People team the streets, swarming the stadium, swathed in red. People of all ages stream excitedly across campus, loud and energetic. It’s Saturday in Athens
And I feel like the Grinch on Christmas, because, unlike my roommates (and every other person in Athens, it seems) I am not a football fan. I know, try to contain your horror.
Don’t judge me too harshly. I come from a fairly long line of football non-enthusiasts. ESPN was never on in my house. My daddy watched sci-fi, not sports.
When I stumbled out of my room last Saturday it was about noon. My roommates and I had been up late, but what did I find when I finally dragged myself out of bed? Not my seemingly normal roommates from the night before, but three wild eyed, crazed football fans, decked in red and black from head to toe.
Innocently, I had thought college football would be much like my high school experience with the sport, just on a larger scale. Boy, was I wrong. This is college football, and you don’t wear jeans, you dress up, you don’t just go to the game and then go home, game day is an entire day, and you don’t half-do football in Athens, you commit to the G.
And it isn’t that I hate football (if I did I wouldn’t admit that kind of heresy online), I really don’t, it’s just that between the heat, the hours of tailgating, the cost of drinks in the stadium, the drunk idiots stumbling around, and the excess of people, getting all dressed up to get really sweaty and watch a bunch of guys throw and kick a ball just doesn’t sound like my idea of a good time. Leaving my apartment at one to go to a game that doesn’t start until 4:30, walking up and down stadium steps, and getting sunburned just isn’t worth the moments of fun.
I will admit wholeheartedly that those moments when Gurley breaks from the mass of seething football jerseys on the field, sprints down the sideline, and scores, are some of the most exhilarating that can be found. For just a second you really do have thousands of brothers and sisters, and you are all holding your breath as you watch one of your own make you proud.
So, between my super-enthused friends and those golden moments, I am compelled to get dolled up in red and black, (which I’m all for, by the way. I love dressing up.) slathering on the sunscreen and going out to call the dawgs with the rest of the bulldog nation. Because, football fan or not, we’re all dawgs.