the Friday Misery has bad news for Grantham's towel

A nun, a priest, and a rabbi walk into a bar in Starkville...

j/k Starkville has zero of those nouns.

Welcome to Athens!! We have beer drawn from kegs! Not your Uncle Rufus’ tub!

Back in '05 the wife and I spent a month in Starkville one afternoon, so what follows are factual accounts.

It’s the perfect town if you like to spend a day shopping for God’s word at the Bible Outlet store, crossing the road to the WalMart to replenish the underwear drawer, swinging through the Zaxby’s drive-thru to pick up some over-fried chicken, and then setting up a picnic under the town water tower.

And that’s just about it. The town is a desolate homage to what life was like during the post-depression era. It’s just that it has yet to progress any further.

Is that supposed to be a dog? A bear? A gopher?

Case in point, on Saturday find a Missy State fan that’s made the trip from Starkville. Now they have to have come from Starkville. Not one of those rare cowbell clanging fans that now lives in Atlanta, or anywhere east of the Tuscaloosa-Starkville-Meridian Triangle.

If you have trouble, listen for a couple discussing how in the world they are going to play this football game after dark. “I know Winona, I wus jus’ wondering the same thing. It’s gon be dark long before the bands even toot their marching horns! Now how’s Fitzgerald gonna tell the difference between the center and the left guard’s hindquarters?”

Anyway, find that fan, probably in a #7 maroon jersey fitted neatly under some overalls and wearing a cowbell around his neck, and ask him if he has a cell phone. Or even knows what one is.

Ask him if he has an opinion about whether The Stones were better than The Beatles.

Ask his wife anything about the Bay of Pigs and the resulting strained relations with Cuba.

Ask either of them their thoughts about milk going from cardboard cartons to plastic jugs.

Then prepare to stare into the actual and real face of Stupefied personified. Seriously, they will probably walk away quietly while whispering cautions of crop circles, aliens, and satanic worshippers.

“Bubby, why don’t these people get their milk from glass jugs like normal people do?”

After scaring the buhjeebus out of Mr. And Mrs. Clanga, catch back up to them and introduce them to the world of wonder that is Athens GA. In all of its Millennial brilliance! The lights, the vehicles not powered by two mules and a gust of wind, the delicious food, being able to walk more than two steps without having to negotiate a cow pattie, the trees, the running water, the “outhouses” made of plastic, THE LIGHTS!!

They might not want to leave. And really, why would they?

The part where Toddles waddles back ‘tween the hedges

Let’s be real, Todd Grantham did a lot to improve our defense when he arrived in 2010. It took a couple years, but we caught a glimpse of what a squad of eleven men can do when they’re coached to do football things like cover receivers. And tackle.

The douchebag deserves some credit there, okay? Really, he does.

That said, what a poser. What a coward. What a semi-deranged lunatic with an nonsensical white towel fetish.

His greatest memory in Athens - confronting Vandy’s penis-head of a coach at midfield. His lowest? Pick from a plethora of plays where the opponent had huddled, set, gone through a cadence of voice commands, and then snapped the ball all while our defense was gazing at the sideline like a herd of clueless sheep waiting on some kind of direction.

Here’s my take...Chubb breaks one and is running free along the Missy State sideline. All that stands between him and a touchdown is 60+ yards of Sanford paydirt. As the fans reach the top of their audible crescendo...wait, what’s that? No, who was that?

"I WOULD LIKE YOU TO KNOW THAT I ACCIDENTALLY PUT
GARLIC ON MY CHEERIOS THIS MORNING!!"

Grantham steps in front of Chubb waving said towel like some maniacal bull fighter whose cap is more than slightly askew and whose face is toxic with anger.

The cheers become gasps. Some avert their eyes in the milliseconds before impact. Others, now empowered with the full realization of what in the holy hell is actually happening right here under the lights on national tv and my God I think even some grandmas are watching, shriek like they’ve never shrieked before.

“GET OUT THE GAHTDAMN WAY GRANTHAM YOU SONOFA…”

The rest trails off because when the dust clears there is just a towel, floating casually and effortlessly down towards the MSU 43 yard line, within feet of where Christian Robinson stands with mouth agape.

Then the cheers, slowly at first, begin to return. The dude in front of you points to the endzone and starts jumping up and down. Your eyes follow and that’s when you realize that the spectacle has only just begun. Nick Chubb’s arms are raised, and one of them hands Grantham the football.

“Is this what you were looking for a second ago Coach? Sorry, I wasn’t quite done with it.”

Grantham, his eyes dazed and his countenance thoroughly confused, reaches down and gently takes the ball. Then he slides off of Chubb’s shoulders and waddles back to the opponent’s sideline.

Drunk on night kicks

A couple weeks ago I told you that the Irish weren’t ready. And for the most part I was wrong. They played better than I thought they would. They’re a better team that I thought they were. To be perfectly honest, I underestimated them to some degree.

Now it’s game four and we’re still kicking off under the lights. In my nearly three decades of following Georgia football, I’ve never seen Sanford with the energy for a cupcake like we saw last week. It’s loud and people are into it, every aspect of it.

Thirty-five to seven in the third quarter and Samford has the ball looking for a first down, no matter. Dawg fans still up in their ears disrupting the set and the audibles.

And that’s so, SO important. Because the truth is that I don’t know if MSU is ready. I don’t know how good they are. I’d like to think we can contain this media darling quarterbacker they’ve got, force him into throwing it while applying the rush. I hope we can.

I also think our special teams can be a difference maker tomorrow night. They’ve been the model of consistency thus far. We had a long return called back in South Bend. Last week we had a blocked kick after Fromm fumbled. That tells me they’re capable of making that one play that is a huge difference in the outcome.

I think our offense can over-power their defense. I really think they can.

But I do know that I’m tired of hearing people talk about just how great “these Bulldogs” are just because they beat a half-assed LSU team at home. Who cares. We beat a pretty good Notre Dame team on the road. But that was two weeks ago. Teams are supposed to get better as the season progresses. The good ones do. Have we gotten better since boarding the busses in South Bend, prepping for Samford, beating them soundly, and then prepping for another team of bulldogs?

On the other hand, has Mullen’s team gotten better since last Saturday when they beat a team that’s notoriously hard to beat but is nothing more than a shell of its former self? Have they gotten better during a week when they’ve been continuously billed as the second best team in the SEC? “And Dan Mullen is the second best coach in the SEC!!”

Bullshit.

"These gloves make my face feel...different."

None of that matters tomorrow. It’s late September and I don’t give a damn who the second best team in the SEC is. I just want Georgia to be the best team on the field tomorrow night. I want Kirby to expose Mullen as a fraud and a joke, just another Urban Meyer project living out his days under the Starkville water tower, wearing wide receiver gloves on the sidelines to fight off a November chill.

And I want this amazing, uber talented, incredible game manager, dual-threat, future Heisman winning quarterback to completely and utterly fold like a cheap suit under the verified, the insurmountable, the downright imposing, the unified force of nature that is the deafening weight of Sanford Stadium. I want to see him try to bounce outside, think he’s gained the edge and then…

POP!!!

Roquan levels his ass and then Fitzgerald spends a moment on the turf seriously contemplating the consequences of returning to the next huddle.

We saw what Kirby’s team could do on the road against a storied program. It gave me a taste. Tomorrow night it’s just a casual rival that’s been continuously flagellated by the media all week, but it’s SEC football. Like the corny conference slogan says - “It just means more.”

It does, and I want it because it will taste even better than those Irish tears. Now, please bow your heads. Lord, please make Grantham pick up his own dirty laundry. Our thoughts continue to be with everyone battling these hurricanes. We pray for their safety. And also, we pray that the Chapel Bell rings loud and proud late tomorrow night! Amen.

Go Dawgs y'all!

Early thoughts on SEC play and the Starville pups

Georgia finally opens SEC play this week. After so many years of having the Gamecocks in week two or sometimes three, it feels weird opening up the conference schedule this late. But alas, the OOC slate is shelved until November and it's time to strap em a little tighter men!

Still a little surprised by what happened in Columbia Saturday night. No, not talking about Purdue. How did anyone think Missouri would stand a chance there? Can we officially get rid of those Tigers now? I guess not since they've actually competed in the SECCG twice since they joined the conference. But man, what a joke.

I digress..no, I'm referring to Kentucky beating South Carolina at their own game. Deebo socked them in the mouth the first play and those Cats just rolled with it. I hadn't completely bought into the Gamecock hype yet, but I thought they would push the Wildcats around. After all, that was the same Kentucky team that struggled some against Eastern Kentucky and even shuffled their quarterbacks around.

And now the Gamecocks have lost their best player for the season. Hate seeing such a good player go down like that, but this is football. Wish Deebo a speedy and full recovery.

Meanwhile, down in Gainesville Butch still has his DB's in press coverage on the final play of the game more than half the field away from the Florida endzone. You think Shoop wishes he'd played that just a little differently? Give credit where it's due, the Gators saw what they were up against and went right for the win and not the 30 yard out to hope for a true field goal.

(pardon me while I spit that foul taste outta my mouth)

Shout-out to Coach Bobo for hanging tough against Bama. Sure, they never had a chance because of course they were far and away out-matched talent wise. But the Rams made it respectable by halftime and then scored some points in garbage time late. Our old quarterback showed he can move the ball against another elite defense. Good on ya Mike!

Ole Miss played their bowl game in mid-September and shat their pants. Oh well, basketball season should bring that old consortium feeling back to Oxford.

Back to the East, with Florida and Tennessee still trying to find their identity (one in the aftermath of a credit card scandal, the other perhaps at the bottom of a trashcan), is Vandy going to step up with Kentucky as the darling picks to challenge in the East? Granted, the Dawgs haven't proven to be the top dog yet, but we've had the most complete start to the season. However, if Vandy can play Bama as hard-nosed and tough as they did K-State Saturday night, then I'll be a firm believer.

Jared Stitham leads the Southern Conference in passing after torching the Mercer Bears for 364 yards Saturday. We were talking about this at the tailgate. Until Cam Newton or Nick Marshall's kid turns 18, Malzahn is gonna keep paying on that loan for the Struggle Bus.

Which leaves us with the dog fight Saturday night under the lights in Sanford. I guess I'm not surprised Miss State beat LSU. But I was shocked by the score. That Tiger defense just laid down huh? Clanga clanga.

Regardless, as a result the Fake Dogs come in boasting about being just shy of a touchdown favorite. I still like our chances. On the one hand they've got a mobile quarterback that is averaging 7.8 yards per pass and 7.78 yards per rush (via cfbstats.com). I still like our defense's chances at making their offense beat us through the air. And if Malkom Parrish can indeed play, forget about it.

On another hand, word is that Grantham has really pared down his defense. So you're telling me that gone are the days of 10 of 11 guys staring at the sideline as the center snaps the ball? Okay, good for you Toddles. But even despite my frustration with Coach Chaney's play-calling at times, I'd still take Jim against a defensive coordinator that's been run out of the last two towns largely because he can't make any mid-game adjustments.

In other words, anyone remember the MVP of the 2014 Belk Bowl?

the Friday Misery is feeling Grovey

Huge win on the road thanks to a 4th down throw from a freshman quarterback to improve to 3-0 on the season and then the veins start to do whatever the opposite of the word “constrict” is plus you got a good night’s sleep because the pillow was just right and you didn’t wake up in a sweat from a nightmare having something to do with orange checkerboard hillbillied animated overalls chasing you down Sanford Drive in a Prius with a funnel...because that’s next week.

So yeh, feeling pretty okay and more than alright this week.

Which is why I’m not going to try and get you mad and fired up and upset and ready to punch that poor bastard in the cubicle next to you. Just pull this Misery up on your cellular phone (except you there with the flip phone, yeh, you’re going to need to renew your AOL account, dial up that modem and squint at your monochrome IBM CRT green screen...sorry…), put your feet up, and breathe deep.

Eight inches, yes. But floppy.

Riding the bench

I’m not heading to Oxford this weekend. First time in three games I’ve missed a trip there. So I’ve been reminding myself of what I said during my first trip there in 2006, which was that we’d never miss another trip to Oxford MS and The Grove.

Oh welp.

My buddy Nama twisted my arm into going back in '06 and despite a hangover for the record books on Saturday morning, it turned out to be quite a memorable experience.

Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t want to tailgate in The Grove every weekend. Maybe it’s the claustrophobic in me with all those thousands and thousands of people gathered together within a couple square miles. I much prefer Athens because, well, it’s home.

But when the SEC road schedule shines on you with a trip to Oxford, you can’t do much better than a Hotty Toddy Saturday.

And I’ve had the pleasure of both a late kick in Oxford as well as an 11AM local kick. So to keep us nice and relaxed, here’s what I can remember from both experiences.

Sundresses, Bud Light, and chandeliers

Having been goaded into a trip through Memphis to see the Dawgs play the Rebels (kids, this is what Ole Miss athletic teams used to be referred to before General Political Correctness marched through Oxford and stuck a Bear or something or whatever on a flag and all the local t-shirts and koozies), I had the hangoverest of headaches after a Friday night on Beale Street. Tennessee fans had invaded Memphis that evening to prepare for a game against Memphis State. I remember making fun of some of those inbreds at a nearby table as Nama and I drained flights and flights (and also some more flights) of beer.

We were likely speaking too loudly. Or maybe not loud enough. Probably the latter. But since neither of us were in any shape to throw a punch, probably good that we were seen more than we were heard.

A stop in Tunica for some gambling on the way down was the early plan. It was a 7pm kick I believe and I remember the other guys we were riding with were surprised we planned to leave Memphis by 9am. To Nama and I, hangover or not, that seemed rather late. I tried to sleep on the drive down but when we arrived I couldn’t add to 21 consistently if my life depending  on it, so I headed straight for the buffet and wished Nama good luck. After a couple hours of eating potatoes and gingerly sipping cold, cold water I desperately...desperately needed a beer.

We parked in Oxford and the campus was already starting to buzz. We could see Vaught-Hemingway in the distance and a parking attendant told us to “wait down yonder and a courtesy van would take us on up to The Grove”. The four of us got in and waited to depart.

Wolf pack in search of a chandelier.

Now, mind you, three of us are happily married and the other guy is engaged to be bethrothed. That’s important because of what I’m about to type into the screen that you’re looking into right now.

The driver returns to the door and asks us to scoot over some because there’s some more people about to get in. I turn around to look and there are 20+ (TWENTY!! PLUS!) coeds in sundresses about to pile into this courtesy van all around and over and on top of us.

It’s 2006. Which is also important because of what I’m about to type into your eye sockets. “No one will ever believe this happened,” I said to Nama as yet another AOPi sat in my lap. “None of us has a camera.”

Not even four months later Steve Jobs introduced an eye phone to the consumer public. It had a camera inside of it and it fit into your shorts pocket. Sonofabitch!

The driver was frustratingly reluctant to just keep driving us around campus all afternoon, a suggestion the four of us thought was prudent not to mention extremely accommodating, so as the ladies all climbed out they said to “be sure and come by the AOPi tent when you get to The Grove y’all. It’s the one with the chandelier.”

Seemed easy enough, until we stood at The Grove’s precipice and roughly 48% of the tents had chandeliers. We travelled around and if there were 1200 individual tailgates going on in that place, we were invited into all but about 200 of them. You can’t find a more genuinely accommodating crowd. I mentioned how nice Missouri fans were on our trip in 2012. This is different. It’s Southern Hospitality at its finest. It's P's and also Q's. It's manners ever so delicately intertwined with SEC competitiveness.

Plus, they talk like us, but with 100% more mentions of Mannings.

For instance, standing in line for the Port-O-Johns, Nama just happened to mention that we needed another beer. A kid overheard and told us to wait right there. He quite literally dove back into The Grove and emerged with two cold Bud Lights. It was as beautiful as it was absolutely magical. I couldn't help but look around for cameras, just sure that we were suddenly in a commercial.

We did find the AOPi’s again. They were super excited to see us again. Which is to say that they pretended to remember us and didn't fully ignore us. Then Charles Johnson whooped some rebel ass and on the car ride back to Memphis while stuck in traffic I managed to con my way onto the local post game talk show. I think I was about halfway through my Munson impression when they suddenly broke to commercial.

Great day. Great game. I swore we’d always go back.

Curb appeal

Five years later we let the wives come along. And by we let them I mean that they graciously accepted our invitation. This time we went through Tupelo and there were no hangovers to start out Saturday. After all, even though we’d gained an hour somewhere along I-20, we knew we’d need that and more to make kickoff at 11am.

Eleven! AM!

We got there early enough to tailgate some and soak in as much of The Grove as time would allow. It was definitely abbreviated but we got our bellies full and quenched our thirst. I can’t find a picture of it, but at the end of our row in the stadium was about 30 miniature Makers bottles, only a couple of which were ours. It was like a empty bourbon bottle depository.

It was another good game that saw the Dawgs victorious. Looked like we’d run away with it at the start, but ended up holding on at the end. As we were leaving we happened upon a young lady sitting calmly next to what looked like an unconscious fraternity pledge lying prostrate on a sidewalk, using the curb as a pillow. It appeared as if he'd gone twelve rounds with The Grove and lost by unanimous decision. He also appeared to be about five months removed from his high school Spanish class where he had learned to Siesta in the absolute worst of ways.

“Is he alright honey?”, the wife asked.

“Oh yes ma’am. He just needed a nap.”

That’s the way things go in Oxford. The Rebels (or whatever) don’t always win games, but their fans attack the tailgating scene like a drunken covered dish church hoard hellbent and armed to the nines with deviled eggs, fried chicken, and enough alcohol to survive two and half more Prohibitions.

Seriously, if Nucky Thompson were Southern, he’d’ve used The Grove as his main distribution hub.

Hotty Toddy now go buy yourself a personality.

freezer burned out

With those pleasantries out of the way…

Screw the rebs. Once purchased amateur players admit to as much on a national stage and Dr. Hugh gets nothing but a face full of nfl draft pie. He licks it off, grins, and then slips another five star a benji.

Then he winks. Cuz that's what bullshitters do when they're not bullshitting. They wink, surreptitiously.

Those rebel has beens are going to come out stark raving mad in their pretty blue uniforms. Their backs are against the wall after Kiffin pulled their drawers down in front of Uncle Verne last week and then swiped right on his Joey Freshwater tinder account. How brazen, right? Anyway, in 180 minutes of game time so far the Rebel Bears have only played just north of ninety. They’re embarrassed, pissed, and can’t seem to Shout Out  the super awkwardly soiled stain from their britches.

Case in point, Chad Kelly. This pampered bitch brat spends all week shot-gunning beer and serenading sororities with Nickelback karaoke blaring from his circa 1985 boom box that his uncle Jim handed down to him when he was a pimple-faced 8th grader.

Douche. First rate. Douche.

I hope Trenton Thompson eats his goddamn lunch brunch. I hope Bellamy buries his helmet in Captain Craptastic’s middle back and Lorenzo scoops and scores his second touchdown of the season. Kickoff’s at 11:00am, I hope they’ve surrendered by Noon. I hope they turn tail and walk back into the locker room, tv cuts to commercial, and then all of the rabid Dawg fans get to go back to the tailgates and finish what they started.

Then, Kirby sends his team to the bus before waltzing into Freeze’s office. The Georgia coach pulls out a clean Gillette, and shaves his week old beard right over the Ol’ Missy coach’s desk.

“And stay the hell out of Georgia, asshole.” Then throws a slightly bloody towel on the floor and disappears into the eastern sun.

Now, please bow your heads...Dear Lord, I just gotta see some sacks something awful. Please. PLEASE let them big Dawgs EAT! In the name of Admiral Akbar, may he rest in peace. Amen.

Now, go Dawgs y'all!

Monday's Meatloaf - over estimating my mathematical prowess

I feel the need for something light this morning. Let's start with a word problem. No, scratch that. Let's start with the elephant in the blog space and then we'll get to the word problem.

I know I've been short on dishing out the meatloaf lately. To be perfectly honest there's just not enough time. Fall is busy enough and this autumn we have Georgia football on Saturdays and then the 9yo has flag football on Sundays. And their coach is a lot like Goff...pre-Hines Ward.

Scoreboards use math. Our alumni remind me of this all the time.

Anyway, trust me that this regular feature will continue to be a staple here on the blog. And when time permits it'll be back to its weekly self. And I have to add, yesterday when my group of little 7-9 year olds were down five with time for just one play to go the length of the field. We needed a miracle. And that happens to be the name of my little girl's right arm.

She zipped the ball 20 yards and somehow the little guy caught it. Because she had put an extra dose of mustard on it the defense didn't react in time catch him. After all, he'd already outrun their whole team on a beautiful reverse call, if I do say so myself. The Lightning Ninjas win in dramatic fashion!! was supposed to be the AJC headline this morning. Let me know when they finally post it. Now, let's get mathematical.

Ray Goff runs at his school's track every weekday. If Ray runs 5.9 miles each time, estimate how much he runs in a month.

Write down your answer and we'll discuss it at the other end. Or if you really wanna show off your brass ones, put it in the comments now.

Today's Ingredients
- "The crappiest thing about losing that game was wasting Shaq Wiggins' pick six." Blutarsky with the truth bomb.
- Emerson has an in-depth look at Georgia's problems.
- Tyler concludes that the Ramik Wilson targeting penalty may very well have cost us the game. Hard to argue that, even though it was overturned. Which of course means the penalty stands/ Because that makes so much sense.
- Oh, and about those targeting calls. On the Ray Drew flag, here's Richt: "I don't think the rule's designed for that type of play quite frankly."
- It's important to note, as Marshall does here, that the defense has shown some improvement.
- Greg helps us reset for the bye week.
- As for the special teams miscues, Travis nails it with this: "You don't think we need [a special teams coach]? Fine. But don't act like it doesn't make sense to ask."
- DavetheDawg has 15 thoughts on the loss and the outlook overall.
- If you've been anxious for the new post season format, Year2 has a mock playoff post up.
- Lastly, I don't know about you, but watching a chocolate lab puppy body surf a staircase is one thing that always gets me to smile.

Cheer up Dawgs. At least you didn't wear jean shorts to work today.

That word problem was part of the 11yo's review for a test last week. Typically, Mrs. Bernie handles the math side of the homework equation. This theory has been tested since both girls moved on from 1st grade and thereby exceeded my math skills...exponentially. (BOOM! Least I can still spell!!)

But during this review the lovely wife was getting herself all did up and even lovelier at the salon. If I go to the barber and spend more than a half hour I feel cheated. Evidently these salons do hair as if they're giving a car a tune-up. It takes even longer than the Beatles took to sing an encore of Hey Jude and Let it Be. It'd take more time to give a HillBilly a full set of root canals, or teach a WarDamnTiglesman how to spell their school's name. Or get Congress to open up the state parks again.

You get it. Mrs. Bernie was gone for a spell. So I jumped in and was convinced I'd caught the teacher handing out wrong answers. The 11yo had brought home the correct answers for the study guide with 120 miles circled. When clearly it was closer to 180 - about 30 days, times about 6 miles each day = 180. I can estimate! I can multiply! I can scoff at someone better equipped to teach how to estimate and multiply! And read a word problem correctly. So I insisted my little darling take that up with "Dr. Mathematical" the next morning prior to the test. Surely a good teacher would see her own error and make any necessary adjustments prior to handing out some poorly planned test. I mean, really.

"But Daddy, she has the problems worked out on her website. Let's check that to see how she got 120 miles."

What kind of sorcery and witchcraft is this?!? Parents and students can check their work online...and figure out right then and there that weekdays equal five days a week and therefore about 20 a month...and that 20 times 6 is indeed equal to 120. Ol' Ray Goff shorted me 60 miles! What in the name of Terrell Davis is going on here?!?

The lesson I learned is to compliment the wife's hair as soon as she walks in three hours later. And also to give Dr. Mathematical a fistbump for being able to load pictures of her study guide's answer key on the internets. Something tells me she didn't go to college in Starkville. Have a great Monday Reader! And don't be a slackass that only runs five days a week. My math skills need your complete effort!

Bernie