I wish I had it in me today to compose something epic after last night’s win. Something biblical, like “wandering for four decades in the college football wilderness until reaching the holy land…”.
Truth be told, I’m still too numb to process what happened.
My daughter texted me last night, asking if I cried. Crying after Georgia wins isn’t really my thing. Lindsay Scott didn’t make me cry. Sony Michel didn’t, either. And I didn’t shed a tear last night.
The Ringo pick-six did take me back to another Georgia football experience, though — Robert Edwards’ clinching touchdown run in the ’97 Cocktail Party game. I didn’t cry when it happened, but I damned near passed out. Seven years of Spurrier frustration wiped out in thirty seconds of bliss will do that.
Last night, I had a similar out of body sensation watching Ringo and his posse coming down the field at me. It was almost surreal to see it unfold. The crowd noise was physically palpable. Cathartic, as I posted last night.
And so, upon waking this morning, my first thought was to ask myself if it really happened.
Then I remembered. It’s great to be a Georgia Bulldog.