Here is an article that ran last year in the Macon (GA) Telegraph. (I can't remember who wrote it, but please don't haul me to court for copyright infringement!) I know I sent it to a lot of you. But we're now just mere hours away from the first Aggie kick-off of the year, and that's reason enough to post it again. Oh, and to our MSU readers -- check out this post from a fellow Bulldog.
Gig 'em!
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Rejoice! College football season is finally here
Let us pray and give thanks.
NOW, it's here. Football.
Ahhhhhhh.
It actually got going a week ago Thursday around these parts with a single private-school game, then all the other high schools joined in a day later, and we've had assorted good NFL exhibitions to feast on.
Yes, Peach County High's band needed about three seconds to get the hair on my arms and neck up with its pregame version of "Amazing Grace" followed by the national anthem. It's a Class AAA school with an AAAAAAA marching band.
Granted, it remains too hot, and it's been a mean, angry heat that keeps you soggy - and fermenting - until your next shower.
But, as Munson might growl, good gawd awmighty, it's here.
Sure, the vast majority of the college football world won't begin tailgating in a week. Well, OK, Wednesday. But right here, we have the NCAA Division II national champion playing a team trying to establish itself as a regular visitor to the postseason.
Valdosta State brings a slew of Middle Georgia high school alums to Henderson Stadium to take on a Fort Valley State gang with an area flavor and a hunger.
Pats on the back to the officials from both schools for getting this game going again, and go ahead and start slapping on some baby powder before heading to Henderson for the 6 p.m. kickoff.
Oh, goodness, it's here.
All the flags of teams in the conference waving in the wind atop stadiums.
Chris Fowler mediating things between Kirk Herbstriet and Lee Corso all day on ESPN.
Goose bumps while watching the War Eagle circle the field and softly land at Jordan-Hare Stadium.
For guys, the cheerleaders.
For gals, the quarterback, wide receivers, and running backs in form-fitting unis.
South Carolina's "2001" and team entrance to the field.
The simple and crisp blue and white uniforms at Georgia Southern.
Texas A&M's 12th man, and kissing the girls after a touchdown.
The Volunteer Navy and the Tennessee River.
The Ramblin' Wreck cruising out onto the field at Bobby Dodd.
The absolutely mesmerizing smell of a walk from your car or tailgate to the stadium, where one's nostril's give thanks.
The Michigan fight song.
Steve Spurrier back on the sideline, and back in the head of every fan and coach in the Southeastern Conference.
It's the five-minute disagreement about your running back and their linebacker and the offensive coordinator, and then just like that, uproarious laughter and a hug, rivals but buddies off to their seats.
The way the visiting team's fans are zig-zagged through a stadium full of the home team's colors.
Announcers who may be homers but aren't trying to get their own reality show or be regurgitated on ESPN later Saturday night.
ESPN late Saturday night, followed on Sunday mornings by e-mails and text message and phones calls of "did you see (fill in the blank) yesterday?"
How amazing the energy when rising moderately early on a Saturday and embarking on a drive under a chillingly blue sky and anxious-to-watch-a-game sun with a kickoff temperature of about 63 degrees.
Brisket and bratwursts, tater salad, jambalaya that makes your ears sweat and the beverage seem even colder, any and all kinds of pig.
Wes Durham's laugh.
Larry Munson's paranoia.
A full stadium in Morgantown, W. Va., singing - in tune - "Country Roads" by John Denver.
Football across the radio dial, a joy so much greater for owners of satellite radio.
Pictures in the paper Sunday morning of the big play, and the facial expressions of fans in the background.
Cramming into a favorite establishment with like-minded friends and compatriots when the team is on the road to watch and curse and chest-bump - or, more accurately, belly-bump - when it's good.
The downtowns on Fridays and Saturdays in Auburn and Charlottesville and Norman and Gainesville and Tuscaloosa and Oxford.
No Tim McCarver, John Madden, and almost no Stephen A. Smith, on ESPN.
The bands and the post-game mini-concert at home, something the players and coaches never see and hear and it's a sad thing.
And speaking of which, the Bayou Classic in New Orleans with Grambling and Southern, and two jammin' groups that would humble any musician in The Big Easy.
The progression of the drum major to midfield, and the brain-stopping, heart-pumping, scream-inspiring first notes of "Tiger Rag" in Baton Rouge.
It's people from all parts of a state congregating and discussing what happened throughout that state in high school football and their hometown or alma mater.
The same players who just spent more than three hours pummeling and pinching and hitting and cursing and battling all huddled together, heads down and arms locked, one lone coach or chaplain in the middle, offering a prayer, and then players in one color uniform calmly chatting with players from the other side.
Tonight, a little before 6 at Henderson Stadium, two teams will run through the human-formed tunnel of bands and they'll swarm into a jumping and yelling huddle, and the captains will go to midfield, and the national anthem will raise your blood pressure, and soon enough the lights will be on.
And -take a deep breath - it is here.
Let us pray and give thanks.
1 comment:
Love that article. I'm so glad that you're teaching your little one the War Hymn to overcome living in the land of t-sips.
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