Friday, September 7, 2012

Friday Misery - a state of Show Me

First off, hey Coach Dye...why don't you just kiss my ass and go to hell.

In case you're new around here (stares west towards Missourian interweb subscribers), this is my weekly in-season post that is not for the faint of heart. It is not for the timid. And it is not for those who don't appreciate my foul mouthed keyboard. So if you're reading this with your pastor, you might want to bookmark it for later. However, if you are a man or lady of the cloth, then please have a seat. Because you're going to appreciate this like none other.
Patty, did Eric Ramsey hit the record button
with his right or left index finger?

Religious inequities
Because what we're talking about here...this weekend...in the first ever SEC matchup between Georgia and Missouri, is religion. More specifically we're talking about the joining of factions within the constraints of a unified religion.

The Southeastern Conference is not for those who "enjoy a good game of football!!" on a Saturday afternoon. It's not for those that like to drive up to campus just in time for kickoff, then get home in time for some quiche, a chardonnay and a rerun of Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman. Lastly, the Southeastern Conference is not for people who refer to their team as "them".

Saturdays in the southeast are designed around one question - "When do WE play?" From there it branches off into anxillary questions such as "Are WE televised?" and "Who's bringing the bourbon?" We live it, we breathe it all year long and gulp it down from August through the New Year. It's not just a Saturday. It's the week leading up to Saturday. It's Thursday night as I type this and I already feel like I'm missing out on what's going on. You know damn well there have been RVs parked in and around Columbia MO since Wednesday, maybe earlier. Right at this moment someone dressed in red and black is hunkering down in close proximity to this Faurot Field the Dawgs will play in Saturday night.

My plane departs Friday morning. Somehow, some way I will find myself to this western civilization. By luck or divine intervention I will help Georgia fans from all over the globe indoctrinate these Tigers formerly known as Big 12ers into the ways of the righteous, the deserving and the elite. Football isn't a passing fancy, it's an investment. It takes time, money and your undivided attention. It breaks marriages apart, but really...if she had just tried to understand why beating Florida was so important she probably wouldn't have left. If he knew how much liquor you had snuck into Sanford Stadium as a sorority pledge he probably would've appreciated you for what you truly are, a southern belle with a taste for gridiron destruction!

Yes, this trip like any other is about business. There is the usual business on the field with the added task of helping thousands of newbies slough off their past indiscretions and accept real football as their new faith. It should go just fine I think. I hear midwesterners are nice people. I'll teach them to say y'all and help them pour out their Zimas if they are that misguided. The word BBQ in these parts isn't a verb, is it? 

And God help me if one Missourian even friggin' mentions basketball! It's FOOTBALL goddammit!! Act like you've been here, even though you haven't.

Show, don't tell
Old man football? That's a compliment son. You think your offense is hot shit don'tya? You just love watching it march down the field on those poor little Jayhawks and hearing the crowd go apeshit when the quarterback tucks it and runs for a touchdown. "Well golly Darlene! Tip another cow and call me a boot spur. That boy done scored for the 10th time this afternoon, his 65th of the season. And it's not even November yet!"


Go ahead...tell him he needs Medicare.
You're not in Kansas anymore so sit your ass down hotshot and lemme bend your earhole a minute. Your cute little offense with the linemen that don't truly have to block and the receivers that resemble bean stalks is just that, cute. You think your fans go crazy over a damn touchdown? Wait til you hear ours after Shawn Williams plants that bean stalks' ass in the dirt your girlfriend calls makeup. Wait and listen to the roar when Old Man Gurley trades his cane in for a third down run between the tackles for one more than the yard he needed. And Lord help us if Motel 6 gets a sack. Your corn silos will shake from the shear joy being screamed towards the Heavens. Mrs. Bernie will grab you by your overall buckles and hurl your narrow ass across the stadium, which will vibrate with the enthusiasm of the Bulldog Faithful nationwide. From Columbia MO to Athens GA and all points in and around, Glory Glory will make you question your former ways. It will destroy your pompous attitude and make you feel like a little bitch dog, yapping around the dinner table hoping for a scrap.

And it will be then, at that very moment, when you will have a choice. You can hate us because our old, tired, BCS bloated ass just put you in your rightful place on God's green Earth. Or you can hate us with the same respect we hate you with as our SEC brother. You're not the Tell Me state. You're the Show Me state.

And what we want shown to us...some goddamn respect! Until that happens, you're just another Vanderbilt that slipped in the backdoor for the feast at the Thanksgiving dinner table.

See you cowpokes soon. For the rest of you Dawg fans, let us bow our heads and give our usual road trip prayer: Lord, please we pray on this beautiful weekend that you have blessed us with, we pray for the quarterbacks that get in Jarvis' way. That they not be so severely maimed that they can play against our true rivals in the coming weeks. And Lord, please don't let this plane run out of bourbon. Thank you! Amen.