile record in the state of Florida, God bless them.
In my high school there were Bulldog fans, Seminole fans and Gator fans. The Gator fans inevitably had no connection to the University of Florida. They were merely the sort of bandwagon-jumping, side-switching, low-character johnny-come-latelies who just want to be involved with something, anything successful.
We Bulldog fans were long-suffering, God-fearing and inevitably disappointed. Like most of my friends, my formative football memories involved tales of Herschel Walker, images of Tim Worley and the kind of glory the program would not see again until I was a grown man. I became very tired of watching Stevey and his band of sidewalk assistants rub it in on us. To this day, I remember the game in 1997, my sophomore year of college. I was not able to be in Jacksonville, but I was here in Macon with friends to watch the game and go out later. It was one of the most exhilerating games of my life. I knew long before it was over that things were different this time.
We celebrated late into the night. Fellow south Georgians and Bulldawg fans The Kinchafoonee Cowboys were playing at a college bar in downtown Macon. We Dawg fans closed the place down. There was much woofing, and it was good.
I have only seen my beloved team beat the Gaytors once since that glorious night. And it frustrates me. It frustrates me in the same way that the NCAA recruiting rules frustrate Ed Orgeron. The way that statistics classes frustrate Carnell Williams. I simply don't understand it.
This year I will be there again. Watching, waiting. I know this year will be different. Like '97. Like '04. I am tired of finishing ahead of the Gators in every conceivable measure except the scoreboard in the Gator Bowl (you can call it anything you want, but those of us who cut our teeth in less commercialized times know better).
Urban Meyer chafes me. He is the antithesis of Vince Dooley and Erk Russell. His offense, no matter how well it works, will always strike me as sissified.
Kyle King's blog presents a fascinating question: who is Georgia's biggest rival? Kyle conjectures (and I agree) that the answer to this question depends mostly on two factors: where you hail from and when your formative Dawg years were.
In my case, I hail from southeast Georgia, and graduated from high school in 1996. Therefore, I loathe the Florida Gators. I really, really do. As you'll notice from my profile, I wish mysterious ailments upon Steve Spurrier. I am fairly certain that if God were ever moved to give the world an enema, he would shove it in Gainesville. I was once assigned a little brother in my college fraternity who happened to be from Jacksonville. He made the mistake of showing up at my apartment in a t-shirt and jorts. I informed him that if I ever saw those accursed britches again, even in his dorm room, there would be wailing and gnashing of teeth. He never wore them again in my presence, thereby surviving to adulthood.
I remember well those early and mid-nineties games when I would gather with friends to watch the World's Largest Outdoor Cocktail Party. Our parents and older siblings would go to Jacksonville, and leave us behind. We were left to go to school, attend football practice, and wait for Saturday. To our parents' collective credit, their decision to leave us behind probably saved many of my childhood companions from having a juvenile record in the state of Florida, God bless them.
In my high school there were Bulldog fans, Seminole fans and Gator fans. The Gator fans inevitably had no connection to the University of Florida. They were merely the sort of bandwagon-jumping, side-switching, low-character johnny-come-latelies who just want to be involved with something, anything successful.
We Bulldog fans were long-suffering, God-fearing and inevitably disappointed. Like most of my friends, my formative football memories involved tales of Herschel Walker, images of Tim Worley and the kind of glory the program would not see again until I was a grown man. I became very tired of watching Stevey and his band of sidewalk assistants rub it in on us. To this day, I remember the game in 1997, my sophomore year of college. I was not able to be in Jacksonville, but I was here in Macon with friends to watch the game and go out later. It was one of the most exhilerating games of my life. I knew long before it was over that things were different this time.
We celebrated late into the night. Fellow south Georgians and Bulldawg fans The Kinchafoonee Cowboys were playing at a college bar in downtown Macon. We Dawg fans closed the place down. There was much woofing, and it was good.
I have only seen my beloved team beat the Gaytors once since that glorious night. And it frustrates me. It frustrates me in the same way that the NCAA recruiting rules frustrate Ed Orgeron. The way that statistics classes frustrate Carnell Williams. I simply don't understand it.
This year I will be there again. Watching, waiting. I know this year will be different. Like '97. Like '04. I am tired of finishing ahead of the Gators in every conceivable measure except the scoreboard in the Gator Bowl (you can call it anything you want, but those of us who cut our teeth in less commercialized times know better).
Urban Meyer chafes me. He is the antithesis of Vince Dooley and Erk Russell. His offense, no matter how well it works, will always strike me as sissified.
Urban Meyer will never, ever roam the sidelines bleeding profusely and failing to give a damn about it . And I think less of him for it.
Oh yeah, I hate Auburn. Don't get me wrong about that. I don't think much of Tech fans, and their football team cheats and still manages to lose. I respect Orson Swindle and the blogging juggeraut that is Every Day Should Be Saturday. But I really, really hate Florida. And you should too.
posted by MaconDawg at 6:33 PM
1 Comments:
ahhh...50 cent drafts and Kinchafoonee. memories, sweet memories.
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