That moment at the very end of the old year, when Kirby called a timeout, it was to ice the kicker. That extra moment for many of us was like eating the last meal on death row, waiting for the governor's midnight decision.
Some remember Georgia running back Ricky Lake (a great man). His sister married one of my best friends, and separately, by coincidence, his sis became one of my wife's very best friends. During the timeout, she was chanting, "You can do it, Georgia, You can do it, Georgia," and her Apple Watch was set off twice. It was watching her vital signs and was concerned for her wellbeing. Get you somebody that cares about you in life's dark moments like that Apple Watch.
We were sitting up near the very top of Mercedes, in the temp seats where you can't even see the big screens; opposite end zone from the Kick of Destiny. We couldn't see much, couldn't make out jersey numbers, could barely see jersey colors, but could tell you details on the engineering of that roof. Prayers were getting stuck up there. It was like cell phone traffic congestion but with holy talk. I could just about sort the prayers by church denomination. Mostly a whole lot of PLEASE GOD OH PLEASE I'LL BREAK OFF THE AFFAIR or MAKE HIM MISS AND NO MORE GLUE SNIFFING FOR ME.
I'm more serious about my prayer life, but dang, I couldn't help it. Kept catching myself, then calling it back. PLEASE GOD CURSE HIS TOES! IGNORE THAT, O LORD, I DON'T PRAY ABOUT FOOTBALL . . . BUT I CAN DO GREAT THINGS FOR YOU IF JALEN GETS ONE LITTLE FINGER ON . . . NEVER MIND, GOD. BUT JUST IN CASE—
Then the kick went up. I couldn't see the ball, not from Hartsfield cruising altitude, but I could hear the sound of the Georgia fan sections throughout the stadium. It was like a choir of 60,000 angels. Really, really HAPPY angels. Then I was being hugged by big smelly, praying, stressing, Apple Watch-beeping strangers, and I didn't care. My son shouted into my ear, "Happy Birthday, Dad," and he was right. I turned 67 years old. The Dawgs generally remember me on my New Years birthday. Sometimes it's a Shreveport win, which is like an ugly bow tie. Other years it's something fabulous, like a Rose Bowl win. This year, it was the best gift ever.
We stayed just to watch the confetti. Though I'm not sure if that wasn't a bunch of prayers that didn't quite get out.
Some remember Georgia running back Ricky Lake (a great man). His sister married one of my best friends, and separately, by coincidence, his sis became one of my wife's very best friends. During the timeout, she was chanting, "You can do it, Georgia, You can do it, Georgia," and her Apple Watch was set off twice. It was watching her vital signs and was concerned for her wellbeing. Get you somebody that cares about you in life's dark moments like that Apple Watch.
We were sitting up near the very top of Mercedes, in the temp seats where you can't even see the big screens; opposite end zone from the Kick of Destiny. We couldn't see much, couldn't make out jersey numbers, could barely see jersey colors, but could tell you details on the engineering of that roof. Prayers were getting stuck up there. It was like cell phone traffic congestion but with holy talk. I could just about sort the prayers by church denomination. Mostly a whole lot of PLEASE GOD OH PLEASE I'LL BREAK OFF THE AFFAIR or MAKE HIM MISS AND NO MORE GLUE SNIFFING FOR ME.
I'm more serious about my prayer life, but dang, I couldn't help it. Kept catching myself, then calling it back. PLEASE GOD CURSE HIS TOES! IGNORE THAT, O LORD, I DON'T PRAY ABOUT FOOTBALL . . . BUT I CAN DO GREAT THINGS FOR YOU IF JALEN GETS ONE LITTLE FINGER ON . . . NEVER MIND, GOD. BUT JUST IN CASE—
Then the kick went up. I couldn't see the ball, not from Hartsfield cruising altitude, but I could hear the sound of the Georgia fan sections throughout the stadium. It was like a choir of 60,000 angels. Really, really HAPPY angels. Then I was being hugged by big smelly, praying, stressing, Apple Watch-beeping strangers, and I didn't care. My son shouted into my ear, "Happy Birthday, Dad," and he was right. I turned 67 years old. The Dawgs generally remember me on my New Years birthday. Sometimes it's a Shreveport win, which is like an ugly bow tie. Other years it's something fabulous, like a Rose Bowl win. This year, it was the best gift ever.
We stayed just to watch the confetti. Though I'm not sure if that wasn't a bunch of prayers that didn't quite get out.
