Get ‘yer Grizzard on.

I don’t think it’s any secret that we’re big fans of Lewis Grizzard here at GTP.  So when FOTB Jason Payne alerted me to this fine addition at the site, I thought it would be nice to share.  Wear it, and be wonderful.  (I am, in tasteful red, of course.)

You can also check them out on Instagram, at @ClassicGeorgia.


Filed under Uncategorized

28 responses to “Get ‘yer Grizzard on.

  1. I wonder if his estate is getting paid for his name and likeness … 🙂


    • Ryan

      Yes, my understanding is that the owners are good friends with the estate, have their blessing to produce the shirt, and have negotiated a royalty fee,


      • That’s good to hear.

        I did have to get in the jab that the someone can produce a Free Gurl3y t-shirt and sell it on the street and he didn’t get a damn cent of it.


  2. Dolly Llama

    Call me the JCDAWG83 of all Lewis Grizzard shit, but I never got it then, and I sure as hell don’t get it now. The man was a gaping asshole, and that showed in all his cracker-ass “humor,” both written and live.


    • Russ

      So, what part of Chicago are you from?


    • JTP

      Don’t flatter yourself. You’re nothing like JCDAWG83. He would at least be enjoyable to be around.

      You on the other hand, sound like a complete prick.


    • To paraphrase Randy Newman, he may be an asshole, but he’s our asshole. 😉


      • Dolly Llama

        Your blog needs a Grizzard Troll, Senator. I’m happy to fill that niche, I guess.


        • No One Knows You're a Dawg

          I know a guy who used to play golf with Grizzard-someone I would have thought would have gotten along with him well. But he told me he had to stop playing with him because Grizzard was a jerk when he was drinking, which was often.


    • His politics were backward looking to say the least, but his articles about Georgia football will always be among my fondest memories. The one after Lindsey Scott, “this one is forever”, the one about naming his son (if he were to have one) Kevin and the one after we lost to tech: one line “I don’t want to talk about it” are to be treasured by any Bulldog.

      Yes he was arrogant, chauvinistic to near misogyny, and I’m sure a lot of other things but he was occasionally hilarious and his writings about my football team rank right up there with Larry’s best calls IMHO. An imperfect figure as a cultural icon, but we did agree on things like Yankees and bbq so it ain’t all bad. You don’t have to love every syllable to appreciate a writer. Perfection can not be the standard for appreciating others. If it were, everyone falls short upon sufficient analysis.


      • “Perfection can not be the standard for appreciating others. If it were, everyone falls short upon sufficient analysis.” I’m stealin that right there. We should all remember that….except JCDAWG83 his perfection is obvious …just ask him.


      • Scorpio Jones, III

        “rank right up there with Larry’s best calls IMHO”

        “Perfection can not be the standard for appreciating others.”

        Obviously, Derek.


    • PTC DAWG

      Bless your heart!


  3. Goat Balls

    Grizzard wandered into Longhorns on Peachtree one night and sat next to me at the bar. He bought me and my friend drinks all night. He was so hammered at the end that he had a hard time walking out.

    Anybody that buys all night is alright with me.


  4. Marshall

    Personally, I’m a huge fan. Always have been and always will be. I own pretty much all of his books ( which for the most part were just collections of his columns) and have read most of them many times over.

    Yeah, his columns on UGA football are great – the ones mentioned on this thread plus several others. Without a doubt, he could come across as a bit of an A-hole, but I truly think a lot of that was tongue-in-cheek. He showed a lot of heart as well, though. Write-ups on his beloved dog, Catfish, his Daddy, Momma, and that little girl (daughter of his…3rd wife, I believe) who he ended up adopting gave an insight to the type of man he was.

    He was an excellent writer. Of the hundreds and hundreds of columns he wrote, I can’t think of a single clunker. He never mailed it in. That says a lot.

    Think I’ll have to order one of those shirts…


    • Otto

      I remember hearing about his articles when I was a kid and later reading them at his web site and on the Grit Tree. Further we passed his Limo on the way into games every home game parked on the hill just past the bridge. We all knew not to speak to him, which being older now I don’t blame him. If I were a local celeb I would prefer to be treated as another fan. Paul Newman was never a jerk but it was well know at Road Atlanta SCCA events he wanted to be treated as a racer. I passed him many times in the paddock. If you happened to be next to him he treated you as another racer. I don’t get the hysteria people get over celebs and would rather respect their privacy. I get the feeling from stories of people who ran into Grizzard he was sort of the same way but, he was always a bit of a smartazz giving him a bad rap. However you should expect that from his articles.


  5. Scorpio Jones, III

    I worked with Grizzard some. He was a drunk and a dickhead (not, however a Dickhead), arrogant, enchanted with the sound of his own voice…when he moved to Chicago he was over his head pretty quickly.

    All that said, if you like “hicksploitation” humor, he was funny at times, but nowhere nearly as often as he thought he was funny.

    As his alcohol abuse began to destroy his mental capabilities, he acquired an entourage, as Jim Minter once put it, “like Elvis”

    Early on, when he was just writing sports, before he became the spokesman for all the old cliches about the South, he was really very good…could really knock a good line out of the park, and did.

    His ego came back from Chicago in a bottle.

    Too bad.


    • Dolly Llama

      I guess I should have mentioned that I met the man a couple of times when he and his (last) redheaded ditz-wife were passing through the Grady school during my late-undergraduate and early-grad years shortly before he died. He was famous by this time. He came across as a gaping asshole in my very limited interactions with him, and I’ll take your word for it that this was who he was. Nobody who knew him liked him. Once, at a company function post-graduation, the owner of our newspaper company hired a Lewis Grizzard impersonator to “entertain” us at dinner with a word-for-word recitation of his standup routines. Even secondhand, the white-trash-with-fame-and-money-run-amok vibe was strong.


  6. 69Dawg

    Lewis was at UGA the same time I was. I didn’t know him except by his articles. I met him many years later at a Rotary golf tournament and talked to him for some time. Lewis was by that time a legend but he was very aware of his health. He was like most young guys that have a chronic illness, he did not suffer fools gladly. I don’t know that he was an ahole but I think he just didn’t give a sht what anybody thought of him. Still he was a funny guy and he was a Damn Good Dawg.


    • Bad Byron

      And maybe we can just leave it at that.


      • AthensHomerDawg

        I agree. And well played. Since he has a home here among the GTPers and is referenced on occasion by our good Senator I see no real cause to run amuck with the “poor mouthin” of Mr. Grizzard. He was a clever writer and a fun read. Guess he had health problems and he knew it. He wouldn’t be the first to over indulge to numb the fear. DK.
        I guess I could forgive the first “gaping asshole” description. Jeepers…A gaping asshole is created when the anal sphincter is stretched from anal penetration to reveal a ‘gaping’ effect. This is seen in varieties of hardcore pornography featuring anal sex. That’s some serious dislike there. Poor form. NOT VERY ATTRACTIVE AT ALL.
        I leave it there and share one of my favorite Lewis moments. I hope Kevin ain’t being exploited here. 😉

        Great moments in a would be father’s life

        To my Son, if I ever have one:

        Kid, I am writing this on September 3, 1984. I have just returned from Athens, where I spent Saturday watching the University of Georgia, your old dad’s alma matter, play football against Clemson.

        While the events of the day were still fresh on my mind, I wanted to recount them so if you are ever born, you can read this and perhaps be able to share one of the great moments in your father’s life.

        Saturday was a wonderful day on the Georgia campus.

        We are talking blue, cloudless sky, a gentle breeze and a temperature suggesting summer’s end and autumn’s approach.

        I said the blessing before we had lunch. I thanked the Lord for three things: fried chicken, potato salad and for the fact he had allowed me the privilege of being a Bulldog.

        “And , Dear Lord,” I prayed, “bless all those not as fortunate as I.”

        Imagine my son, 82,000 people, most whom were garbed in red, gathered together gazing down on a lush valley of hedge and grass where soon historic sporting combat would be launched.

        Clemson was ranked number 2 in the nation, and Georgia, feared too young to compete with the veterans from beyond the river, could only dream, the smart money said, of emerging three hours hence victorious.

        They had us 20-6 at the half, son. A man sitting in front of me said, “I just hope we don’t get embarrassed.”

        My boy, I had never seen such a thing as came to pass in the second half. Todd Williams threw one long and high, and Herman Archie caught it in the end zone, and it was now 20-13.

        Georgia got the ball again and scored again, and it was now 20-20, and my mouth was dry, and my hands were shaking, and this Clemson fan who had been running his mouth the whole ballgame suddenly shut his fat face.

        Son, we got ahead 23-20, and the ground trembled and shook, and many were taken by fainting spells.

        Clemson’s kicker, Donald Igwebuike, tied it 23-23 and this sacred place became the center of the universe.

        Only seconds were left when Georgia’s kicker, Kevin Butler, stood poised in concentration. The ball rushed toward him, and it was placed upon the tee a heartbeat before his right foot launched it heavenward.

        A lifetime later, the officials threw their arms aloft. From 60 yards away, Kevin Butler had been true, and Georgia led and would win 26-23.

        I hugged perfect strangers and kissed a fat lady on the mouth. Grown men wept. Lightening flashed. Thunder rolled. Stars fell, and joy swept through, fetched by a hurricane of unleashed emotions.

        When Georgia beat Alabama 18-17 in 1965, it was a staggering victory. When we came back against Georgia Tech and won 29-28 in1978, the Chapel bell rang all night. When we beat Florida 26-21 in the last seconds in 1980, we called it a miracle. And when we beat Notre Dame 17-10 in the Sugar Bowl that same year for the national championship, a woman pulled up her skirt and showed the world the Bulldog she had sewn on her underbritches.

        But Saturday may have been even better than any of those.

        Saturday in Athens was a religious experience.

        I give this to you, son. Read it and re-read it, and keep it next to your heart. And when people want to know how you wound up with the name “Kevin” let them read it, and then they will know.


        • Scorpio Jones, III

          Homez, the aforementioned Jim Minter also said that had Grizzard stayed in Atlanta….ah, never mind, hardly matters, does it?