And then, I’ll take my seat in front of my computer turn up the volume and listen to Scott Howard and Eric Zeier call the kickoff of the University of Georgia Bulldogs 2009 football season.

I’m passionate about a lot of things, but not much elicits the same kind of fierce loyalty as my undergraduate alma mater’s football team. The biggest reasons for this devotion are the circumstances that got me to the University of Georgia. I spent most of 1995 and 1996 clueless and intoxicated in downtown Athens, Georgia. I was working two demeaning customer service jobs to pay the rent and keep me in food, booze and cigarettes. I flamed out in Seattle a couple of years earlier and was just treading water, eeking out a living trying to figure out what the hell  to do with myself. I had quit or been kicked out of three different colleges and was beginning to think that a university degree was something that was beyond my abilities.

But a future spent waiting on assholes was too much to bear, so I decided to give university one more shot. I applied to UGA’s College of Family and Consumer Sciences to do a design course and to my surprise was accepted. And, to my surprise, I did really well. I aced Chemistry (a pre-req for any major in this particular college) and decided that maybe I was in the wrong line of work.  I transferred to the Franklin College of Arts and Sciences and started slicing through Physics, Calculus and Genetics like warm butter. I buckled down and just flat worked.

A handful of  semesters later, ten years ago this June, I walked out of the University of Georgia with a B.S. in Biology. I’ve not since uttered the words, and god willing never shall again, ‘Hi, my name is Chris, can I take your order?”

I went on from Georgia to do a Ph.D. and post-doctoral work and now hold a faculty position at a university here in Australia. But no matter where I go, no matter what I do, I will always bleed red and black. The University of Georgia took a shot on a guy with three academic strikes, gave me a chance to turn around a pointless ‘career’ and showed me the on ramp to the road to a successful and satisfying life. And for that, they’ve earned my eternal devotion.

The least I can do is stay up late or get up early to cheer on the ‘Dawgs.

And I do. Every year since I left Athens in 1999. I’ve listened to or watched nearly every game. From three different continents now. I rarely get to watch a game these days, we don’t get much (any) college football in Oz. That’s OK, though, because I’ve come to love listening to the radio broadcast. It hearkens back to a bygone era and demands a bit more imagination than does an HD broadcast on a television larger than my car.

I don’t know how this season is going to go. Georgia’s got a young team with unproven players at the skill positions. They’ve got an incredibly tough schedule, from the opener against #9 Oklahoma State to the regular season finale against #15 Georgia Tech. Don’t get me wrong, I hope for a National Championship every year but it just doesn’t matter. Because whether the Georgia Bulldogs are 12-0 or 0-12, I’ll be cheering them on. I’ll cheer them on from the other side of the world in the middle of the night. Win or lose I’ll dress my boys in red and black and teach them to say “Go Dawgs!” (Boy Z has got it), for reasons that they don’t yet understand.

Because it isn’t about winning. It’s about loyalty and passion and pride. Whether or not we beat Tech this year, I know (as do thousands of Dawg fans) that my alma mater is the Finest University in the South. Whether or not we beat Florida this year, I know that you couldn’t have paid me enough to go to study at that bog down in Gainesville. Whether or not we beat Tennessee, Auburn and LSU this year, I’ll be the biggest Dawg fan in Australia – much to the amusement of friends and family.

But winning is nice. And  a win in some dusty Oklahoma hamlet would be a good start to 2009. I’ve got a good feeling about the game on Saturday. The OSU Cowboys are the media’s Cinderella this season and thus are likely to see their coach turn into a pumpkin long before midnight on Saturday. The Dawgs win on the road under Coach Mark Richt and I suspect that these slack jawed Okies may be in for a bit more than they expected on Saturday.

Go Dawgs!

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Image credits:

North Campus

Uga

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Billie Holiday’s version of “Georgia On My Mind” can be found on “The Complete Billie Holiday” available from .

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One last thing. There will be trash talk again this year. But to be honest, I couldn’t find an Oklahoma State fan that was literate enough to do the job. I’m not sure I’ll have any better luck next week with South Carolina either…

Go Dawgs!

It looks like we’re going to find out.

The take home message of Dr. O’C’s latest midwife appointment was, in essence, ‘don’t hold your breath’. Barring any unexpected activity in the next 24 hours, we’re going to trudge past Friday’s ‘due date’ without a hint of labour. A Free Fetus seems a bit too comfortable up in there. The good news for exhausted pregnant woman is that they won’t let you go too far over your due date down here. If we’re still baby-less next Friday afternoon, Dr. O’C will be induced. Which means that, even if hormonally dragged – kicking and screaming – he/she will make a long awaited appearance by next weekend at the latest – Saturday or Sunday.

On college football’s opening weekend. Saturday or Sunday.

Those of you with a Y chromosome (and yes, some without) in the American South or Midwest know what I’m saying here.

I mean I’m an enlightened, liberal, educated sort of 21st century guy, but college football Saturdays are sacrosanct. And clearly Dr. O’C and the midwives didn’t consider my personal sabbath in their calculations. My beloved Georgia Bulldogs kick off their season in Stillwater, Oklahoma on Saturday afternoon (2:00 a.m. Sunday Adelaide time). This means that instead of being planted cozily in front of the computer listening to the radio broadcast of the game I could be fannying about in a delivery room at the hospital. Missing the season opener.

I think it’s time for our first father/son or daughter talk, A Free Fetus.

I know it’s all cozy and warm up there in your mother’s uterus. I know that Spring hasn’t really sprung and the house is drafty and a bit damp. I know that you’re going to be pretty constantly tortured and harassed by your older brother. I feel you. I know you’ve got little incentive to make that trip down the birth canal. Hell, I’m a lazy fellow, I get it. I’d stay up there too.

I know these things. But, you see, it’s fixin’ to be football season. And for a few months that means that your Papa is going to be busy on Saturday nights/early Sunday mornings. In some ways, it’s good for you. When you can’t sleep on the weekend, we’ll leave your mother in bed. You can sit up with me and listen to men with strange accents over a crackling internet connection talk about lines of scrimmage, momentum, defensive formations and hobnail boots.

This first one – it’s a proper game, little one. It’s a big game, against a tough opponent, on the road and will likely set the tone for the rest of the season. We’re not like the despicable Florida Gators – opening the season against a school that was a women’s community college until a couple of years ago.

What I’m saying to you, A Free Fetus, is that I need you to get it in gear and come on out of there before next Saturday.*

Thanks.

UPDATE

The creepy pregnancy widget is gone because it was starting to count up. Which is depressing.

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* That being said, Sunday is Father’s Day in Australia so I guess a new baby would be a pretty good Father’s Day present. However, not a one of you picked the 5th or 6th of September so you should all be pulling for an early delivery.

The Be Good Tanyas’ “Chinatown” is available from .

Image credits:

Waiting will be prosecuted

Georgia-Oklahoma State