This one looks bad. The major football services all predict a disastrous storm, possibly a Category One. It’s been building north, in the Georgia area, with its epicenter in Athens. The thing is swirling up and heading for Jacksonville, where experts say it will expend its wrath.
Tropical Storm Kirby is due to hit at 3:30 p.m EST this Saturday, and it’s headed for the west stands of the stadium, where it’s a threat to people dressed in orange and blue. Many of them have been fleeing for some time, divesting themselves of their tickets and tailgate plans, not even bothering to iron their jean shorts. Refugees are pouring into StubHub and eBay.
“It’s not much fun anymore, anyway,” sniffs a 31-year-old tattoo artist from Gainesville, Florida who loves her some Gators. “When those dog people win, they are absolutely obnoxious. You can see them laughing and enjoying themselves, which is so rude! Yet when we win, and we run up at them and chomp in their faces and shout a few innocent biological profanities concerning their mamas, it seems to bother them! Snowflakes! I’m just over the whole thing until we’re favored to win again. Seems like a good weekend to cuddle up with my crackpipe and someone I don’t know, over in the boathouse.”
Other fans, however, are more stubborn. Like those old couples who wouldn’t desert their shacks just before the Mount St. Helens eruption, they insist on being present at EverBank Field this Saturday, no matter what. If their Buick station wagons are destroyed, so be it. Many of them wax nostalgic about this event.
“I remember when Steve Spurrier was here,” says Full Tater the Bull Gator, an aging fan. “Good times, when Visor Steve was the Man.” A whole group of die-hards begins exchanging tales from the good old days over the last couple of decades. The Recent Past, Up To But Not Including 28 Years Ago, rules.
“We screwed,” says one of the rumored children of the tat-lady.
“Anyone want to see the death threats some of you been sending to my family?” asks the head coach.
“Sure,” say several Gators. “That’s some serious stuff there. Let’s see.”
“Never mind,” he says. “Don’t forget to try my barbecue sauce.”
“Come on, Coach,” says Full Tater The Bull Gator. “Give us some hope! You was under Lord Saban just like Kirby Smart, right? Aren’t you gonna whip up some of that dark arts Bama jiu jitsu for the Gators this weekend?”
“Karen and I use this miracle sauce at all our cookouts,” says the head coach, brandishing a bottle of Mac & Blondie’s Mombo 3 Sauce. “Just last week, we had a little shindig with the team of attorneys who are trying to keep our Credit Card Nine out of prison. They said those were the best ribs they’d ever tasted, and they hoped we had some fabulous walk-on players.”
“We screwed,” says the child of ambiguous origin.
“What can we do with Feleipe Franks, over the top?” asks another true blue Gator.
“We looked into it, and the answer is yes!” he replies. “Asking Feleipe to throw long is a little over the top.”
“Can we wear them sick, green scaly costumes?” asks the Tat Lady. “They make us look slimy, like Gators!”
“Like I’ve always said, this year, we don’t need special clothes to make us look slimy,” says the head coach. “Besides, the Dawgs have seen our game film. Problem is, they’ll still recognize us no matter what we wear. Now please, everybody gather in here. The NCAA and the storm center have asked me to give these special survival instructions for those absolutely determined to be in that stadium Saturday. Everybody do this with me. First, sit on your fanny like this.”
Everybody sits on their fannies.
“Now, lean forward and hug your knees, making a tight ball.”
Everybody does it.
“Now, scooch your mouth up there and kiss your Gator butt goodbye.”
Tropical Storm Kirby is due to hit at 3:30 p.m EST this Saturday, and it’s headed for the west stands of the stadium, where it’s a threat to people dressed in orange and blue. Many of them have been fleeing for some time, divesting themselves of their tickets and tailgate plans, not even bothering to iron their jean shorts. Refugees are pouring into StubHub and eBay.
“It’s not much fun anymore, anyway,” sniffs a 31-year-old tattoo artist from Gainesville, Florida who loves her some Gators. “When those dog people win, they are absolutely obnoxious. You can see them laughing and enjoying themselves, which is so rude! Yet when we win, and we run up at them and chomp in their faces and shout a few innocent biological profanities concerning their mamas, it seems to bother them! Snowflakes! I’m just over the whole thing until we’re favored to win again. Seems like a good weekend to cuddle up with my crackpipe and someone I don’t know, over in the boathouse.”
Other fans, however, are more stubborn. Like those old couples who wouldn’t desert their shacks just before the Mount St. Helens eruption, they insist on being present at EverBank Field this Saturday, no matter what. If their Buick station wagons are destroyed, so be it. Many of them wax nostalgic about this event.
“I remember when Steve Spurrier was here,” says Full Tater the Bull Gator, an aging fan. “Good times, when Visor Steve was the Man.” A whole group of die-hards begins exchanging tales from the good old days over the last couple of decades. The Recent Past, Up To But Not Including 28 Years Ago, rules.
“We screwed,” says one of the rumored children of the tat-lady.
“Anyone want to see the death threats some of you been sending to my family?” asks the head coach.
“Sure,” say several Gators. “That’s some serious stuff there. Let’s see.”
“Never mind,” he says. “Don’t forget to try my barbecue sauce.”
“Come on, Coach,” says Full Tater The Bull Gator. “Give us some hope! You was under Lord Saban just like Kirby Smart, right? Aren’t you gonna whip up some of that dark arts Bama jiu jitsu for the Gators this weekend?”
“Karen and I use this miracle sauce at all our cookouts,” says the head coach, brandishing a bottle of Mac & Blondie’s Mombo 3 Sauce. “Just last week, we had a little shindig with the team of attorneys who are trying to keep our Credit Card Nine out of prison. They said those were the best ribs they’d ever tasted, and they hoped we had some fabulous walk-on players.”
“We screwed,” says the child of ambiguous origin.
“What can we do with Feleipe Franks, over the top?” asks another true blue Gator.
“We looked into it, and the answer is yes!” he replies. “Asking Feleipe to throw long is a little over the top.”
“Can we wear them sick, green scaly costumes?” asks the Tat Lady. “They make us look slimy, like Gators!”
“Like I’ve always said, this year, we don’t need special clothes to make us look slimy,” says the head coach. “Besides, the Dawgs have seen our game film. Problem is, they’ll still recognize us no matter what we wear. Now please, everybody gather in here. The NCAA and the storm center have asked me to give these special survival instructions for those absolutely determined to be in that stadium Saturday. Everybody do this with me. First, sit on your fanny like this.”
Everybody sits on their fannies.
“Now, lean forward and hug your knees, making a tight ball.”
Everybody does it.
“Now, scooch your mouth up there and kiss your Gator butt goodbye.”
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