Saturday, November 1
Sun, sex, sin, divine intervention, death, and destruction.
I know everyone wants to blame me for Georgia's stupefyingly embarrassing loss in the Cocktail Party since I wrote that pro-Tebow post last week. It was my fault, but not for the reason you think.
For several years now -- I know it goes at least as far back as the 2005 SEC Championship Game, but probably even further -- I've had this tradition whereby each Friday during the fall, I wear the team colors of whoever Georgia's opponent is that weekend. I'm not saying I own a Florida T-shirt or a Tennessee jersey or anything like that, but just to give you some examples from this season, I have a dark red sweater with a black stripe across it that I wore the Friday before the South Carolina game. Bickety-bam, Georgia wins, 14-7. That picture of me in the bizarre gold polo shirt out in Sedona? Taken the day before we whipped Arizona State up and down the field. And I'm pretty sure I had my orange sweater vest on the day before we beat Tennessee. (If you want to know why I have an orange sweater vest, I bought it because I'm colorblind and I thought it was red. For realz.)
This year, of course, the day before the Georgia-Florida game was Halloween; I went as a doctor because I have a set of UVA scrubs that my dad got me and one of his old lab coats. The scrubs are blue, and I put on an orange T-shirt under them, so I figured, there, that should be enough to make this work. Here's me with a startlingly accurate Sarah Palin on the patio at Dave's in Southside Friday night:
The picture's kind of dark, obviously, but you may have already discovered the flaw in my plan: The scrubs are dark blue, not the stripper-lingerie peacock blue the University of Florida calls its own. I even expressed my worries about this to a couple of co-workers, one of whom is a Florida grad himself, at the office Friday morning; "Knowing my luck," I said, "Auburn and Virginia will both go down in flames, but Florida will kick our ass."
The rest, of course, is history.
Anyway, I could do my usual postgame analysis of everything that happened, pointing out that Georgia actually finished with more total yards than Florida and was the victim of two egregiously bad missed holding calls by the refs -- one on the Joe Haden interception, the other on Louis Murphy's touchdown catch -- and without those, Matt Stafford might not have been throwing the desperate interceptions that allowed Florida to bend us over for nearly the entire second half, but I'll be blunt: I don't fuckin' feel like it. So instead, all I'll say is congratulations, Gators, you gave us the come-uppance you'd been itchin' to give us ever since the Celebration last year. The best we can hope for now, I'd imagine, is probably a chance to thrash Ohio State up and down the field in the (whee!) Capital One Bowl.
Now, my fantasy team, the Redskins, and Obama better all win over the next four days -- better win huge -- or I'm moving to a shack in the woods, growing my beard down to my fuckin' crotch, and making a hobby out of sending mail bombs to people.
This is Ripley, last survivor of the Nostromo, signing off.