Words from the past..........

It's been awhile since the UGA -v- UF game carried this much drama, intrigue and unknowns. Don't get me wrong, each year is usually filled with an ample supply of drama, but often it leans more to one side than the other. However, this year it appears that both teams are peaking at the same point. There have been many similar battles fought in our past, most reaching the historical and epic proportions that inspire the words I'll share below. These two threads were authored by dawg fans some time back and have been reposted time and again on many dawg blogs and fan sites. Nonetheless, the words transend time and help to remind us all from where we came, how very far we've traveled and how DAMN fortunate we are to be DAWGS!!!!

With that I give you.........


Why I Don't Play Soccer
by Spartanburg Dawg

Georgia trailed 21-20 and time was running out on what he knew was too good to last forever. Florida had the ball with less than four minutes remaining in the game, and things were getting worse by the second. \"Dear God,\" he thought to himself, \"I think I'm going to be sick.\"

The game was on television, but he wasn't watching. Instead, he was in the car at the local soccer fields, suffering with Munson on the weak, AM radio of his 1976 Dodge Colt. His son had a soccer match, as he did every Saturday, and he'd always made a point to attend, even if soccer didn't make a bit of sense to him. It was just being there that mattered. And it meant a lot to his son, too.

Almost 20 years later, he's proud to joke that he'll never attend another Little League game. No baseball. No football. No basketball. \"Seen enough to last a lifetime,\" he says with a smile. But in his heart, he knows he'll be there when the grandchildren come and the cycle begins again. Most of the time, he really enjoyed himself watching his kid play ball.

But on this day, he's wasn't a damn bit happy about being at that soccer field. Or anywhere else, for that matter. Frankly, he just wanted to go home, go to bed and be left the Hell alone. Maybe mix a stiff bourbon and take the phone off the hook.

Top-ranked Notre Dame had inexplicably tied winless Georgia Tech just moments earlier, and everybody knew what that meant. Ranked second in the country, the 'Dawgs were about to let an opportunity slip away in Jacksonville. Right through our fingers! Dear God, we were so close. And the sick feeling came over him once again.

And then he got out of the car, cursed beneath his breath and slammed the door. It was over. The damn thing was over the Dawgs had broken his heart again. He just couldn't take anymore. You'd think he'd have learned by now, but this one was worse than most. Hell, it was worse than any. It had never been this bad.

The car was perched a top a hill that overlooked the soccer match, and he followed a trail down to field level. And he stood there, hands on his hips, staring directly at the ground. Then at the field. And at the ground again. He took two steps toward his wife, who was standing on the sidelines. She caught his eye and could tell that it was bad. But he knew walking over to her would mean he'd have to speak, and he just wasn't sure he could do that right now. Especially not with all those Clemson b**tards over there.

So he turned around and began climbing back up the hill. \"I've been with them this long,\" he said to himself. \"I might as well hear it end.\" It wouldn't be the first time the 'Dawgs had taken a fall, although he really thought this might be the year things were different. He stared at the ground as he traced his steps up the incline.

As he approached the car, he realized that in his haste to leave a few moments earlier, he'd mistakenly left the radio on and the window rolled down. So with the door closed and the window open, he placed his forehead on the roof and stood beside the car to listen as his dreams fell apart.

\"Florida in a stand-up five....they may or may not blitz....they won't,\" growled Munson, and he raised his head from the roof when he realized the Dawgs had the ball. \"Buck back....third down on the eight.....\"

\"On the eight,\" he thought. \"It's over. The damn thing is over.\"

\"....in trouble....got a block behind him....gonna throw on the run.....complete to the 25, to the 30, 40, Lindsay Scott 45, 50, 45, 40 .... Run Lindsay! ....25, 20, 15, 10, 5.... LINDSAY SCOTT! LINDSAY SCOTT! LINDSAY SCOTT!\"

There was a feeling of shock, at first. A numbness. Complete and total disbelief. And then the joy came, a feeling of such incomparable happiness that the best writer in the world couldn't put it into words. And then came the tears. A grown man, standing alone in a parking lot in Spartanburg, South Carolina, crying like a baby. It wasn't a sight one saw everyday, and I'm sure more than a few of the locals thought that the poor slob over there beside that yellow car had just seen his life fall apart.

The soccer game was over moments later and I walked off the field toward my mom. She immediately told me that she thought Georgia won, but no real details were available. Apparently, dad hadn't composed himself enough at that point to make it down the hill, but she had seen him beside the car and knew it had to be good.

We walked toward the car and dad could barely spit it out. It came out something like \"Lindsay 90 yards they won can you believe it they won and it's over.\" I look back now and realize he was still in shock. I was a bit worried about the old man, actually, as he stood before us with puffy eyes and told mom to drive us home. No doubt him handing her the keys was the second miracle of the afternoon.

It wasn't until I got home and saw the replay on television that I realized the magnitude of the event. And even at age 10, I knew then and there that this damn soccer business just wasn't for me. Any sport that required my father to sit in a car by himself and listen to the Dawgs through the static of a sorry radio because he loved me so much that he had rather attend my crummy soccer match than watch the Georgia game on television told me all I needed to know.

I hear they still play soccer on Saturday, but they don't play it with me. After November 8, 1980, I'm proud to say I never touched a soccer ball again.

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The Ghosts of Georgia-Florida
By: Yellowdawg

There is a little gnawing sensation in the gut of every person who bleeds red and black this week. Nervousness? Possibly. Anxiety? Potentially. Anticipation? Maybe.

For me, I am convinced there are ghosts at work.

See, it's Florida week. A week unlike any other week. A week with a feeling no Tech or Tennessee fan will ever have the slightest grasp of.

You know what I am talking about - they never will.

There are more ghosts at work here for this week than meets the eye of the untrained observer.

I was born and raised in Jacksonville, growing up in a Bulldog home that happened to be located in a Gator world. Every year, when this week would roll around, I would curl up on my bed, and listen to that man on the radio, the one that sounded like a Bulldog would sound if he could talk.

\"...Appleby! The end around! Just stopped, planted his feet and threw it, and Washington caught it, thinking of Montreal and the Olympics, and ran out of his shoes right down the middle 80 yards. The Gator Bowl rocking, stunned - the girdors are bending now!\"

As a kid, I was always impressed that it always seemed however improbable the odds, that team from Georgia seemed to find a way to overcome them. There was lesson in that.

\"...the Gators had us down and out 27-13, but in this Gator Bowl where we broke their hearts last year, our guys ran behind that big quarterback from Moultrie and came back to win it 41-27...

When my family moved to Georgia from Jacksonville, I would find a quiet spot out in the yard, plop down on the fall leaves and listen to the game on my AM radio, and think about all those games past.

...\"Florida in a standup 5. They may or may not blitz, they won't. Buck back, third down on the 8. In trouble, got a block behind him. Gonna throw on the run. Complete to the 25! Lindsay Scott, 35, 40, Lindsay Scott 45, 50. Run, Lindsay! 25, 20, 15, 10, 5. Lindsay Scott! Lindsay Scott! Lindsay Scott!\"

Even when it was a given that the Florida team was the far superior unit, that meant little.

\"...we are holding on to a 17-3 lead against the #1 ranked Gators, but they have our backs against our own goal trying to make something happen against us, at our own 11. We hand it off the Worley - there's a hole - he's got 10, 15, 20 - gets a block Tim Worley 45 50 45 40, down the sideline - Tim Worley, touchdown touchdown touchdown!!\"

You have to wonder what will happen this year. A Florida team, the kings of the SEC hill with perhaps the best coach in the conference, loaded with stars, but hurting after a shocking upset. A Georgia team on the rise, a new coach and a budding confidence, one dropped TD pass away from being undefeated.

\"...we're going to Edwards, gets a block, Edwards 35 30, Edwards down the sideline 15 10 - touchdown!! Robert Edwards with his second score today!\"

There ain't nothing on earth quite like this game. So many ghosts running the field. Herschel and Sinkwich and Dooley will be there. So will Patton and Etter, Erk and Hoage, Hampton, Henderson and Zambiasi.

Will there be another legendary chapter written for the red and black? With Stonewall Richt leading the Bulldawg Brigade against Usama Bin Meyer, our cause is right, and it is just.

The time is now.

******************************************************************************


Perhaps a new chapter will be written this weekend. It pains me to realize that the ghosts of 2008 will not be captured by the gruff and growling of Larry...whose voice has made many of those memories above so grand....Much will be said between now and then....certainly the \"celebration\" will be replayed again and again...But let the gators wallow, twist and turn in their indignation...that works to our advantage. It will be a nailbiter, but in the end the dawgs will be the victor.....

Dawgs 34
Gators 24


GO DAWGS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!GATA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

All those memories came flooding back as I read those. Beautiful, just beautiful.