Friday, November 30, 2012

Friday Misery - where the devil won't stay

Breaking: Joe Waterloo was last seen southbound on I-75 acting all Dorsey Hill on us. He had pledged before the Tech game that he was heading straight for Miami. That might sound noble, prophetic or maybe like he had a little too much Mr. Boston's. The problem is that he only packed two things: a red thong and a bottle of of tanning oil.

If found, please refill his red solo cup.

Of blood and confidence
Ok. This rotgut moonshine is making me sick. So put on your big boy pants bitches. Shit. Getting. Real.

The only blood that's any cleaner is the blood that's blue or greener
Without either you just get meaner and the blood you gave gives you away.

Never won his conference, but plenty of "highlights".
ESPN's hard on for Darling Nicky knows no bounds. They strap it on, spout off about stats and strength of schedule and how the streets of Tuscaloosa are paved in gold and suddenly any game that might take place on an actual football field is perfunctory (that's "meaningless"...for any of you Tide grads that just stumbled in wearing your Wal-Mart t-shirts and your good underwear). The game is just a matter of financial obligation to the host city and as a way to stir up more support for this year's Florida gator pity party.

What do they give us? What do they give Coach Richt, who by the way is 2-2 against that dwarf mother humper? What do they give Jarvis and Aaron and CRob and Gurley? Hope. That's right, they give us nuggets of hope that feel more like bassackwards compliments and warm piss dripping down our backs.

Look, we don't need your goddamn hope. We don't want your casual glances and flirtative gestures. We don't need your pity and if you so much as aim that bulge in your pants towards us Bristol...I'll go all Mitch Davis on Herbstreit's ass. You all slather on the crimson lipstick, sloppy kiss Bama's defense and put your hand down Saban's chinos as much and as often as you'd like. We'll pass on that shit. After all, our memory isn't so short. We've seen that trumped up midget at his lowest point.

Look. They buckle their chin straps just like we do. Just because they backed into last year's national title game doesn't mean they should be given this year's conference crown. Willie Joe never faced a safety blitz from Shawn Williams on his road to the '64 title and Bear Bryant ran out of swimming scholarships to hand out to offensive linemen decades ago. This is 2012 jack! The world's no longer gray, it's full of color and silver britches. Bama fans drink the same Kentucky bourbon I pour into my cup. McCarron's tears might be a little saltier, but he can wet his pants just like Aaron Murray did...back in 1991.

I'm sick of watching Mark May round third base with their first string. I'm tired of reading Aschoff whine about his team being left out, all while forgetting about getting bitch slapped in Jacksonville. I'm sick of Mandel packing our bags for Orlando whilst breathing hope out the side of his mouth. You want to talk about hope? I hope Saban gives all of you chlamydia. I hope Mark Richt has mercy on your worthless ass because I sure as hell wouldn't find the time. I hope you one day understand that while we might bleed the same, our blood is Georgia red son.

Sit your narrow ass down...I'm just getting started.

Dome bound and down
No, no one wants to give us a chance in hell. And I'm just fine with that. It's been 30 years since Georgia has played a game with this much importance. And while I was alive back then, my Dawg years had truly yet to begin. So I can wade through whatever load of shit anyone wants to pour in my way. I can stomach the stench of the national media's entitlements. I wouldn't miss this for the world. The opportunity to see these players prove themselves while the rest of the nation sits slack-jawed in a pool of their own drool. The chance to see the team reach their goal that has consumed every practice since August and every point put up on the scoreboard since the first of September. The absolute privilege to witness my Dawgs punch their own ticket and not have it punched for them!

It's been 30 years in the making and the feeling I have is unmistakable. There's no denying the confidence I feel that the crest of the mountain has yet to be conquered. In many ways, last year this time we'd reached the top. Everything was new and wonderful. We were playing LSU with nothing to lose, but also with not so much to gain.

Tomorrow we have EVERYTHING to gain. Tomorrow we take the next step, and it goes beyond what we built last season. In 24 hours we look destiny in the eye and refuse to blink. If your blood runs red and black, it's going to be a moment like none other. Nothing in our immediate or long term recollection can compare to the magnitude of this competition. Our experience as fans and as students and as alumni of the University of Georgia has yet to see the Glory that this team can produce. For tomorrow we reach the top, the place we've aimed for all along.

Yes, Dawgs on top! I'm Dome bound then down...for a trip to Miami. Join me. I've been hunkering for this for some time. I'll gladly rise beside you as our Dawgs take the field. I'll gladly cheer with you as we score on them at will. And we'll sing our anthem proudly as the confetti rains down upon our team.

Hell hath no fury like what you will witness tomorrow Alabama. It's our time, and the devil has no business here this year.

Go Dawgs!