Highlights of the Game

I am the kind of sports fan that is more about being the last fan in the seats then I am about being the one who has to have the best seats. Maybe I say that because I have never had the best seats. I have never been in the 100's or on the 50 yard line. I am usually up above the clouds but not in a sky box.

No, my section is inherently the 300's. But, I like the view.

For Saturday's Georgia vs Boise St game my seating arrangement was no different. From these seats I can see all of the families that started their day out much the same way mine did. We were all in a hurry, excited and some were running late. Put extra food and water out for the cats and dogs. We need a map to Marta; who is is charge of the tickets?  Put some hand sanitizer and band aids in a baggy. Where is your football son? Get a sharpie from the junk drawer. Comfy shoes; fashion; it goes back and forth. Girls, get your hair clips, it is hot; you will want to put your hair up. Water bottles marked V go in the big purse; kids, remember only one treat at the stadium. I'll put the room on my card; use your cash for the parking, peanuts and PBR.

I get chills every time I hear the Battle Hymn swell up from the bugler in the corner (another member of the 300 section). I don't know stats and I don't know greatest plays of all time; but tradition I do know. And that tradition says to me hey section 100, club level and section 300; hey you on the bridge; you between the hedges, you at home, let us all gather here today and appreciate the opportunity to have a few moments to yell, cheer, cuss, support, cry, and embrace our team. The extention of our family where we can say what we want about them; but you better watch your back if you bash them.

My two young nephews are pumped. They know the drill; remove the cap, swirl to the rhythm of Goooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo Dawgs, Sic 'em, Woof, Woof , Woof, in perfect harmony to the pigskin flying through the air. From my vantage point; everyone in the stadium is in sync, even the visiting team is standing and doing their own version of kickoff tradition.

The game begins with some of the worst opening plays of a major game I have ever seen. Now the night becomes about praying to Jesus to take time off from war and famine to come spend time with the young men on the field; preferably the ones dressed in red and black. When I pray at a game; and I do pray, I am not going to lie; I pray that the team who digs the deepest gets the biggest rewards. Which doesn't always work in my favor. I used to pray that the kid who digs the deepest gets the biggest reward; but I realized if the kid didn't go get with their teammates and agree to dig deep then they were missing the point. The kid who digs deep alone on a team should be a marathoner; not a running back.

The game goes from bad to worse. The team from the Midwest is in Jesus' ear all night long. He is chowing on corn and potatoes like its an all you can eat buffet. No craving what so ever for boiled peanuts.

Eventually, somewhere around 21-7; I feel disappointment for all the red and black fans in the stadium; not because the team is loosing so much as because I know the effort they have put out to be here. In these hard times; the money, the sacrifice to take their families to a ball game at the Georgia Dome; the parents in every other seat wondering how they will pay the electricity bill they dipped into; calculating if they have enough gas money to get home and it is 21-7, not in our favor...

Come on Dawgs! Jesus?

The fans are leaving.

I briefly think; well this will make the ride home easy.

But then I focus back on the field. I can feel the life being sucked out of number 2, 7 and 11 as the stilettos, tennis shoes and boots make way for the exit. I don't look left or right because even though my brother's legs are hurting and my sister has to be to work in 4 hours I don't want to abandon these boys. And we are related; so we don't.

We sit through bad call after embarrassing play after scores that aren't ours. And we watch the seats empty. I can't focus on the game any longer I just think of these kids on the field seeing the seats stare blankly back at them and how that must make them feel. Where can they find their legs in rows of empty Steve Maddens, Nike's and Nine Wests. I think about how they are class mates of my niece and though she may self impose a lot of pressure to succeed in OChem; she doesn't have 70,000 ticket holders walking out on her.

You 100's, 200's and club levels should be ashamed. You sky box, 50 yard line level should be ashamed. You of all attendees should be there till the end. I realize that there is little distance at all between the young men on the field and the 300 level.

The game ends and the young boys jog off field with a shell shocked cadence of sadness. I see them approach the tunnel and think I still owe them a dept of gratitude. Because of them I am out with my sister and my brother; hardly ever get that chance; my two nephews and earlier my niece and her college friends, and we had fun. So much joy.

The highlights of the game are more then the ESPN clips; the score board finish or did we get on the jumbo-tron. It is about the opportunity to spend time with the ones you love; escape from the life that is weighing us down and lift up some young people who are pouring their hearts into the same life you yourself are trying to live.



Recipes: Vodka from the purse and lemonade from the hot dog stand = a savings of $50

Roadtrips: Turn around on the Marta train and you just might see three boys (Wade, Lil Wade and Nick) with sleepiness in their eyes but a full day in their hearts. Even if their hearts are slightly broken from the 35-21 score.


Renovations: If you are lucky enough to have seats for the game; stay in them! Don't take that for granted.