The Meaning of Southern Football

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SWIL

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#1
This article always gets my blood flowin' this time of year- so I'm posting it again. It captures the essence of what it means to be an SEC fan; and we should have every reason to be the proudest people in the nation when that first chill of fall slices through the humid air south of the Mason Dixon line. It's the signal that SEC football is right around the corner!

Enjoy.

By B.J. Bennett
SouthernPigskin.com Senior Editor


Simply put, it's different down here - just ask former Heisman trophy winner Frank Sinkwich.

"I'm from Ohio," the University of Georgia legend once said, "but if I'd known what it was like down south, I would have crawled down here on my hands and knees."

Football in the south is an interesting beast. It's not a game, it's not a pastime...it's a way of life. It's a mixed drink of family, religion, politics and pageantry, spiked with shots of antagonism, arrogance and pride.

Critics label our view of college football as naive and tendentious. Our response? We couldn't agree more. Southerners revel in regional bias and why shouldn't we? In the south, we transform a vast picnic area into The Grove. We see a stadium on the river and bring a Navy. We take a plain desert stone and make it magic. We have The Chop, The Chomp and The Ramblin' Wreck. We root for the same team as our dad, the same team as his dad and say "to hell" with the team of your dad's dad. We call players by their first names, anyone on the athletic staff "coach", and to the chagrin of media pundits and those who just don't understand, we say "we".

Southern football is why my grandmother spent fall Saturday's in orange capris, blue Reebok classics and alligator jewelry and had a football card of Danny Wuerffel taped to her dresser. It's the same reason why my mom can't watch the fourth quarter, my dad won't watch the first quarter and my uncle and his two sons have walked around Valdosta, Georgia with a little more pep in their step since December 7th, 2002.

Southern football isn't tailgating, it's all-nighting. It's not about painting your face, it's about painting your chest. It's not about grills, it's about cookers. Inside the stadium, you don't talk to your neighbors, you yell at them. Those around you aren't strangers, they're 80,000 of your closest friends. You don't go on the road when you travel to see your team play...you go home.

Down here, you're not born a boy or a girl, you're born a Gamecock or Tiger. Down here, football is just as entrenched in our culture as Jesus, sweet tea and barbeque sandwiches. We say "Yes Ma'm" and "No Sir", but we also say "Roll Tide", "War Eagle" and "Pig Sooey". Down here, "two plus two equals third down and six".

Southern football is why you drive through Wrightsville, Georgia and see "The Home of Herschel Walker" on Highway 15. It's why hundreds of adults in the state of Alabama are named "Bear". Southern football is Billy Cannon, Bo Jackson and Archie, Eli and Peyton Manning. It's Bobby Bowden, Vince Dooley and the Ole' Ball Coach. It's detergent boxes under toilet paper, frat boys in team-colored pants - it's Lynyrd Skynyrd and Molly Hatchet in button-down shirts, Southern Living with a cowboy hat; it's a clash of styles that produces a scene often imitated but never duplicated. Ever.

The setting? So picturesque you don't want to touch it, yet so enthralling you just can't let it go. It's a similar one in Knoxville, Tennessee, Starkville, Mississippi and Blacksburg, Virginia, and it has been for years.

Southern football is Erik Russell joking, "we don't cheat at Georgia Southern, that costs money and we don't have any." It's John Heisman saying, "it's better to have died as a young boy than to fumble the football." It's Bobby Dodd saying he'd rather face the lions in the coliseum than the Tigers in Baton Rouge. It's Clemson fans stating they would rather be on probation than lose to Furman.

The players, the coaches and the rivalries are captivating here in the south. Florida-Georgia weekend causes more people to call in sick on Monday morning than the stomach flu and strep throat, Alabama-Auburn divides households, neighborhoods and the entire state, and The Egg Bowl is a true late November fixture. The storylines are just as alluring. Think "The Choke at Doak", "Lindsay Scott!!" or the 1961 Clemson-South Carolina game where a group of USC students impersonated the Tiger football team in pre-game warm-ups, catering to the crowd and the band before flopping all over the field and mocking Clemson's agricultural background with milking hand-motions.

Though the press tries to hype the last week in the regular season as rivalry week, every week is rivalry week in the south.

Something down here makes this game different. College football has a legitimate influence on state government, a major affect on commerce and local economies and is the lifeblood and pulse of God's country.

Perhaps former Tennessee Volunteer radio personality George Mooney put it best.

"Southerners are proud of their football heritage, their schools, and their teams. And they share a deep pride that goes with being from the South," he said.

It's a match made, and currently outplayed, in heaven.

It's football time in Tennessee.
:salute:
 
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#9
#9
One of my most favorite people in this world is British. We had great fun this summer. The World Cup in all its glory was played out in Germany and the two of us had a blast watching the Earth’s biggest sports spectacle over a cornucopia of the world’s best brews. She helped me to further understand all that was at stake with every grueling match. The World Cup really is the festival of nations. The tension is palpable, the sorrow is nearly unlivable, and the glory is truly great.

In my book though, it simply has to take a back seat to American college football. Perhaps I am just an ignorant, close-minded, self-centered American bumpkin. But I have my reasons.

Yes, the World Cup is just that, the biggest sports championship on Earth. That does not mean it’s the best, though. It’s close, but not quite.

For all of its flaws, big money, and hypocrisies, college football is still a sport built on amateur athletic hunger and prowess. And while there are plenty of enormous sporting events in this world, college football in America, in spite of the fact that it’s not even the biggest brand of football in this country, still attracts 100,000+ fans to its biggest venues Saturday in, and Saturday out. I’m sorry, but not even the World Cup, with its 75,000 seat stadiums can boast that. Do more people watch the World Cup? Of course.

But the World Cup takes place every four years, as does the Olympics, the other world-wide gathering of athletes. Every single autumn, multiple thousands of faculty, staff, students, alumni and fans flock to sacred playing fields where the atmospheres raise hair and hell at the same moment. These fans do so out of undying loyalty to institutions of learning. It’s like hard-core nationalism without the requisite bloodshed. Usually.

I’ll admit most of my loyalty to this socially-constructed pseudo-religion stems from the fact that I was born smack-dab in the center of it all. I’m an East Tennessean. The college football universe sees its greatest match-ups and bitterest rivalries all within a weekend’s driving distance of my house. I effectively inherited my love of these colorful campus contests.

When dawn breaks in a college football city, it wakes up a different place than it was just the night before. Somehow caravans of RV’s snuck in under the cover of night and plugged into every gap, space and cranny the campus offers. With first light begins the steady trickle of packed-to-the-gill automobiles, full of appropriately-dressed fans, food and booze. Not much later and the trickle becomes a deluge; car after truck after SUV gas-brake their way into center campus with herky-jerky anticipation. All lanes become right lanes as the faithful eagerly push on to repeat the game day experience: Tailgating, jokes, trash-talk, romance, and lots and lots of football.

As the marching band conducts its early morning practice somewhere off in the distance, the bass-heavy rat-a-tat echoes of the drum corps offer fans a sort of call to arms: Game day has arrived.

By the noontime hour, many teams across the Eastern Time zone have already taken to the field. Thus, the fanatics huddle around generator-powered televisions watching other teams that they either mildly tolerate or hate. They discuss with ever-increasing volume the ramifications of each of the day’s contests on their own team’s destiny. Pre-prepared food is warmed, cold beer is poured, bourbon bottles are stealthily (or not so stealthily) opened, their contents mixed greedily with soda.

Nearby apartments and houses open up to nearly anyone wearing the appropriate colors. Strangers are rare. If you’re in a person’s home wearing the other colors, someone has probably explained your presence, vouching for you. But while team loyalty runs high, most still cheerily welcome opposing fans. Words of welcome far outweigh cross taunts. Grudges are rarely permanent; it’s just game day.

The scent of grilled junk food thickens as kickoff draws near. The tide of similarly-dressed people takes on a general direction while speakers everywhere blast fight songs and school themes. The stadium beckons the throng like some radiating, glowing Kaaba as ticket-holders march around their shrine to their respective gate. The hold-outs cling to their Dixie Cups gathered around kegs and under tents. They constantly consult their watches as they stubbornly continue their merriment and debate.

Entering the stadium brings the task at hand into focus. Each loyal fan believes wholeheartedly in the role he will play in the outcome of the game. As you file slowly into the inner-part of the stadium you can catch a glimpse from time to time of the green grass on which the contest will be played, heightening the anticipation of the excitement to come. As the bluebloods take to their plush press box-side seats, the student section fills haphazardly with twenty-somethings that have no intention of sitting down the entire time the game is underway. For three hours or more, the student section leads in providing a thrust of frantic volume through which the visiting team must try and function. When the home team’s offense trots onto the field, it’s like an order goes out to hush the crowd so that their boys can get to work.

Here we come to another, and more basic, reason to love college football: Incredible displays of athletic talent. Some acts of athletic heroism on the college gridiron simply leave your mouth agape in stunned disbelief. Only for a brief moment though, for incredible efforts on the field cause a deafening reaction from the crowd. The high, steep banks of the stadium bleachers explode in a frenzied celebration. The explosion of volume can catch even the most seasoned gamedayers off guard.

While college football is an all day, and season-long experience, it inevitably revolves around what your team does for three hours, twelve times a year. Each game is a gradual evolution of momentum, each possession a bitter fight to control that momentum. And just when one team has it secured, something occurs that can turn it on its head.

This is why lifelong loyalists to a team can at times curse their beloved players and coaches each time a mistake is made. After all, the team that makes the fewest mistakes usually wins. Of course anger is fleeting, especially when the outcome is victory. But before the game is finally decided, anything other than victory is simply unthinkable. I’ve often sat in a stadium and thought that I just didn’t know how I would handle it if my team lost the day’s game. They just can’t lose.

Sometimes they do though, and that makes for a subdued exit from the stadium. Victory, however, is much different. Victory must be a glorious thing to experience as a college football player. It surely positively affects everything about you long after you leave the field. I wouldn’t know; I could have never played college ball. But I do know that as a fan, victory makes everything better. It makes the night following a game a joyous occasion of singsong revelry and fraternity. It energizes the following workweek, as you know that the office conversations will involve excited stories of scores and success. Mistakes are forgotten.

After the game, fans leave the grounds littered with bottles, cans and paper. Within a day, authorities have everything cleaned up and ready for students to walk to class through a gleaming campus on Monday. And until the next home game, regardless of what happened the week before, everyone tells the tales of their game day experience. They invite their friends to the next one. They secure tickets and make plans for the next time they get to happily engage in the live delusion that their presence affects their team’s fate.

Perhaps there is a better sports experience than that. I can't imagine it, and I've certainly not found it.
 

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