The week that was (from tailgate to tailgate)
For those few loyal readers of this particular blog, you may have noticed a severe lack of posting over the past week. My apologies as the wife and I embarked on a much-needed vacation to Boston and Maine ... book-ended by a pair of memorable tailgating experiences (and one not-so-memorable Georgia game). Seeing that I owe you good folks an explanation of what's transpired in my life the past eight or so days, I present you with this tremendous running diary:
SATURDAY, NOV. 12
I can't even begin to stress how much we had been planning for this tailgate. Ever since the first game of the season against Boise State where Ed uttered those fateful words - 'we should do a gumbo or a boil at a tailgate' - this event had been building. It only made sense to do it for the Auburn game, and the fact the executives at ESPN decided to reward us with a 7:45 p.m. kickoff made it that much more perfect.
I kid you not, a substantial portion of my day on Friday was devoted to preparation for this tailgate. There were trips to Sam's and Kroger, time spent dividing items up and organizing coolers, a trip to campus to set up the tent (a quick side note ... the case which holds our tent has wheels on it to make for easy transporting ... this, for some reason, sent Matt and I into hysterics and culminated with him wheeling it around in my driveway while shrieking ... high entertainment). Mom and Dad arrive later Friday night, and we're all set to go.
Matt and I arrive at the spot at roughly 10:30 a.m. with the bed of his truck overflowing with tables, chairs, coolers and cookers. It takes a lot of effort to do a Low Country Boil, but your fearless leader was up to the task (well, Matt was I suppose since he actually did the chopping and boiling and what-have-you ... still, I helped with the vision). Hartman is already there, and already seeking help on getting a signal for the satellite for Tent City (my little enclave had been more like a suburb for the majority of the year, though last week we were officially consolidated into the sprawling tailgateopolis ... sort of the opposite of what happened with Sandy Springs). He pulls it off, and in one can only be considered one of the greatest ideas in the history of Tent City ... we have TV.
Now it's important to remember that Ed was one of the main catalysts for this whole endeavor. He was thrilled at the possibility of doing a gumbo or a boil, and we even spent an hour on the phone on Wednesday night 'planning' this thing, though in actuality we merely talked about how excited we were. Ed, with wife Lindsey in tow along with a house full of guests, were to arrive between 11 a.m. and 11:30 a.m.
Plus, the kid's got the double burner which is perhaps the most pivotal component of our boil plans.
The spot starts to fill up ... the usual Tent City suspects like Tim and Carrie and Meimi and Matt T. and John and Melissa and the like, along with some of our invitees like Jason and Lee as well as the wife and my parents arrive. Still, as 11:30 a.m. rolls around, we have no sign of Edward. This leads to a slew of harassing phone calls ... Matt calling up Ed and giving him directions to Sanford Stadium ... me giving him a ring and asking if he's been unjustly incarcerated because that's the only feasible reason he's late.
Around 1 p.m. - and after much ragging from all of us, my father included - Ed and his car full of folks arrive.
From this point on ... it's a bit of a blur. The boil goes off in outstanding fashion (we had 12 pounds of shrimp), and we seriously begin feeding strangers who pass by the tent and inquire about the aroma. As South Carolina beats Florida, saving Georgia's hide by the way, Tim does a most impressive impersonation of a Gamecock crowing victoriously ... complete with overly dramatic leg and arm gestures. Carrie and I decide to 'mix up our laughs' ... including one really obnoxious one which involves the entire left side of our bodies violently jerking backward (this, by the way, was insanely funny to us but no one else). The wife does a shot of tequila with my father egging her on.
Then the game ... and you know the rest. On fourth-and-11, Brandon Cox completes a pass to Devin Aromoashoduonoenueodo and Auburn goes on to break our hearts (proverbially, not literally) 31-30.
Still ... we had a Low Country Boil. Awesome.
SUNDAY, NOV. 13
A mere five-and-a-half hours after going to bed, I am forced awake so I can drive to Greenville, S.C., to fly up to Boston. In hindsight, we probably should have thought this through a little more. Still, at 6:20 a.m. ... only so much you can do.
Let me also recommend to anyone reading this ... if you going up the east coast, always fly out of Greenville. It's a small airport which goes to all of the major airports, was a breeze to get in and out of, featured inexpensive long-term parking, and was substantially cheaper than flying out of Atlanta. My third flying experience ever was very smooth, and, because we changed planes at LaGuardia, I kept saying 'well I can always say I've been to New York' (the wife said that got old really quick).
Our shuttle ride to the hotel is daunting. The van is full of interesting characters. The gentleman behind us spoke little if any English, while the man in front of us openly complained that he should have taken a taxi. Along the way, Texas gives me a holler to talk about the Georgia game.
We stay at the Omni Parker Hotel in Boston (North America's oldest hotel according to sign in the lobby ... though, for some reason, I have my reservations about that), and we're literally a block from everything. We're next to Boston Commons and right up the street from Quincy Market. There's a T station around the corner, so we're pretty fired up.
Riding a high from getting in Boston, we immediately venture out to Quincy Market which the wife and I had seen profiled on The Food Network. It's a long, older marketplace full of local eateries and stands (the chowder stand was odd to us). We get a sandwich of some sorts - and I ridicule the wife for picking the most tame thing in the whole market - and have a seat outside. For a Sunday night, it's weirdly crowded. While sitting, the incredible fatigue hits us right in the face, and we drudge back to the hotel for the rest of the evening (it's like 6:30 p.m.).
I'm so tired I take a nap ... which never happens. We order room service, which is spectacular since it comes from a five-star restaurant ... and features the original Boston Cream Pie which is absolutely tremendous. Even more tremendous is the fact that our waiter asks where we're from, we reply Athens, Georgia, and he responds in a thick Boston accent 'Oh, a buddy of mine played for yous guys ... Jermaine Wiggans ... I was in his wedding a little while back.' Turns out this guy loves to follow Georgia football because of Jermaine. Small world.
Somehow, we get roped into watching How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days and then pass out for the evening.
MONDAY, NOV. 14
When we began making plans for our Boston trip, I had two things I wanted to do - go to the JFK Library and tour Fenway Park. Monday morning, we knocked out the latter. This was like a trip to the promised land for me ... as we approached the stadium, I literally began shouting out the street names and bars that I recognized from all of the books and columns I've read over the past few years (this was only mildly embarassing for the wife). After buying our tickets for the tour, we head over to the official Red Sox store and I plot out what I'll buy (eventually, I drop $75 at the place).
We couldn't have asked for a better tour guide. This guy is from South Boston, grew up a Red Sox fan and has followed the team for more than 60 years. He's got, of course, a thick Boston accent and has a penchant for strongly enunciating unusual syllables in his phrases ('following the 1918 World Series, the Red Sox sell George Her-MAN Ruth to the Yan-KEES!'). I take pictures of everything ... and I mean everything.
We then head to Cambridge to take a look at Harvard. Nothing fancy. I'd venture to say that North Campus at UGA is better looking. Cambridge itself was pretty cool. Lots of local delis and grociers and stuff like that, so I enjoyed it. The ride on the T back to the hotel is even more entertaining as there is an intensely awkward - and loud - argument between a woman, her mother and her partner directly in front of us. It involved the purchase of a sweatshirt and some loaned rent money ... the whole thing was kinda hazy. In the middle of it, I whisper to the wife 'this would be uncomfortable if it wasn't so awesome.'
TUESDAY, NOV. 15
Just prior to our meal on Monday night, I noticed something unusual as I swallowed ... a tickle in the back of my throat. By Tuesday morning, that tickle had transformed itself into a full-blown sore throat. Great. This is exactly how I want to spend my second day in Boston - a cold and rainy one mind you - as we take the T to the edge of Boston to visit the JFK Library.
I soldier on, and the trip is well worth it. Seeing that I work at a museum now, I notice different things as I visit different ones and the JFK Library is top notch. It's laid out chronologically to follow his life, beginning with a video that takes you up to the 1960 Democratic National Convention and then you enter a room designed to look like the convention floor while Kennedy's acceptance speech plays around you. There's a reconstruction of the White House press room, the Oval Office and Robert Kennedy's attorney general office. Quite awesome, I must say.
I spend more money at the gift shop, and then we head back to the hotel because the sore throat has set in something fierce. We're forced to cancel the remainder of our plans for the day because I feel so crummy, and my wife is a trooper through it all. We get more room service and see more bad movies (Coyote Ugly anyone?).
WEDNESDAY, NOV. 16
The sore throat has mercifully retreated somewhat, and I can feel the congestion stages of the cold starting to set in. And that's fine. I can handle a stuffy nose and sinus pressure with some medicine, but there's not a whole lot you can do for a sore throat.
Today we leave Boston, renting a car and heading up to Maine. Maine is, quite frankly, everything I thought it would be. It's a beautiful state and is full of the most fascinating little towns. Kittery is very touristy on the main strip, but if you take 1A along the coast it's very impressive. We stopped at Frisbee's, which claims to be America's oldest grocery store, where I purchased a pint of Bar Harbor Blueberry Ale because it sounded cool.
There were tons of antique stores and rare book stores throughout places like York and Kennebunk, and we spent almost the entire day driving through these places.
Now, I haven't mentioned this yet, but it's important - it gets dark absurdly early up north. It was dark at 4:30 p.m. in Boston, and the sun began setting in Maine around 3:55 p.m. I don't know how those folks can stand it. I mean, everything would close up around 7 p.m. So as we pull into Portland around 4:45 p.m., it's pitch black and has been that way for more than half an hour.
We stay at The Pomegranate Inn, which is actually only a few streets down from where my great-grandmother lived. My grandmother, it should be noted, is ecstatic that we're back in her hometown and tells us all of these places to visit and eat. She scores on all but one ... The Village Cafe.
This was billed as a nice, family-owned Italian restaurant, and I'm sure at one point it was. But as we arrived Wednesday night, it had a definite Steverino's feel to it ... not that there's anything wrong with that, but that's not what I'm looking for on vacation. So we go to Ribolitto's instead, and I highly recommend it to anyone who visits Portland. Best Italian meal I've ever had. It's a small restaurant, seating only 15 people at the most, but it was excellent.
THURSDAY, NOV. 17
If going to Fenway Park was my trip to the promised land, then our sojourn to Freeport and the L.L. Bean outlet was the wife's. And the store is, for lack of a better word, awesome. It's three stories tall and is jammed back with everything you see in those catalogs. I was fully prepared for her to plunk down a hundred bucks, easy ... but to my surprise, she spent not a dime. The CPA in her emerged, and she couldn't comprehend paying sales tax (really, I'm not making this up).
We poked around Freeport's other shops, got a lobster roll from a stand, and then headed back down to Kennebunkport where we saw President George H.W. Bush's massive estate. It's visible from practically everywhere in that town ... sort of like the Marsten house in Salem's Lot.
At night, we ate at the Old Port Sea Grill and had a steamed lobster. I thought it was great, while Julie was unimpressed.
FRIDAY, NOV. 18
One last stop in Kittery to pick up some gifts for folks back home, and then we drive back into Boston. I don't understand how people can function behind the wheel in that city ... the sheer volume of one-way roads, rotaries, traffic circles and tunnels is maddening. We exited at one stop under a sign which was clearly marked 'Route 60 South' but somehow ended up on Route 60 North. Eventually we get back, drop off the car and get into the airport.
Now, while waiting in a lengthy line to get our bags checked, a lady who is behind us asks if she could try one of the self-check terminals. We say 'no problem' and the lady goes ahead. It doesn't work for her, so we expect her to return to her spot behind us in line. She doesn't, cuts us and goes to the next open station. I'm a bit bothered, having stood in line for about 20 minutes only to see her cut in line. The wife is unconcerned, and only says 'karma.'
We saddle up to our station, and the gentleman there asks if we could do him a huge favor by taking a slip down to the gate we were heading anyway. We say 'no problem' and take the form. Before leaving, he takes back our tickets, punches something in the computer, hands them back and says 'my gift to you.'
The guy just upgraded us to first class ... and it would have gone to the lady who cut us if she hadn't done so.
Karma.
First class, by the by, rocks ... even if we were on it for just 35 minutes.
We get back home by 9:45 p.m. and find it to be 57 degrees in our house. That's what happens when you don't have the gas turned on and can't run your heater.
SATURDAY, NOV. 19
The reason we came back on Friday? To attend the Georgia-Kentucky game on Saturday.
After watching Georgia miss in its first two chances to clinch the SEC East, it was about time the Bulldogs did something. Not much tailgating beforehand - the wife and I pretty much stop by and say 'hi' and head over to the stadium. It's irrationally cold in Sanford Stadium with the wind and our inadequate clothing. Georgia finally gets going thanks to a Gordon Ely-Kelso fake punt (Chaz promptly calls me to discuss how fast Gordon seemed to be), and rolls to an easy win and its third SEC East title in four years.
The tailgate gets going after the game, despite the cold. The TV is back out, and a smaller crowd watches Auburn hammer Alabama. Two highlights of the day - Dave owning the karoke machine with his best Keith Jackson impersonation and Matt T. and Tim debating the name of the bully in A Christmas Story (Scott Farkus if you're wondering).
So, as you see, it was a busy week. But definitely one of the more interesting ones I've been a part of.
SATURDAY, NOV. 12
I can't even begin to stress how much we had been planning for this tailgate. Ever since the first game of the season against Boise State where Ed uttered those fateful words - 'we should do a gumbo or a boil at a tailgate' - this event had been building. It only made sense to do it for the Auburn game, and the fact the executives at ESPN decided to reward us with a 7:45 p.m. kickoff made it that much more perfect.
I kid you not, a substantial portion of my day on Friday was devoted to preparation for this tailgate. There were trips to Sam's and Kroger, time spent dividing items up and organizing coolers, a trip to campus to set up the tent (a quick side note ... the case which holds our tent has wheels on it to make for easy transporting ... this, for some reason, sent Matt and I into hysterics and culminated with him wheeling it around in my driveway while shrieking ... high entertainment). Mom and Dad arrive later Friday night, and we're all set to go.
Matt and I arrive at the spot at roughly 10:30 a.m. with the bed of his truck overflowing with tables, chairs, coolers and cookers. It takes a lot of effort to do a Low Country Boil, but your fearless leader was up to the task (well, Matt was I suppose since he actually did the chopping and boiling and what-have-you ... still, I helped with the vision). Hartman is already there, and already seeking help on getting a signal for the satellite for Tent City (my little enclave had been more like a suburb for the majority of the year, though last week we were officially consolidated into the sprawling tailgateopolis ... sort of the opposite of what happened with Sandy Springs). He pulls it off, and in one can only be considered one of the greatest ideas in the history of Tent City ... we have TV.
Now it's important to remember that Ed was one of the main catalysts for this whole endeavor. He was thrilled at the possibility of doing a gumbo or a boil, and we even spent an hour on the phone on Wednesday night 'planning' this thing, though in actuality we merely talked about how excited we were. Ed, with wife Lindsey in tow along with a house full of guests, were to arrive between 11 a.m. and 11:30 a.m.
Plus, the kid's got the double burner which is perhaps the most pivotal component of our boil plans.
The spot starts to fill up ... the usual Tent City suspects like Tim and Carrie and Meimi and Matt T. and John and Melissa and the like, along with some of our invitees like Jason and Lee as well as the wife and my parents arrive. Still, as 11:30 a.m. rolls around, we have no sign of Edward. This leads to a slew of harassing phone calls ... Matt calling up Ed and giving him directions to Sanford Stadium ... me giving him a ring and asking if he's been unjustly incarcerated because that's the only feasible reason he's late.
Around 1 p.m. - and after much ragging from all of us, my father included - Ed and his car full of folks arrive.
From this point on ... it's a bit of a blur. The boil goes off in outstanding fashion (we had 12 pounds of shrimp), and we seriously begin feeding strangers who pass by the tent and inquire about the aroma. As South Carolina beats Florida, saving Georgia's hide by the way, Tim does a most impressive impersonation of a Gamecock crowing victoriously ... complete with overly dramatic leg and arm gestures. Carrie and I decide to 'mix up our laughs' ... including one really obnoxious one which involves the entire left side of our bodies violently jerking backward (this, by the way, was insanely funny to us but no one else). The wife does a shot of tequila with my father egging her on.
Then the game ... and you know the rest. On fourth-and-11, Brandon Cox completes a pass to Devin Aromoashoduonoenueodo and Auburn goes on to break our hearts (proverbially, not literally) 31-30.
Still ... we had a Low Country Boil. Awesome.
SUNDAY, NOV. 13
A mere five-and-a-half hours after going to bed, I am forced awake so I can drive to Greenville, S.C., to fly up to Boston. In hindsight, we probably should have thought this through a little more. Still, at 6:20 a.m. ... only so much you can do.
Let me also recommend to anyone reading this ... if you going up the east coast, always fly out of Greenville. It's a small airport which goes to all of the major airports, was a breeze to get in and out of, featured inexpensive long-term parking, and was substantially cheaper than flying out of Atlanta. My third flying experience ever was very smooth, and, because we changed planes at LaGuardia, I kept saying 'well I can always say I've been to New York' (the wife said that got old really quick).
Our shuttle ride to the hotel is daunting. The van is full of interesting characters. The gentleman behind us spoke little if any English, while the man in front of us openly complained that he should have taken a taxi. Along the way, Texas gives me a holler to talk about the Georgia game.
We stay at the Omni Parker Hotel in Boston (North America's oldest hotel according to sign in the lobby ... though, for some reason, I have my reservations about that), and we're literally a block from everything. We're next to Boston Commons and right up the street from Quincy Market. There's a T station around the corner, so we're pretty fired up.
Riding a high from getting in Boston, we immediately venture out to Quincy Market which the wife and I had seen profiled on The Food Network. It's a long, older marketplace full of local eateries and stands (the chowder stand was odd to us). We get a sandwich of some sorts - and I ridicule the wife for picking the most tame thing in the whole market - and have a seat outside. For a Sunday night, it's weirdly crowded. While sitting, the incredible fatigue hits us right in the face, and we drudge back to the hotel for the rest of the evening (it's like 6:30 p.m.).
I'm so tired I take a nap ... which never happens. We order room service, which is spectacular since it comes from a five-star restaurant ... and features the original Boston Cream Pie which is absolutely tremendous. Even more tremendous is the fact that our waiter asks where we're from, we reply Athens, Georgia, and he responds in a thick Boston accent 'Oh, a buddy of mine played for yous guys ... Jermaine Wiggans ... I was in his wedding a little while back.' Turns out this guy loves to follow Georgia football because of Jermaine. Small world.
Somehow, we get roped into watching How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days and then pass out for the evening.
MONDAY, NOV. 14
When we began making plans for our Boston trip, I had two things I wanted to do - go to the JFK Library and tour Fenway Park. Monday morning, we knocked out the latter. This was like a trip to the promised land for me ... as we approached the stadium, I literally began shouting out the street names and bars that I recognized from all of the books and columns I've read over the past few years (this was only mildly embarassing for the wife). After buying our tickets for the tour, we head over to the official Red Sox store and I plot out what I'll buy (eventually, I drop $75 at the place).
We couldn't have asked for a better tour guide. This guy is from South Boston, grew up a Red Sox fan and has followed the team for more than 60 years. He's got, of course, a thick Boston accent and has a penchant for strongly enunciating unusual syllables in his phrases ('following the 1918 World Series, the Red Sox sell George Her-MAN Ruth to the Yan-KEES!'). I take pictures of everything ... and I mean everything.
We then head to Cambridge to take a look at Harvard. Nothing fancy. I'd venture to say that North Campus at UGA is better looking. Cambridge itself was pretty cool. Lots of local delis and grociers and stuff like that, so I enjoyed it. The ride on the T back to the hotel is even more entertaining as there is an intensely awkward - and loud - argument between a woman, her mother and her partner directly in front of us. It involved the purchase of a sweatshirt and some loaned rent money ... the whole thing was kinda hazy. In the middle of it, I whisper to the wife 'this would be uncomfortable if it wasn't so awesome.'
TUESDAY, NOV. 15
Just prior to our meal on Monday night, I noticed something unusual as I swallowed ... a tickle in the back of my throat. By Tuesday morning, that tickle had transformed itself into a full-blown sore throat. Great. This is exactly how I want to spend my second day in Boston - a cold and rainy one mind you - as we take the T to the edge of Boston to visit the JFK Library.
I soldier on, and the trip is well worth it. Seeing that I work at a museum now, I notice different things as I visit different ones and the JFK Library is top notch. It's laid out chronologically to follow his life, beginning with a video that takes you up to the 1960 Democratic National Convention and then you enter a room designed to look like the convention floor while Kennedy's acceptance speech plays around you. There's a reconstruction of the White House press room, the Oval Office and Robert Kennedy's attorney general office. Quite awesome, I must say.
I spend more money at the gift shop, and then we head back to the hotel because the sore throat has set in something fierce. We're forced to cancel the remainder of our plans for the day because I feel so crummy, and my wife is a trooper through it all. We get more room service and see more bad movies (Coyote Ugly anyone?).
WEDNESDAY, NOV. 16
The sore throat has mercifully retreated somewhat, and I can feel the congestion stages of the cold starting to set in. And that's fine. I can handle a stuffy nose and sinus pressure with some medicine, but there's not a whole lot you can do for a sore throat.
Today we leave Boston, renting a car and heading up to Maine. Maine is, quite frankly, everything I thought it would be. It's a beautiful state and is full of the most fascinating little towns. Kittery is very touristy on the main strip, but if you take 1A along the coast it's very impressive. We stopped at Frisbee's, which claims to be America's oldest grocery store, where I purchased a pint of Bar Harbor Blueberry Ale because it sounded cool.
There were tons of antique stores and rare book stores throughout places like York and Kennebunk, and we spent almost the entire day driving through these places.
Now, I haven't mentioned this yet, but it's important - it gets dark absurdly early up north. It was dark at 4:30 p.m. in Boston, and the sun began setting in Maine around 3:55 p.m. I don't know how those folks can stand it. I mean, everything would close up around 7 p.m. So as we pull into Portland around 4:45 p.m., it's pitch black and has been that way for more than half an hour.
We stay at The Pomegranate Inn, which is actually only a few streets down from where my great-grandmother lived. My grandmother, it should be noted, is ecstatic that we're back in her hometown and tells us all of these places to visit and eat. She scores on all but one ... The Village Cafe.
This was billed as a nice, family-owned Italian restaurant, and I'm sure at one point it was. But as we arrived Wednesday night, it had a definite Steverino's feel to it ... not that there's anything wrong with that, but that's not what I'm looking for on vacation. So we go to Ribolitto's instead, and I highly recommend it to anyone who visits Portland. Best Italian meal I've ever had. It's a small restaurant, seating only 15 people at the most, but it was excellent.
THURSDAY, NOV. 17
If going to Fenway Park was my trip to the promised land, then our sojourn to Freeport and the L.L. Bean outlet was the wife's. And the store is, for lack of a better word, awesome. It's three stories tall and is jammed back with everything you see in those catalogs. I was fully prepared for her to plunk down a hundred bucks, easy ... but to my surprise, she spent not a dime. The CPA in her emerged, and she couldn't comprehend paying sales tax (really, I'm not making this up).
We poked around Freeport's other shops, got a lobster roll from a stand, and then headed back down to Kennebunkport where we saw President George H.W. Bush's massive estate. It's visible from practically everywhere in that town ... sort of like the Marsten house in Salem's Lot.
At night, we ate at the Old Port Sea Grill and had a steamed lobster. I thought it was great, while Julie was unimpressed.
FRIDAY, NOV. 18
One last stop in Kittery to pick up some gifts for folks back home, and then we drive back into Boston. I don't understand how people can function behind the wheel in that city ... the sheer volume of one-way roads, rotaries, traffic circles and tunnels is maddening. We exited at one stop under a sign which was clearly marked 'Route 60 South' but somehow ended up on Route 60 North. Eventually we get back, drop off the car and get into the airport.
Now, while waiting in a lengthy line to get our bags checked, a lady who is behind us asks if she could try one of the self-check terminals. We say 'no problem' and the lady goes ahead. It doesn't work for her, so we expect her to return to her spot behind us in line. She doesn't, cuts us and goes to the next open station. I'm a bit bothered, having stood in line for about 20 minutes only to see her cut in line. The wife is unconcerned, and only says 'karma.'
We saddle up to our station, and the gentleman there asks if we could do him a huge favor by taking a slip down to the gate we were heading anyway. We say 'no problem' and take the form. Before leaving, he takes back our tickets, punches something in the computer, hands them back and says 'my gift to you.'
The guy just upgraded us to first class ... and it would have gone to the lady who cut us if she hadn't done so.
Karma.
First class, by the by, rocks ... even if we were on it for just 35 minutes.
We get back home by 9:45 p.m. and find it to be 57 degrees in our house. That's what happens when you don't have the gas turned on and can't run your heater.
SATURDAY, NOV. 19
The reason we came back on Friday? To attend the Georgia-Kentucky game on Saturday.
After watching Georgia miss in its first two chances to clinch the SEC East, it was about time the Bulldogs did something. Not much tailgating beforehand - the wife and I pretty much stop by and say 'hi' and head over to the stadium. It's irrationally cold in Sanford Stadium with the wind and our inadequate clothing. Georgia finally gets going thanks to a Gordon Ely-Kelso fake punt (Chaz promptly calls me to discuss how fast Gordon seemed to be), and rolls to an easy win and its third SEC East title in four years.
The tailgate gets going after the game, despite the cold. The TV is back out, and a smaller crowd watches Auburn hammer Alabama. Two highlights of the day - Dave owning the karoke machine with his best Keith Jackson impersonation and Matt T. and Tim debating the name of the bully in A Christmas Story (Scott Farkus if you're wondering).
So, as you see, it was a busy week. But definitely one of the more interesting ones I've been a part of.
posted by Jmac at 8:04 AM
1 Comments:
Scut. Not Scott.
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