Glory Glory to Ole Georgia

This time of year we reflect on when the crowds cried "Crucify him! Crucify him!" and the man in charge washed his hands of this, telling the people he was only giving them what they wanted. Of course I'm talking about Mark Richt getting fired. It's the end of an era.

Luckily we took The Boy to his first UGA football game a few weeks ago, so he can say he went to a Mark Richt game. We tailgated with friends, he watched college kids toss a ball in the parking lot, he peed in a toilet that features rival mascots in the bowl, he walked around campus in his Super Dawg cape, we talked to friends, saw the Dawg Walk, and ate dinner at Bolton Hall. He even got a waffle with a G in the middle. A kid's dream.

I know that football is frivolous. It seems ridiculous and trite following the terrorist attacks in Paris, and the shootings again last week in California. But I would be lying to you if I said I didn't tear up a little when that boy entered the stadium on his daddy's shoulders. I'd been in that stadium more times than I can count,  with tens of thousands of people laying aside politics, religion, socioeconomic status, race (okay, maybe not so much race), and education to cheer for our team. There are a lot of things wrong with college football, but the sense of community it brings ain't one of them.

The first time I went to a game I think I was nine. Our friends, the Millers, often drove up for the games, and they invited us to join. Their daughters, Bethany and Jennifer, cheered all the cheers and sang all the songs, and I sat there with big eyes asking them to repeat what they were saying and translate for me. Their daddy hooped and hollered and laughed his contagious laugh. I don't remember if we won, but I remember eating frozen lemonade and sitting in the warm sun in the end zone taking it all in. I was hooked. When their daddy died much too young I would cherish the memory of that warm day and his big smile.

From then on I started watching games at home with my dad. He'd turn down the TV volume so we could hear legendary announcer Larry Munson call the plays, as is custom for any dawg fan. I went to games when I could, and in high school I decorated my bedroom in red and black and adorned my walls with news clippings about the players and the games. I only applied to one college: UGA, and Santa brought my acceptance letter on Christmas Eve my senior year.

One of my favorite games ever was when we played Georgia Tech in what must have been my 8th grade year. I think Hines Ward was still playing. I was at my grandparents' house, and my mom and Grandmama were out shopping. My granddad and I sat in the living room watching the nail biter game together for hours. When we won in the final minute, he and I both jumped up and down and yelled for our team. After The Husband and I got married there were a few Saturdays I remember driving the two hours back down to their house to watch football with my granddad again. I wish I'd done it more.

In college The Husband and I went to all the games we could. We got there early and stayed out late, and stood in the student section that smelled like beer and immaturity. We tailgated with friends and yelled to our team. We watched hype videos the week leading up to the game and talked about which players were out due to injury or arrest. When we were planning our wedding we arranged for Larry Munson to record our first announcement as husband and wife. Sadly he had a brain aneurism just before.

So here we were, continuing the next chapter of this tradition, and yes, I teared up. The nostalgia wave rushed over me faster than you can sack a quarterback. I thought of how lucky this boy was, with wonder in his eyes as he asked "could you believe how big it was going to be?" in his daddy's arms. I thought how he doesn't even know how lucky he is, and how many times the same could be said about me. As trivial as football is, it means much more than a score and the men on the field. College football is a glorious tradition that encourages sportsmanship, builds character, instills pride in community, and connects us with generations past. Unless we lose, and then it's just a game. I didn't let The Husband see the tears in my eyes, because he would think it was just about football. 

We found our seats and pointed out the important things in the stadium. The Boy cheered. He sang. He waved his pom poms and generally enjoyed life. 

Then two minutes and ten seconds into the game he said "I'm ready to leave now" in classic four year old style. I let him play on my phone and talked him into staying until half time. I talked up the redcoat band, and that piqued his interest enough for us to trudge through. Then after the opponent's band played exactly one song he said "okay, can we go?" And so we did. 

Trying out his Trump impression? 

All in all it was a great day passing the torch to the next generation of dawg fan. I asked him the next day what his favorite part had been, and he said "getting to eat fruit loops for dinner!" Glory Glory to Ole Cereal.