ALRIGHT, KIDDIES. GRAB A BOTTLE OF HATERADE AND GATHER AROUND ME. IT'S TIME I TOLD YOU ABOUT THE SEVEN REASONS WHY I HATE GEORGIA.
1. "HOW 'BOUT THEM DAWGS!" Hearing this exclamation makes me want to hammer Mentos into my ears and nostrils, then dive into a vat of Diet Coke.
2. R.E.M. Ok, so <em>Automatic for the People</em> was great. But everything else from them was not up to the hype. Kinda reminds me of Georgia's running backs over the years. They all seemingly underachieve, well, except for one, which brings me to...
3. HERSCHEL WALKER. During his Heisman year, he ran for about a zillion (with a "z") yards against the Gators, as the then-No. 1 Bulldogs shut us out 44-0. I was a young boy back then--only in third grade--but watching that game on fuzzy antenna TV so many years ago was my first-ever experience in learning how it feels to truly, truly hate another team.
4. LARRY MUNSON. The voice of Bulldog football was forever silenced a couple of seasons ago, and I was relieved. For those who've been fortunate enough never to hear him call a game on the radio, Larry Munson was the troll-iest play-by-play announcer ever to ride the airwaves. With such zingers as "We've done it again...'Dogs are in the end zone!" and "We've just upped the score to 35-0, and it looks like the 'Dogs are going to put another win under their belts!", he proved that it's possible to be both a competent game caller and a schadenfreudian asshole at the same time. I'd rather have Brent Musburger following me everywhere, reading me <em>War and Peace</em> through a bullhorn, than ever listen to another Larry Munson game broadcast.
5. "HUNKER DOWN, YOU HAIRY DOGS!" This cheer has fallen out of favor, and seems destined for the archives of SEC football antiquity. Thank God.
6. THAT DAMN FIGHT SONG. It's not the tune that is particularly bothersome; it's just a quick little rendition of
Rocky Top "I've Been Workin' On the Railroad." It's just that the band strikes up the song every time there's a play where they get positive yardage. Or negative yardage. Or score. Or win. Or lose. Or a booth review. It's just like <em>Boomer Sooner</em>, except we have to play Georgia every year. So there's no escape for us. No peace. No hope.
7. THE PLAY. No, not the play where the Cal player lays out the Stanford trombone guy. This play predates even that one. In 1980, believe it or not, Charlie Pell had the Gators at No. 1. That is, until the Bulldogs completed a 900-yard pass play as the fourth quarter expired, to rip the lead and the game out of our chests. It wasn't really 900 yards. But it felt like it. Georgia's slow receiver somehow got loose, and for some inexplicable reason there wasn't another Gator defender
anywhere within the 904 area code THAT WAS CLOSE ENOUGH TO CATCH HIS SLOW ASS. He lumbered in slow motion down the sideline to victory, and all we could do was helplessly watch, mouths agape at the surreality of it all. It would be a long, long time before the Gators would see another No. 1 ranking in the polls. Beach Boulevard was literally the Boulevard of Broken Dreams that day.
TELL ME WHAT YOU HATE ABOUT GEORGIA.