All Other Talk Must Cease

It is Tech week. All other chitter-chatter must cease. All talk of the SEC Championship game, any joking talk of an outside shot at the national championship, any lamenting Vandy's collapse on Saturday or our two losses, any celebration of Tom Glavine's return to the one and only team he ever really should have played for, must absolutely CEASE AND DESIST.

This is a week where you wear no yellow, where you eat no mustard, where you reply to \"What's the good word?\" with an immediate retaliatory punch to the throat. This is the week before Georgia Tech, and all other talk must cease.

We go to Bobby Dodd Stadium on Saturday, and we play before a national audience at 3:30 on ABC. It is our chance to show that the inferior North Avenue Trade School should spend more time playing with protractors and less time on the football field. It is our chance to show who truly dominates the great state of Georgia. It is our chance to avenge Jasper Sanks, to forget about Quincy's fumble, to glorify Theron Sapp, and to chant \"Fifty-one, seven!\" at the top of our lungs. It is time to sing that old couplet I learned before I learned to read, \"And to heck with Georgia Tech!\"

I would speak of the incredible comeback last year, but last year is last year. It has no bearing on this coming Saturday. This will be Larry Munson's last regular season game. It will most likely be Uga VI's last game against Tech, as well. It will be the first Tech game for Knowshon Moreno and Rennie Curran and Bruce Figgins.

This is a game where you either win or you go home. That was true for Tech last year. It's been true for us before, and no time more painfully than in 1927, when the cheating NATS robbed us of our rightful concensus national championship. This is a game that could be your only win, and your season was worth it. It is a game that could be your only loss, and -- as in 1927 -- it flushes your whole season down the toilet.

This is the last chance we have this season to show who we really are. Forget the SEC championship game, however possible it is. Forget the bowl game, however lucrative or prestigious it may be. Forget Tennessee. Forget South Carolina. Forget Florida. Forget Auburn. This week is not about them.

This week is about taking every yard Teshard Choice ever gained against us, every loss Bobby Dodd ever handed us, every stuffed bulldog ever hung by its neck from the stands, every Ramblin' Wreck chorus ever broken into, and stuff it right down their stinking, Old Gold and White, cowardly, dognapping, protracting, Heineken-swilling, dream-killing throats!

This isn't friendly, cross-town rivalry. This isn't sportsmanly competition. This is not a handshake and a cry of \"good game!\" This is Clean, Old-Fashioned, HATE, and if you don't feel it, if you ain't down with it, if you ain't growling deep in your throat, you must not be a Dawg fan!

GET ANGRY!!! GET MEAN!!! GET DOWNRIGHT MURDEROUS!!! IT'S THE WEEK BEFORE THE TECH GAME, AND THIS WEEK NO ONE SLEEPS!!!


GO DAWGS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

A parody of \"7 Notes\" - by Saxondawg
Gameday on North Avenue

You wake up in the top bunk, snug within your Star Trek bedsheets, with that feeling in the pit of your stomach. That pounding feeling, that giddy, nauseous rush that can mean only one thing. You rush to the potty and take care of business. The feeling goes away. But something about tinkling--the colors, the sounds--makes you remember: Yellow Jacket football today!

You put on your best yellow sweater and yellow knee-socks, though you call them \"gold,\" natch. Then, moving to the dresser, you specially polish your thick glasses, adding one final flourish--fresh tape wrapped around the bridge. Speaking of bridges, your braces are also polished to a fine sheen, new zits are popped, and you're lookin' GOOD! You're lookin' JACKET.

Heart pounding, you race up the steps from your parents' basement. Mumsy and Pops are reading mail from the old home country in New Jersey where they hope to retire someday. You slip out the door quietly and pedal your 3-speed through the crisp autumn air, gameday flags a-flying from the handlebars. And there it is, just ahead--the MARTA station. It won't be long now!

You climb onto a southbound train, your eyes scan the car, and--yes! There, sitting next to the chatty tranvestite--a man wearing YELLOW! You make your way over and wave your pom poms at him and giggle, and he says, \"$#%^ off, %$$^&!\" And now you feel it more strongly than ever--the essence of being a Tech fan. You giggle again more shrilly, dance away, then slide around safely under the seats until the stop at North Avenue, tee-heeing for all you're worth as you elude the grasp of your tormentor and his switchblade. It's sort of like Frodo hiding from the Black Riders, right here on MARTA!

You disembark at North Avenue, snatching quarters from a few homeless men, and take a deep breath of downtown Atlanta air--Tech air! Now you see swarms of other Jackets--two of them, three of them. It's no wonder the stadium had to be expanded. You pause on the bridge over the Downtown Connector to indulge in a Tech tradition: spitting on cars passing underneath. It's a massive traffic jam of red vehicles heading north, and you nail an RV with a big loogie from your morning Yoo Hoo Soda. Tee hee! Saliva, the GT calling card!

Then you're on campus, a block from the stadium. You take in the grand pageantry that is game day. It's the gray, smoggy sky; the deep blue of the police siren; the giggling of the frat boys enjoying an impromptu tickle pile on the sidewalk. It's the sound of gunfire. It's the beautiful women with their thick makeup, standing on the street corners and bantering with the passing cars. It's the voice of Kim King, talking and talking and talking in his one-note melodic range; Wes Durham screaming about a one-yard gain. It's the giant rubber bee, George O'Leary's old bedroom toy, patched all over, making funny farting sounds as the air oozes out yet again. It's Flag Boy, the aspiration of all Tech males. Tee hee!

Above all, it's four notes on a trumpet. You hear them now, playing the hallowed music, the sacred music, the Hymn of the Bee. There it is now, and you lift your voice to join in, warm tears fogging your thick glasses. The whole stadium sings solemnly:

\"When you say Bud...\"

Those four notes on a trumpet, your call to Jackethood, setting your yellow heart aflutter. Deep down you know this is the year--the year you beat Duke AGAIN--you OWN Duke. The year you road-trip to a BRAND SPANKIN'-NEW STARTUP BOWL for the holidays. The year your first pubic hairs break the surface. This sacred moment cannot last. Someday, by the Great Pointed Ears of Leonard Nimoy, you will be in New Jersey. In Michigan. In North Dakota. Someday you will buy your parents a house with a bigger basemment for you to live in. But in your heart, you'll always be a Tech Guy--a proud drop in the endless river of yellow!

My God!!

That's the greatest Geek Squad thrashing I've read in a long time.

If you grew up in Georgia a Dawg fan, you know how important this week is and realize once again how much you HATE tech and everything associated with it. Go Dawgs!

Cant wait for this game, Tech will try to give it their all, but it wont be nearly enough, this isnt just Georgia vs Georgia Tech but this is SEC vs ACC, and our players will play their best game of the year, SEC has a chance to put show the ACC how much they suck, Carolina vs Clemson, Fla vs FSU, and Vandy plays Wake Forest, I truly hate the ACC and love when The Dawgs get to beat up on Tech every year ,and also enjoy to see the rest of the rest of the SEC own the ACC.....however it is sad that we wont see Reggie Ball anymore, but Georgia should destroy Tech.