Spencer Hall finds himself in a place past pity. Join him there:
The best way to show the size of the giant asskicking pile the Georgia Bulldogs amassed in a 42-7 win over Florida: start with one small point. Jake Fromm, Georgia’s redshirt freshman quarterback, threw seven passes, not in one quarter, not in a half, but for the entire length of one regulation football game against a conference opponent and hated rival.
Unless you are Navy or another triple option team, let me tell you what throwing seven times in a 42-7 win means. It means one team beat the other team’s ass so badly, they didn’t even have to get up off the couch to do it. It means Georgia saw Florida getting Georgia’s last beer out of the fridge, and without really waking up, winged the remote control all the way across the house and into Florida’s temple. The remote control came flying back like the hammer of Thor, of course.
There’s more, so indulge yourself and wallow in it.
While we’re on the subject of Florida trash talk, the underlying article is pretty meh, but I want to take this header home and marry it. Or at least put it on a t-shirt.
We Georgia fans may be optimistic, maybe even a little confident in our team’s chances this Saturday, but there won’t be any swag because, memories.
Spencer Hall worries about the effect the 7-0 Bulldogs may have on his psyche:
When Georgia’s gone 7-0 before, it meant SEC titles at least, and in one modern case — the hallowed 1980 season — it meant a national championship. There is no snide joke about inevitably losing to Florida or Alabama here. I’ve been preparing my soul for the real possibility of consistently good Georgia football for several months now. For your own protection, I suggest you do the same.
You know for a Gator fan that’s especially gotta hurt.
This is a thoroughly enjoyable read from start to finish. In particular,
Georgia is a football program from Athens, Ga., the best college town in the Southeastern Conference. It wins more than it loses, sometimes even thrice as much in a given year. It plays its home games between two long rows of privet Ligustrum, or, for easier pronunciation, “hedges,” and not “shrubs.” Its mascot, Uga, is a pure English white bulldog, and wait, which Uga number are they on these days? They’re on Uga X, the tenth Uga, named “Que,” which seems more apt for a French bulldog.
Because this is one of the world’s weirdest nations (a fact which extends well beyond Georgia), Uga gets a doghouse on the field. Because this is one of the world’s weirdest nations (which extends well beyond Georgia), that doghouse is air-conditioned. Because this is one of the world’s weirdest nations (a fact which extends well beyond Georgia), Uga is awarded a varsity letter upon a plaque, just like a player, and while nobody knows how much this matters to Uga, everybody knows that if you set the plaque on a floor and placed a treat atop it, he would lick it.
If you, like me, think the NCAA’s evolving defense of amateurism amounts to strained, absurd bullshit, then you’ll want to read every word of this unsparing tour de force. I can only tip my cap to the man’s sarcasm.
And, yeah, of course they’re gonna lobby after they get their ass kicked in court. What choice do they have?