the Sunday Misery is moonlight through the pines

"Muscle Shoals has got the Swampers..."

Love me some Skynard. But this week, like no other, I prefer just an old sweet song.

My tell-tale Dawg heart
In elementary school, teachers invited us to the front of the room to either show or tell. You had an option to show the class something that was important to you, or tell them something that was important to you.

Can you guess what I usually chose?

In 1972 my parents moved to Athens GA. I was two and a half years old. I didn't move away until I went off to college.

In my grade school years I remember passing the railroad tracks on the east side of Sanford and seeing it full of empty beer and whiskey bottles plus the occasional worn-down recliner on the way to Sunday School.

After the National Championship in the 1981 Sugar Bowl, I remember all of the billboards around Athens featuring the Junkyard Dawgs and the phrase "Hunker Down"!

Somewhere around 1983, I remember the house that was built adjacent to the Dooley's home near the intersection of West Lake Dr and Milledge Cir. The joke was that Coach was building it for Herschel. I was almost young enough to believe it.

Later, I went to Cedar Shoals High School. I was a couple years behind Athens Good Samaritan Bryant Gantt. He's the guy you've seen on the Georgia sideline probably since the Donnan years. As a lifelong fan turned employee of the University, he's on his way to becoming the only contemporary I know that is on a trajectory that legends like Coach Dooley and, dare I say, Coach Magill were on decades ago.

In 1988 I graduated high school at Stegeman Coliseum. The same Steg I used to (occasionally) skip Wednesday night choir practice with Chip to see Durham's Hoop Dawgs play.

In the Fall of 1989 I completed my transfer from LaGrange College and enrolled at UGA. ("Still in peaceful dreams I see, the road leads back to you.) It was what I have sometimes affectionately referred to here on the blog as my "first sophomore year" of college. It was also Goff's first year as head coach.

In 1990 Coach Webber's Diamond Dawgs won the College World Series. At this point I had been to (at least) twice as many baseball games on campus as I had football games. I bet a majority of today's freshman don't even know what or where Foley Field is.

Beauties.

Also in 1990 I went from being on Academic probation to Honor Roll. A feat Coach Goff, unfortunately, could not replicate. I eventually graduated in 1993. He was fired in 1995. After the similar up and down trajectories of our UGA careers, I got a diploma and he got Zaxby's. Since it was Guthrie's that got me through all those years, I still say I got the better separation package.

In 1996, at Coach Donnan's debut they gave out t-shirts. But we lost to Southern Miss 11-7 and I saw a dude take our a lighter and burn his new souvenir before he even left Sanford. Sidenote - I think Kirby was a sophomore on that team.

In 1997 I married Jenn, the biggest, most badass Dawg fan I know. Our first dance was to a little tune called Georgia, by Ray Charles.

Also in 1997 I cried after a football game for the first time when Donnan's Dawgs beat Florida. Well, they didn't beat them so much as they whooped their ass until the rules stated that they had to stop.

In 2000 I went back to UGA to become what we affectionately refer to as a "Double Dawg", so I had a student ID for both Donnan's final season as well as Richt's first.

In 2002 Jenn and I began our lil Dawg family. Nothing cuter than a girl in pigtails wearing Georgia red!

I documented most of the remaining years in this post-Richt firing post. I don't want to bore you down an already beaten path, but I would like emphasize that all the way through the Richt era I strengthened friendships with friends like Nama, Fred, Joe Waterloo, Cord, and their wives and families around Georgia football.

Undefeated Tailgate Crew

Like you I've also made many friends around tailgates like Tanner, Hillary, the Wrangler, Dustin, Doherty, Matt, and their wives and families. Saturdays in the fall just aren't the same without them.

Thanks to social media I got to meet Robert and Kerri plus her husband Barry out in Boulder in '09. I also met Tony on that trip, on a bourbon aisle of a local liquor store of course. On the concourse right before Ralphie ran onto Folsom Field, Ben screamed at me and we yelled "Go Dawgs!" together for the first time.

On other trips, UGA events, and the occasional Drive By Truckers concert I've met other Damn Good Dawg fans like Mackie, Krisi, Jen from La Jolla, Buddy, the Thinking Bulldog, Groo, Kit, Jake & April & Bryan, Sorrow & Trevin, DentalDawg, Chase, Andrew, Brad, Sandy, Angie, Scott from the Boro, Paul Westerdawg, John aka the Oconee River Rat, Tony & Russ, Jason, and of course the Eternal Redcoat Brett.

I've shared a ride to Columbia SC with Salty to share some beers with Ben, only to suffer through the worst beat down I've seen our Dawgs take.

After the Dawgs' win in Jacksonville Derrick, Colby, and Eddie helped me sacrifice my car. Next year we're going to find a different way to celebrate a WLOCP win.

Even through all the ups and downs, the relationships have held me true.

OUR tell-tale Dawg heart
That's a really, really long way of pointing out that we all have a story. It's moments like this, before your team plays its biggest game in decades, that we as fans tend to reflect on how we, personally, got here.

As the old saying goes, it's not the destination but the journey that's important. Today, here on the eve of the 2018 College Football National Championship, I respectfully disagree. It's both the journey and the destination.

It's the moonlight through those Georgia pines. It's the old sweet song that keeps bringing us back each and every August.

We've all worked through our own moments of fear and trepidation to get here. We've all hugged perfect strangers in the stands of Sanford and other stadiums in the Southeast and beyond when some player wearing that most magnificently beautiful helmet made a play. We've all buried our heads in our hands more often than we've raised them to the Heavens.

And here we are. It started in our veins, it coursed through our heart, and brought us to our feet!

Tweet Champs!

We've stood together in agony. We've put our arms around each other in desperation. We've traveled the nation and drank towns dry. We've suffered through coaching searches and injuries and dropped passes and also getting passed on by the national narrative.

But Kirby's team has punched its own ticket. It's been a fabulous ride...

2017's Final stanza
...but it ain't over. This magical season just had to end with Alabama. Like no other the Tide have stood between us and greatness the most often and the most resolute. They held us five yards short. They've beat us down twice in our own stadium in the last nine years.

And you may have heard recently that our coach is their former assistant. While the national media lazily tries to draw similarities, we need to remember that Kirby is quick to point out the differences. Tucker's defense is more like Junkyard Dawgs than Saban Crimson clones.

After all, sheep are for Tenersee "farmers".

Yes, this season has to end with Alabama. And come Monday night (or very early Tuesday morning) there's no reason the winner can't be Georgia. After all, the Tide had to fight their way in. They are still trying to prove they belong. The national analysts keep saying "It's an all SEC final!". But only one of us is the conference champion. They may like the cut of the Tide's jib, but Saban failed to win his own damn division.

Meanwhile some keep saying "well goshdarn whatever happens happens and beyond a Rose Bowl berth this season is just gravy".

Is that you? Are you satisfied? Is that defeatist attitude something our coaches and players would endorse? Is that why Fromm set the edge for Sony last Monday night so that you could post your #RoseBowl excitement on bookface and scream with glee just so he and Chubb and Zo and Bellamy and Dominick could have the chance to friggin' lose their final game of their Georgia Bulldog career? Is that why Lorenzo Carter finally came back down to Earth earlier this week after hovering endlessly over the Rose Bowl turf to block that damn kick?

Dude, your sadness makes Alanis Morisette want to make another starving dog commercial. Get a gotdamn grip!

We're Georgia and we belong right where we are. They're the ones that need to prove they belong. They're the ones that're bringing their cousins to Atlanta...as dates. They're the ones that have a complacent fan base. They're the ones with a coach that's spent 20 years on AARP benefits.

Let's bring this home. Let's complete this journey! Our destination has been the same since we became Dawg fans! Our goal hasn't wavered since Bellamy stripped sacked that Domer in South Bend! Our focus has been steadfast since the blood coursed through the veins into our heart and brought us to our feet!

Truly, I don't know if we'll win tomorrow, but I can't think of one reason why we can't. We've come this far, we've followed our own paths. For 37 years we've turned our heads towards the Southwest corner for the Battle Hymn until we've developed a crick in our neck. We've joined hands and raised our four fingers and most recently a phone's flashlight to beckon our own inner Glory Glory!

I don't know what the future holds, but I know it's bright and I only want it brighter. Like, NOW! I want the confetti to drench and nearly drown Nick Chubb. I want to see Sony make #JazzHands and snow angels on the Mercedes-Benz floor. I want to see that gap in Zo's smile as he hoists the trophy.  I want to see Bellamy holding the ball he stripped from Hurts with two minutes left on the stage as he accepts the MVP award.

I want to hug my kids with a championship hug. I want my wife to know the joy that she's been been screaming and longing for all these years. I want my friends to feel the joy that I know they've all earned ten times over. I want you, my loyal and eager Reader, to enjoy the long and joyous smile of a truly satisfied Georgia Buldog fan.

Glory Glory, let us bow our thankful heads y'all....dear Lord, we thank you for the opportunity to play in Atlanta one more time. Please let Roquan find many a ball carrier and Wynn raise Chubb to your Heavens at least one more time! In the name of Herschel's Separated Shoulder and Munson's Metal Steel Chair, Amen! Go Dawgs!

#KeeptheMainThingtheMainThing

From one week ago to one week from today

Dear Fragile Georgia Fan,

One week from right now we all heard the cries. We were practically in unison. It all sucked, and it was so, so painful. Even though we came into September knowing we'd face some growing pains we didn't know it'd cost us a Homecoming game against Vanderbilt.

Brutal.

But then you went a bridge too far. Woke up Sunday to some saying they'd be back when Kirby had a chance to get his own players. Many of y'all even said you were done completely; you can longer stand the thought of standing alongside the rest of us.

Good riddance. Because what lies ahead is not for the feint of heart or those who can't unwind their panties in time to put on their big boy britches.

One week from right now we play Florida. If you're not down there with me and the team and the rest of the real fans, I hope you tune in and hunker down with your big screen tv. I hope you'll join me as just a guy that can never give up on his team. A guy that believes you endure the hard times to enjoy the good.

I didn't become a dad just to cheer when my kid scores a goal. I didn't become a dad just to be there when my kid walks across the stage at graduation. I became a dad to see them through the lows so that they can get back up and walk forward again.

Similarly, I didn't become a Georgia fan just to pick and choose which seasons I wear red. I didn't become a Georgia fan to see the teams compete only during championship games. I want to hurt so I can truly feel the joy. I want to withstand the storm so that the Sun is that much brighter.

If you're as ready for the last five games as you were the first six, let's join hands. If you're not done whining and you'd like another few weeks to finish your self-pity smoothie...well, we'll see you whenever you find a chinstrap that snaps tight enough.

Go Dawgs!

Karma, kiss my ass.

Look, I've been doing this blog here since September 2008. And we have nothing to show for it except some misguided clicks, poor spelling, swear words galore, and a couple of "gator" bowls.

So...if a little change brings unprecedented prosperity, then...well, I deserve some measure of credit.

(Not really. I know I'm just some asshole with a keyboard...)

Anyway, let's try something completely different. And see what happens!

You want answers? ... I WANT THE TRUTH!!

Hey, there's a game Saturday. Maybe you forgot that while wallowing around in your own pity. While you try to think up a new anonymous twitter or DawgVent handle so you can spout venom and regurgitate nonsense, the team is actually practicing for Kentucky!

The texts, the calls, the tweets, the comments....

I get it. But it's November. Richt ain't gonna pull a Spurrier and leave his team during the season with football left on the table. More importantly, McGarity isn't going to read your message bored post and fire anybody. You know why, because no one (of any consequence) would return his call to sign up for 2016 if he did.

You may not like Mark Richt and you may be sick of losing (like the rest of us I might add), but he's Georgia's best coach in the history of the program. There's a myriad of reasons he hasn't been more of a player in the SEC the last decade, most of which falls directly on his shoulders and all of which we can get into once the calendar flips one more time. He's in his 15th year and he ain't going anywhere until he decides he's done.

Maybe that's in a month, or maybe that's in five years. I don't know and I don't particularly care right now to be quite honest. I just want to beat Kentucky. I want to somehow and in some way see a damn touchdown. I want to teach my kids that there are things to really and truly celebrate in life, and watching the Dawgs play in Athens on a Saturday afternoon is one of them.

Maybe you're not that way. Okay. Fine. Please don't let me stand in the way of you and that wall you're banging your head against.

Look, I took my car flags down Sunday just like you. The difference is I had driven 300 miles and was standing in my driveway when they were pulled off the windows. You glanced over each shoulder in the hotel parking lot before breakfast and ripped em down as fast as you could.

Am I disappointed? You better believe it. Do I think the coaches need to answer some hard questions? Absolutely. It's absolutely illogical some of the things I'm seeing! I even suffered through the Bulldog Hotline, aka Lobbing Softballs at the Coach Hour Half-hour, to listen to...to listen to....something.

If you're so pissed that you can't stand it any longer, make a real statement - don't come Saturday, or don't turn on the tv, or don't even get the hell out of bed. That's making a statement if you're truly and absolutely done. It's going to be a noon kickoff after a miserable week. Your empty seat will speak volumes if you can convince enough people to follow your lead.

But that ain't me. Don't hold it against me. But I love Saturdays in Athens and I don't turn my back on my team. Like I said yesterday, every game is going to be a struggle down the stretch. 5-7 isn't off the table, but neither is 9-3. There's a time and a place for asking the hard questions. If you want to drive the #FireEmAll bus, go right ahead. I'm just sitting here with my red pompom waiting on another route to come by.

It's in my blood. I was never guaranteed it'd be easy. And I certainly haven't enjoyed the last month. But I'm supporting my team today just the same was I will come Saturday.

Go Dawgs!

The Friday Misery is ready to BAT THAT SH*T DOWN!!

How do you get a WarDamnTiglesman to stop writing funny checks from under the table?
You bat that shit down.

We ain't ready. Not me. Not you.
We spent all week fighting over our own colors. We ain't ready. Our hashtags and our tweets and our lunch time chats and our phone conversations and our message bored typing and our emails and our BookFace posts and our dinner table conversations were all full of piss and vinegar and disdain for each other. We ain't ready. In a week when we should've pulled together, all we did was pull ourselves apart. We ain't ready. A day before the biggest damn game of the season and you're more worried about what I'm wearing tomorrow night than spending every goddamn second hating Auburn. We ain't ready. On the eve of the schedule's biggest nationally televised showdown and I'm more worried about whether there's enough bourbon in my tailgate cup to make it so far into the evening than I am about measuring just how high the Auburn tree grows without branching. We ain't ready. We had all week to do nothing but hate Auburn, and we just pissed that shit away. We ain't ready. We were kicking Kentucky's ass so hard it afforded us an extra couple hours to look down on our ugly ass step-sister from Opelika and yet all we did was beg Coach Richt to arrange our wardrobe. We ain't ready.

We ain't ready. But we're gonna get there. Tighten that belt. Drain that drink. Clench that fist and set that jaw. The days are up and we're down to hours now. Let's go...

"...we may not have it all together. But I believe

together we can have it all."

Proof. Ain't the size of the Dawg in the fight, but
the size of the fight in the Dawg.

Together.
It's not the colors on your back that matters, because it's what's in your heart that makes a difference. I give you my word and I raise my hand. Please, let's ready them as one and let's steady them for the storm of emotions. Let's prepare our hearts and minds to weather the tumult below our feet. It won't be given to us so we must prepare to take it, to earn it with every moment and every snap of the ball. Just to say we are ready is not nearly enough. We must breathe it with every word and we must clench it against the cold November night air.

We've spent 41 days on the road away from home. We withstood obstacles we didn't know existed. We fought enemies we thought were vanquished. They said we were a team but with just one player. They said we were a program without merit. They said we couldn't and yet we did. They said we'd perish and yet we survived.

Our flaws were exposed for the world to see. And yet we scored. Yes, we scored against the odds and while he sat; we scored when they said we wouldn't and we scored when they said we couldn't.

We are one.

Talk is cheap and it said Mason wasn't ready. Talk is dirty and it said that other team "was due". Talk was for Saturday mornings and we came to play on Saturday afternoons. We didn't do it all but we did as much as we were able. We proved to be an imperfect team and an imperfect fanbase. Our vulnerabilities were displayed, at times embarrassingly. But together we're Georgia. Together we are one. Together we move forward, because divided we will lose.

They are Auburn. Their spring practice is writing checks and building "steeples". While we work, they copy answers and get the better grade. Lady Fortuna may have been born on Toomers' Corner, but she doesn't have a ticket to this game. She tried to hand me money but fumbled it on the snap.

They are Auburn. They cheat for the chance. We fight for the honor. They steal for the spotlight. We grind for the Glory. They are only Auburn, but we are always Georgia. Tomorrow is one more opportunity to stand beside you and with Munson in our ears and bourbon on our breath, hunker it down one more time you guys!

When the Dawgs take the field we will raise our eager hands and lay our voices down upon them as one. They will know we mean hard business when the earth beneath them shakes. There, in Sanford, we will stand side by side. Our voices will be one and our spirit will remain unbroken. We will bring everything we have to Athens, prepared to lay it all down.

Yes, the opportunity was there last year and it fell horrifically from our fingertips. This year, in Athens...tomorrow night, in Sanford, we're gonna BAT THAT SHIT DOWN!! Because we are Georgia, and because we are one.

Bow your heads please...Dear Lord, please protect the toilet paper dispensers in Athens this weekend. As well as our local livestock. And whenever you have a spare moment, hand Todd Gurley the ball. Again. Amen.

It's simple really. Just be loud.

Set your jaw. Bring your voice.

And we're all good.

It's Tuesday y'all. Don't give a shit what y'all wear. If you're on your feet & cheering w/ me I'll ALWAYS love you unconditionally. #Dawgs
— Bernie (@BernieDawg) November 12, 2014

Gurley: the rock, the hard place, and the victims

Unequivocally, I think it's downright shitty that every female in the state of Georgia can own a "I'm a Gurley Girl" t-shirt that someone not named Todd Gurley was paid handsomely for and yet the man whose talents begat the shirt's proclamation can't make a buck off his own damn name.

We know Manziel did it, and actually got caught. Everyone knows Cam did it, and got away with it. And we can all pretty much agree that one day (maybe soon), what Todd Gurley is alleged to have done will not be against the rules. Well, maybe. One day.

But, none of that excuses it. Not in the least. I have no doubt that Gurley knew the rules. And if he took some cash for signing memorabilia, he's in the wrong and needs to pay the price. One day, probably in just a few months, we'll talk about what this does for his Georgia legacy. However, today we're stuck with the fact that he's let thousands, perhaps even millions of people down.

And that list starts with his own teammates. This may tarnish Gurley's image, but in the long run it doesn't affect him much, if at all. I'm not saying he's not torn up about this blowing up and having to sit out. I don't know him personally, but from what I've observed, read, and seen I would expect he carries a lot of remorse for the position he's put his team in as they load up for a huge road game. Just think back to the post-game scene in South Carolina. The dude was choked up and pissed off and ready to do more on the field. And now he's not allowed near it.

Gurley's a great guy. He made a bad mistake. Stepping away from being a diehard Georgia fan, I'm sorry he's put himself in that position. I've made mistakes. You have too. They may not have made SportsCenter, but they probably affected people we know and love. And I suspect that is what is hurting Todd Gurley the most right now.

Stepping back into my diehard Bulldog shoes once again, I hurt most for guys like Hutson Mason, Chris Conley, Michael Bennett, and all those big ol' Dawgs up front that were prepared to block and fight and help Gurley get enough yards Saturday to beat Missouri. They're the real victims here. As bad as I feel about this, as embarrassed as I am to face these questions from those around me, as ashamed as I am that my alma mater is in the bad headline column once again, it's those guys that are on their way to suit up tomorrow that I feel the most for in the wake of this news. After all, they're the ones that have invested the most time, energy, sweat, blood, and pain into this season.

Not me. Not you. And definitely not the suits inside Butts-Mehre that don't have the balls to stand up to this nonsense. It's them, the guys that strap on the helmets in the name of Glory, Glory, that have the most to lose and the least amount of time to get over it.

So fans, alumni, Twitterers and BookFacers, gentlemen, and ladies too, let's take a breath. Set aside your shame and anger and frustration. We can't rewrite the headlines. But we can support our team. For its during the good times and the bad that we find out who is willing to stand beside them and yell those two simple words...

Go Dawgs!

Off the chain. Already.

via BassinDawg

Yeh Coach. I'm ready.

Coach Richt....hey, it's me man.

Lower my expectations? Surely you jest.

“I hope we have high expectations,” Richt said. “We all have high expectations for our team for our season. The fact we have Hutson Mason as our starting quarterback doesn’t make me feel like it can hold us back in any way. I think he’s ready for the challenge.”

I mean it's like he doesn't remember us meeting at all, you know?

But seriously, I can't remember being more excited for a season (at least in terms of seeing the changes made in the off season come to fruition) since coaches Martinez, Jancek and Fabris left town. Heck, I'm still pinching myself over the fact that we were facing months and months of despair and much gnashing of the teeth over Grantham's defensive debacles, and suddenly were given this gift. A new lease on life. A breath of fresh air to sustain our wintry demise and give hope to summer breezes.

Ahh yes. Coach, my expectations are fine my friend. If you tell me that this Saturday it's time to tee it up between the hedges, I'm parked by the time the sun reaches the tops of the pines and the bourbon meets the ice shortly thereafter. Mason has my faith eternal. Gurley has my barbaric bark on his shoulders....and just now as I typed that, I caught a vision of Leonard Floyd tipping a pass. It was picked off and Swann housed it!

Coach, my name is Bernie. I am a Dawg, and my expectations know no bounds sir!

Friday Misery - Gratitude Glorified by the young and old

I truly don't know what to type. The word "thanks" isn't close to intense or deep enough to express our gratitude. The following words are yet another failed attempt to bridge that gap. 

Teaching our kids about the history and traditions in and around the University of Georgia is one of our heaviest and most enjoyable burdens as parents. Certainly not one Mrs. Bernie nor I take lightly. And it occurred to me sometime last week just how much this senior class has helped us during our daughters' formative years. When Murray and Smith and Lynch and Burnette first took the field, our girls knew that to know a gator was to hate a gator. But in these last few years they've also discovered the feeling we get when we actually beat the gators.

For that alone, my wife and I will be eternally grateful to guys like Stripling and Gates and Vasser and McGowan. For that alone is an accomplishment so many who've graced the field before them have not experienced. My kids, as well as many of yours too, now know what it means to win against our fiercest competitor. So many of the current students matriculating in Athens didn't get that opportunity when they were my kids' age. They only knew loss and desperation when it came to the World's Largest Outdoor Cocktail Party. So I say thanks Lee and Sailors and Norman and Wooten. For they not only helped to turn the tide of the St. James, they also showed our kids domination over the Yellow Jackets like few others have achieved. The stood up to Fairley, Trooper and Cam's band of thugs. They took us to Atlanta twice. Week in and week out they left everything on the field.

Damn Good Dawgs. All of em!

Yes, during this era things have not always gone according to plan. We've come up short in big moments and experienced painful losses that took us to depths previously unknown. But through it all, this class of seniors represented the G with passion and a relentless pursuit of putting the Dawgs on Top. My kids have seen Sanford Stadium at its loudest and raised their hand over the Dawg Walk railing just for a chance at a fist. They've seen this class' full effort, their tears, their heartache, their four fingers stretched towards the sky and their winning attitude. Once a Dawg, always a Dawg. How sweet it is!

As parents, as fans, as alumni across the state, nation and world who have Committed to the G...we say thanks..."I'm never washing this hand again Mom. Garrison Smith gave me a high five!"..even though thanks is no where near enough.

- - - - - - - - - -

Addendum - This week has seen much of the attention go towards Aaron Murray, and with good reason. I feel like devoting the entire month of December to just how much he's meant on and off the field to this program. And for what that's worth, I don't think you can do better than Corbindawg's post about #11. I agree with it word for word, Murray's the best quarterback to put on the red and black. Perhaps I type that with too much emotion in my heart as we get ready to welcome him to his last home game. But I fully expect to feel the same way a year, ten and even 12 years from now, until my youngest daughter finishes her career at Georgia. :)

But there's so much more to this class than their quarterback. There's even so much more than the names I managed to fit in up there. There's a large number of walk-ons we'll welcome tomorrow that have gone way beyond what many would sacrifice just for a chance to help this team get better each and every practice, each and every week, each and every season. And that's what makes tomorrow night so important. And is why I'll enlist my favorite Dawgs, the one I married and the ones that call me Daddy, to help me honor these guys next week.

Are we ready for disappointment?

Logan gives me a headache with this. His essential question is are the fans ready for the disappointment of losing the SECCG should the Dawgs make it there?

And while you enjoy winning those games, why don’t you silently root for Missouri to knock off Tennessee and Texas A&M so that they can be the ones with long faces as they make the slow walk out of the Georgia Dome in the middle of the third quarter as the pompous, arrogant, self-deserving fans of the Crimson Tide mock them, and not you, as they begin celebrating their third consecutive trip to the BCS championship game.

I guess my only answer would be, if the team is suiting up, I'm ready to follow. God knows I didn't become a Georgia fan to pick and choose the battles. My feeling has always been, if we're given an "extra" game, count me in!

Friday Misery - Are you Fab Fly Freddie Red-Y?

I am not superstitious. I'm not. But I'm also a "if it ain't broke, leave the wrench in the tool bag" kinda guy. And you know what worked in 2003?

Fab Fly Freddie checking his rearview.

That red speck, that miniscule Georgia red pixel in the background is me sitting in a sea of orange. I remember how fast Gibson ran away from me (and the defensive back) and that I was the only one in my section that seemed excited about it. To stand amid a sea of indifference as the lone voice of reason is an intoxicating feeling. Am I right?

I also remember Dad cursing David Pollack. Cursing the line that couldn't block him. Cursing the coaches that couldn't coach the line that couldn't block him. And then I remember post-gating for a bit, and filing in line leaving campus behind one of the kids they'd put on an island to defend Charlie Whitehurst against one of college football's greatest pass rushers ever.

"Dad, you see that one play where I kept him back? You see that one?"

That's funny because it's pitiful. Plus, I think it was the one play Pollack sat out. Regardless, tomorrow I'll be sitting in the same section. Not because I'm superstitious. But because it's the only ticket I could get that's what Dawgs do on the road. Get in the stadium and cheer their gotdamn head off!

Ok, now let's play...what does Bernie not give a shit about?

First, excuses. I do not fairly give a shit that our defense is young. Our defense last year sucked, bottom line. Do y'all want them back, with their one eye on Mel Kiper's pen and the other on the sideline to see if they can sit this play out? They were a series of fits and starts that couldn't stop the runs with a handful of Imodium and a bath plug. Don't sell these new guys short just because they haven't started many games. They're not an excuse, they're our opportunity to prove Georgia Bulldogs defense is better than 2012. They're my guys. They're yours too.

I also don't give a shit about where Gameday is. Some of y'all are a little too obsessed with Kirk's highlights. It's gotten more than awkward. If they wanna come watch me tailgate, sobeit. But fretting over our record while they're on the same campus is weak sauce. It's August hoss. Put your big boy britches on. Let em dress like clowns.

Third. Brent Venables in year two. You know what Brent Venables in year two has never tackled? Todd Damn Gurley. In any year. You know what Brent Venables in year two can't catch? The dust that Keith Marshall kicks up off the turf. Big 12 theories might work in ACC country. But as we proved last year, Grown Man Football is the college football axiom that will never be unproven.

Fourth. Passing the football. RUN. THE. DAMN. BALL. Forever. Then turn around and RUN. IT. BACK.

And last, anything in the world other than this:

If that alone doesn't get your Georgia Red blood pumping a little faster, then I do not know you sir. And I do not care to either.

Back to the defense to close this thing out. I have it on good authority that they've been told the story of Mambogook. If you're not familiar with this tale of Georgia Bulldog football lore, I'll find a moment to relay it to you before kickoff. My point is this: They'll be ready. And unlike 2012, they'll also be hungry.

So stop your fretting over their over-hyped offense. Ease off the ledge. Take my hand and trust in this. We have Gurley. They don't. We have history on our side. They don't. We have a coach that is treating this as a business trip and not a pre-season scrimmage. They don't. It's not a "one-all, end-all deal". Right Dabo? You always wanted a spring game with Dawgs. Well, you better wear your cup tomorrow son. You're getting that and more.

To quote the man himself: "This is the gameplan. We have no alternate plan." See y'all in Clemson. Stick a fork in the off season. Real football is here!

A plea for a Sanford Stadium renovation

This seems the perfect time to hold ourselves accountable. The season is mere days away, no longer a need to count it in months. We're on the precipice of what could be another special season. How down is your hunker? How ready are you to own your spot in Sanford?

And to be quite honest, I'm goddamn sick of excuses. So this might get a little uncomfortable if you attend games. I make no apologies because it's my problem too. And if you own the problem you can be a part of the solution. Because truly, Sanford Stadium has become a mere shadow of its former self. It used to be this great forum, one all opponents feared each and every visit just for the noise and mayhem it somehow contained. We were always frenzied at just the right times and on our feet to help the defense force a punt or generate a turnover or rise to the occasion as the game hung in the balance. And now...now it's not even listed among the top ten venues across the nation. And truthfully, we don't deserve such recognition. Plus, I'm not sure we ever will deserve it again. With lagging ticket sales nationwide and higher quality television options, I often wonder if the drop in energy and enthusiasm can ever be rectified.

But truly, we only have ourselves to blame. You. Me. Him. Her. Instead of taking personal ownership of the problem, we point fingers. The students look at the old guys and point out that we're sitting on our hands. The old guys look at the students and point out that their watch is broken. Then, when Richt mentions how great the crowd was during a particular series, everyone pats themselves on the back. But what the coach is really wondering is why it's so different in Columbia, or Tuscaloosa, or Clemson. Don't believe me? You'll see on Saturday what stadium noise can rise to. You'll be forced to remember what frenzied looks like up close and personal. They might dance up and down to that Zombie song like the engiNerds, but their atmosphere remains electric. Intense. Nearly deafening.

And while it makes me sick to see the UGA student section still filling up as the first quarter clock ticks away, I also look across the aisle and see someone updating their BookFace status as Aaron Murray checks through his progressions. Yeh, and over there we have some dude taking a selfie with his back turned to the field as Malcolm Mitchell prepares to field a punt. Like that couldn't have been done 30 minutes ago as the team warmed up. Or at the next commercial break in action. Hell, the university itself penalizes students who have not only matriculated, but also returned to further their education as a graduate. I was once a "Double Dawg". Were you? As a grad student I got student tickets before anyone else. And that made a lot of sense as I had paid more fees and spent more time nurturing my loyalty, my faith and my indoctrination into all things red and black.

But now we're more concerned with coddling the younger pups and getting them exposed to the atmosphere around Sanford. We don't want to waste that opportunity on some graduate student that has already earned the right to sit there. Check this out:

"Undergraduates' time at the University should be focused on falling in love with the University and cheering on their alma mater, that includes football ... Undergraduates are just inherently more involved," he said. "They are the lifeblood of any University." 

He said that graduate students who spent undergraduate years at UGA already enjoyed the perks of being an undergraduate student.

Mr. Sinyard, please and kindly shut the fuck up. Being a Georgia Bulldog fan isn't a goddamn perk. It's a privilege. Something that is earned by the grace of God and displayed proudly at any and every opportunity. When Steve Spurrier brings his cluckers to town in two weeks, we don't need any newbies! We don't need any wet behind the ears, missing their mommas, fly is still open, wine cooler drinking because that's all their older sister would buy them, freshmen. We need seasoned veterans. Ladies and gentlemen that would give up hundreds of credit hours if they could just to sit beside my ass and scream their ever-loving head off! There's a reason students who've graduated and come back for more are referred to as "Double Dawgs". They've already doubled down on Committing to the G, only to get some second rate, half-assed political saliva in their eye.

While I'm rolling here, let me stand up a little straighter on this soapbox. Because as I take my seat in Sanford I can also look at the next section over and see numerous seats sold to opposing fans. People that wear orange and yellow and blue and all manner of ill-suited colors sitting in sections designed and built and managed for the purpose of allowing fans an opportunity to yell "GO DAWGS!!" Let me ask you this: would you rent out a bedroom in your home to some random Vandy fan just to make some easy cash? Did you even try to sell your seats to an actual Georgia fan before you whored them out on eBay? Every time you substitute your red blood for some bastard's yellow and black pom-pom, there is no hunker coming from that seat. The collective "WE" dies a little bit and James Franklin kills another puppy with his intense staring.

So what are we doing? I mean, what in the hell are we doing to ourselves? Pointing fingers at each other and biting the hand that has fed us for years? Giving tickets to enemies? YGTBFKM. This is our stadium; a place where legends have played and champions have been crowned. In the south we like to refer to our college football as a religion. On autumn Saturdays NOTHING else takes precedence. A wedding is a hindrance and a family reunion is for the vernal equinox. And yet, Sanford can be as quiet as the library up the hill. I've been to funerals that are more lively and seen elderly golfers that were more rambunctious.

And this all happens while men and women serve our great nation AND our DawgNation by waking up in the wee hours of the morning all across the globe to watch/listen to the Dawgs play. I wonder what Jason would've given last season to be on his feet in Sanford Stadium on a Saturday night instead of huddled over his iPhone and watching through the ESPN app in Japan.

All that to say, we're spoiled. We're lazy. And we've become too comfortable with being both. I'm as guilty as the next guy. You're as guilty as me. The difference needs to be that this season we take it upon ourselves to institute change, assist Sanford Stadium in its regression back to the mean. The old way, when the cheerleaders had more than a few thousand fans' attention and the Redcoats weren't just white noise in the background. The Junkyard, where opponents' wills came to be broken and their eardrums pulverized until the clock drained to zeroes and insisted the noise cease...until next Saturday!

The athletic office's public relations asks if we are "RED-Y". I am. Together, let's Commit to the G. Not just give it lip service, but actually commit! Let's make that stadium worse than bonkers. Let's go to church on Sunday with no voice whatsoever. Let's treat it for what it is - our stadium, our home. Where we go to see the Dawg play. Where we greet our opponents kindly, but make damn sure they piss in the urinals and sit in their designated spot!

This has to change. And it starts with me. And it starts with you. September 7th is as good a time as any. Pass this along to anyone that'll read it. Post it anywhere that will allow it. Ask your preacher for forgiveness tomorrow for just having read it. But on Monday share it some more. Spread the word. Let it ring from the mountain tops of northwest Georgia down to the shores of St. Simon's Island. We're taking our stadium back because it's not just a place to visit; it's a place where every ounce of energy we have is to be spent. The only "perk" of attendance should be getting to sit next to someone who dresses and sounds just like you.

Let's get after it! Our time. Our place. Our Sanford. Go Dawgs!

SECCG rewatch, in pictures

I'll collect more thoughts together (more than what I could put together last night) later after having watched (and deleted!!) the game against Bama. For now, I thought I would share a couple pictures that at least help to tell part of the story from that epic game.

First, here's Coach Richt voicing his displeasure after Tree was flagged for roughing the passer. I slowed it down and replayed it and it is clear he says, "That's bullcrap!"


It was 3rd and 6 and McCarron had thrown it high and through the endzone. They would've been forced to kick a field goal, but now had first and goal. Two plays later Tree stones Lacy at the one and Ramik Wilson forced a fumble. That made it third and goal again, this time from the five after McCarron recovered the fumble. The next play Commings jumped a hitch route and it was Saban's turn to say "That's bullcrap."

The call on Tree was probably the right one. It was close and I would've probably thrown the flag too. Unless of course Tree had changed his name to Quinton Dial. Regardless, I thought it was funny to see Richt say "bullcrap" in slow-mo and then get vindicated by Tree's goal line tackle and Commings' pick.

Okay, now it's time to get serious. This graphic popped up towards the end of the third quarter as Bama was beginning to exert their will on the ground.


In a word, ouch. More on this later, but we had an excellent defensive gameplan to start. We were soft and tired as the game wore on however.

Lastly, many asked why I was subjecting myself (and my followers) to this nightmare. I think Chi-Town Dawg put it best in his comment yesterday:

I still have mixed emotions about that game. It was the most amazing and emotionally exhausting UGA game I've ever seen. I was absolutely drained after the game and was sitting in the lower level at the 15 yard line, so it ended right in front of me. I was upset after the loss, but at the same time felt at peace because the team and coaches played their hearts out and left everything they had on the field. Unlike some past losses to USCjr or UF, I wasn't pissed because they gave it their all and as CMR said we just ran out if time. It was a game for the ages and it was a shame that either team had to lose. you could tell both teams realized they were playing for the MNC that night. Having said all of this, it won't make watching the game any easier!

Yes, exactly how I feel. How many games can you remember where you were genuinely pissed after a loss? Colorado was the penultimate for me. No, make that Columbia last season. Whatever. The point is, this game will always be a thorn in our side. It will haunt us forever. But it was a pleasure to watch this team play again. It was a point of pride to see the Georgia Bulldogs play a game against the best team/program in the country, put them on their heels time and time again, even after getting punched in the mouth. We never gave up. And our players left it all on the field. Right where their coaches had asked them to.

We're all different and we all deal with pain in different ways. But this was good for me. Sure, my heart broke all over again on that last play. How could it not? But win or lose it is always a pleasure to see your team play with that much skill, determination, preparation and heart.

Plus, at the end, after Coach Saban gave us his sincere compliment, and Richt explained how proud he was of his team, I got to press "Erase".


And move on. Go Dawgs!

Monday's Meatloaf - of fatherly pride and ponytails

We stepped up to the registration desk and I could sense her uneasiness. I've only known her for eight years and 55 weeks, but I know she tenses up in new situations. Especially ones with new faces in new places; surely a character trait I evidently passed down to her. So I put my hand reassuringly on her shoulder, the way a dad does when he knows his kid is the least bit uneasy, and I wondered if she picked up my uneasiness as well.

Because like me, she's also pretty intuitive.

Flag football combine, event 2, distance throw, grade: A+

Months of negotiating had lead us to this point. Of course all of the discussion about playing football had been in private, for the most part. She kept insisting on tackling somebody. And I kept insisting she start with flags on her hips.

It's not that I'm afraid of pads on her shoulders. She can hold her own, trust me. It's just that flags seems the reasonable and logical step. When I first offered that a trail had already been blazed for female place kickers she insisted that she'd be a "quarterbacker" or a linebacker at UGA instead. I quickly recalled it is not in a father's best interest to sell his own daughter short. Ashamed, I quickly told her she could be anything she wants to be, a phrase she and her sister hear about every day from their mother and myself. After all, we'd much rather them reach for the stars than the storm clouds underneath.

So there we were, a year and a half later. Me standing by my promise and her standing at the desk where we knew the question would be raised. I cringed before he even asked. "Okay young lady, are you here for cheerleading?.....(long pregnant pause as the jersey and cleats she's wearing catches up to him)...or flag football?"

"She's here for football," I announced, louder than I had anticipated.

The rest was easy; even easier than the countless minutes of catch in the backyard, the neighborhood games and even the indoor Madden '13 matchups. Yes, as expected, she let her arm and her legs and her knowledge of the game do the talking once we were out on the field. Her pass had a tighter spiral than any of the coaches. Her routes were confident and sharp. She didn't like the cone drill because she didn't get to run it with a ball in her hands - "What's the point of that Dad?" But by the end she had made her point.

Should this experience prove too little of a challenge, I won't push her to continue if she doesn't want to. Just like I won't lower the bar because she's a girl. As far as I'm concerned the most important step is already behind us. And we took it together. Nothing against cheerleading, but she does enough of that on fall Saturdays.

Proud to be her daddy. Her mother, sister and I are pretty sure she will be the best one on the field. Regardless, I have already proven to her that while the world stands and waits for their opportunity to believe in her, I'm already at the front of the line.

Today's Ingredients
- MARCH MADNESS IS HERE!!!!!1 And we're not in it.
- But Tyler has the pool heated up. And here's a link to Kerri's #FBWD pool for you tweeps. Password is "Twittah".
- Hoop Dawg has a season wrap up in a lot more words than I can express.
- And Daugman sums up my thoughts exactly on our early exit from Nashvegas.
- Greg has some communication he'd like to impart, from the line of scrimmage.
- From Blutarsky: Animal husbandry. Cousin lovin'. SEC nuptials. Sometimes they're closer than you think. Maybe that explains WarDamnTiglesmen.
- Dawg Haus looks at the 1984 clash 'tween the hedges of Georgia and Clempson.
- Meanwhile, Kimberly wonders who ya got for the season opener.
- The GymDogs finished the regular season with an impressive road mark.
- Diamond Dawgs...swept out of College Station.
- And the Men's Tennis team took care of the Gamecocks yesterday in Athens.
- Lastly, in case you missed it, make sure you craft beer drinkers catch my talk with Kevin at College Football Zealots. We even sneak in a little spring football talk.

So how was your St. Patrick's Day? Did you end up face down?... in a pool of your own green vomit?...in the middle of Savannah?...with nothing on but a ratty pair of green silk boxers?...three sizes too small?...

I didn't. I mean there were some moments when I guess it was touch and go. I did attend a beer fest after all. And spent a good part of yesterday comparing and contrasting Irish brewing techniques. The products of those techniques that is.

But I think the highlight was eating most of the weekend's meals outside on the patio with the family. There's just something about getting back to nature after being frozen over by these harsh Georgia winters. Like I said Friday...

Y'all have a great Monday. And rest assured I'll let you know when my daughter is signing autographs. Until then, here's your fork. Go on and get after it!

Bernie

Crappy officiating vindicated

Whew!

Alabama defensive lineman Quinton Dial won’t be suspended for the BCS national title game by the Southeastern Conference due to a hit that included helmet-to-helmet contact on Georgia quarterback Aaron Murray.

The league said it looked at footage from the SEC title game and is leaving any discipline to the schools.

“The Southeastern Conference has completed its review of video from the 2012 SEC Football Championship Game,” the league said in a statement released today. “Several plays involving both teams were reviewed. After review, all subsequent action will be handled internally by the two institutions and the conference office is satisfied with their actions.” 

I recognize that Georgia was dishing some stuff up too. And I also recognize that on the interception return, at the moment that Aaron Murray was hit he was really fair game. But the hit by Dial was helmet to helmet. Clearly.

In the NFL Dial would've lost a chunk of a paycheck. In the SEC, this type of thing is handled "internally" with stadium stairs. At best.

Unbelievable. Not surprising mind you. But still unbelievable.

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

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.

Never won his conference, but plenty of "highlights".

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!

Friday Misery - Birthday at Little Bighorn

It’s hate week, so…has Reuben Houston sold Joe Hamilton any weed today?

Of North Ave. and vomit

Yesterday on twitter I got a little nostalgic. The year was 1995. My first UGA diploma was still somewhat fresh in hand only two years old and the Dawgs were invading “historic” Grant Field on Thanksgiving Day one last time. Ray Goff was nearing his end and had helped the team endure some key injuries. Tech was still acting like a friggin' 12 year old over their shared national title five years prior…OMG that was the best team ever and those mutts were delivering our pizza while we celebrated from our dad’s basement!!!1

Turkey carcass, or tech secondary?

We watched as senior kicker Kanon Parkman set up to kick a winning field goal, just as he’d done four years earlier as a freshman, My God!. The snap was good and the hold was true. But the kick was about the ugliest thing you could imagine. I swear it never lifted higher than Coach Goff’s signature ball cap, maybe even lower than his horn rimmed glasses. It wobbled a lot more than it spun. Its magnificence was only confined by its aim, which was true. Kanon’s leg was dead on. It knuckled its way to Glory! I jumped victoriously and sent a heartfelt thanks towards the Heavens...

...then sprinted my happy ass to the truck, jumped in and hustled my way towards some Thanksgiving leftovers. Shortly after escaping Atlanta’s city limits however my stomach began to rumble. The wings I’d had the night before were making their own comeback. I pulled over and left a roadside offering of the food poisoning variety. And by the time I had driven the 300+ miles I was hardly in the mood for turkey and dressing.

But still…I drifted off smiling. Dawgs 18 nerds 17. Holy shit it sucks to be an engiNerd.

This year’s candles

I was born to despise Tech.  Legend has it that on the day I was born Tech sucked even more than on the day before. So it has become my obligation, one of my greatest pleasures in life to hate the wrambled wreck. Every year since that historic day when I took my first breath, looked the doctor in the eye and said “Jasper’s knee will be down goddamnit!”…I have celebrated my birthday in part by blowing out candles towards Georgia Tech’s ineptness, their inability to tackle, their cute little offense, and their eternal virginity.

Custer was Chantastic!

It’s not a task I enter into lightly. When family and friends watch the smoke clear and ask, “Bernie, what’d you wish for?” I simply reply, “Same as every year.” And then later that day, or later in the week, as the time drains from the clock I can simply point to the scoreboard and smile.

Most years that is. There is the occasional Georgia Tech win, that may or may not be vacated. There is the occasional year when our Dawgs are not up to the challenge of my birthday cake’s adornment. They waste a lead and therefore waste my breath. Consequently, my wish is lost like a Jim Donnan gameplan. Or it’s stolen by Al Ford and thrown in the dirt. JASPER WAS DOWN GODDAMNMIT!!!

Despite those hiccups…those fleeting moments of epic nerdom…this series is about as one sided as Custer at Little Bighorn. The candles on the cake put up more of a fight than the teams Tech sends onto the football field. And that's why wishes can come true when your birthday is around the same time as mine. 

Dawgs on top. Wear black. See you in Athens!

Of fear, hammers and storm clouds

Fear haunts my dreams; losing wrecks them. As Franklin Delano Roosevelt said so many years ago - "...the only thing we have to fear is...fear itself..."

Right now the Georgia fanbase is in a state of turmoil. The number of people who've lost faith in the program's leadership (read: not just the coaches, the leadership) is at an all time high. The South Carolina debacle is like the Lewinsky blue dress of the Clinton administration: a permanent stain that even the most ardent supporters can't fully ignore. It's the "read my lips, no new taxes" failed promise and dip in the approval ratings for Daddy Bush voters whose faith begins to waver and then slip. 

Fans are grumbling, frustrated and dissatisfied. Message boreds are hot, Twitter is aflutter and even the Mike in Columbus Show Bulldog Hotline has some uneasy callers. All this while the team stands at 5-1 on the season and still within reach of a 2nd consecutive trip to Atlanta in early December.

By now I'm sure most of you have seen the message board post from a former player a couple weeks back about how there's no fear in the football program. It harkens back to Richt's glory days when there were certain coaches that no one wanted to be around. They made everyone uneasy and kept the players on edge. Not by design mind you, but because that's who they were - hardcore assholes. Grade A sumbitches. They made elevator rides just as uncomfortable as gassers in the cold, early morning rain.

I certainly don't know everything it takes to be a competitive program at this level of tackle football. In fact I can only assure you of one thing - I personally fear losing. The idea of it haunts me, as I'm sure it does you as well. We hate it! I don't want to fall short of any goal, personally or professionally. And I transfer that feeling on to my alma mater.

No, I can't pass along great insight into what specifically Richt is not doing now that he might have been doing back then. I can't even tell how much of it is his burden to carry and how much is McGarity's or Bobo's or Grantham's or the equipment manager's. But I can tell you what I see. And that is a team that doesn't have an edge to it. Too often the fake juice is exposed for what it is and too often the swagger only lasts through warm ups.

Ultimately that lies at Mark Richt's feet. And many of you are probably reading this as a shot at him. I guess that's fine. But I'm also a realistic man. And I know that he's not only our coach this Saturday, but he's our coach the rest of the season and surely again next year and probably beyond that. I'm not looking ahead to next season anymore than I'm looking ahead to the WLOCP. Any argument otherwise is futile.

Richt has been at Georgia for 11.5 seasons now. And still there are fans expecting him to grab a player's face mask or bite Penn Wagers head off and kick it through the goalpost. They want him to storm onto the field after every missed extra point and rip Marshall Morgan's jersey off. My answer to that (including myself on occasion) is that's not who he is. We should know by now that there's no Mr. Hyde to his Dr. Jeckyll. He's closer to Saturday night Lawrence Welk than he is Saturday Night WWE. Let's get real. How many of us can change our personality as easily as Dr. David Banner?

However, I also believe people can evolve. They can recognize certain patterns and institute changes and adjustments to rise the a new occasion, a new era. And that is Richt's challenge. The frustrating part is that it's been his challenge the last few years. The team needs an edge. They need to fear more than losing. They need to fear for their role on the team and their very presence in the huddle. They need a fear that is - nameless, unreasoning, unjustified terror which paralyzes needed efforts to convert retreat into advance. If Richt needs help in instituting that level of fear then the administration needs to get out of the way. Get out the checkbook instead of sitting on it. Take the leash off Grantham if that's what's holding us back. 

But if it's Richt's stubbornness that is an additional obstacle, then he needs to look longer in the mirror. A 5-1 season ain't broke, but that doesn't mean it doesn't need some fixing. A few years ago we needed more than spackle and paint to fix what was wrong. It took an extra season or two for it to dawn on Richt to cut bait and get out the hammer and nails. That was being stubborn. And despite the fact that those changes were eventually made doesn't mean he can keep shifting into cruise control. Continued losses to actual ranked teams might not call for a bulldozer, but it certainly suggests you might want to strap on that tool belt. 

And that might be true as well for the fans.

In every dark hour of our national life a leadership of frankness and of vigor has met with that understanding and support of the people themselves which is essential to victory. And I am convinced that you will again give that support to leadership in these critical days.

For those of us who are truly outside the arena, just support the program. In my mind, supporting the program means supporting the coach. Don't misinterpret that to mean doing so blindly. Y'all know I'm big on accountability. But if I'm cheering for my team on Saturdays, that includes the guy who leads them out of the tunnel.

The road ahead ain't gonna be easy. It never is. But wear your G proudly and let's not put the cart before the horse. There could be more storms ahead. If so, we'll weather them together. Just like we do the sunny days when there's nothing to fear, but the word itself.