What Would Your Momma Say?

The guys sitting behind us at the Georgia/South Carolina football game weren't fans so much as critics. Two in particular seemed to think they could swap places with any of the coaches or players and do a better job. They certainly didn't hesitate to loudly offer suggestions for players, coaches, officials, and in one instance, a majorette.

About halfway through the first quarter two of them started to get a little obnoxious. We'll call them Curly and Ahole. They clearly disliked several players and best I could tell, all the coaches.

Curly started dropping F-bombs right and left in a very loud voice. Finally, I turned around and requested that he watch is language as there were children and ladies present. Curly responded that it was his expletive right to expletive say whatever the expletive he expletive felt like saying whenever the expletive he expletive pleased, or something like that. You get the idea.

My high school pal turned to Curly and told him she, too was offended. He went off on her as well. That's when I turned and said: "What would your momma say?" He yelled some more but his friends jumped in and told him to chill out.

My partner says Curly called his Momma on his cellphone. I don't know. I just know about fifteen minutes later, Curly tapped me on the shoulder. When I turned around, he hugged me and told me he was sorry. His friends said I had made a friend for life.

I thought it was a fluke until I saw Jay Leno ask Kanye West the same thing. The man with the most over-sized ego on the planet sat in stunned silence, fighting back tears. I realized that me and Jay were on to something.

The next time I'm in situations where I feel the need to comment on rude behavior, instead of worrying about getting my ass kicked I'm just going to say, "What would your Momma say?".

It works! Besides. It's what you would expect from...

The Crotchety Old Man

A Football Fan is Born

After high school I went to the University of Kentucky. The football team lost so often it was frankly hard to be a fan. By the fourth quarter of most games only the fans of our victorious opponents remained in the stands. Everyone else left after the half-time show to beat the traffic.

Fast forward 30 years. By the time I moved to Athens I had lost all interest in college football. As a new UGA employee, I had the opportunity to get in the queue for season tickets. I tossed my order form in the trash without another thought.

A year or two later, a gardener friend invited me to come over to talk gardening and keep him company while his partner watched football. It wasn't long at all before I was hooked. What a difference it makes to root for a team that wins! Go Dawgs! Sic'em! Woof! Woof! Woof!

My partner got in the queue for season tickets when he started working at UGA. Given his lack of interest in watching the games on television, I was surprised but decided to go along. I'm nice like that sometimes. He didn't make the cut last year, but this year he did. Damn. So much for piling up with the dogs on the sofa in front of the wide screen in the comfort of our air-conditioned home.

The first home game was yesterday. Fortunately, kick-off was at 7:00. A high school pal that graduated from UGA drove over from Charleston to go to the game with us. We headed to campus around 3 with no plan and no idea of where we might park.

Everything worked out great. We parked at Hodgson's Pharmacy in Five Points, and ended up walking from there all the way to Speakeasy's downtown. It was HOT!!! After some good food and a couple of adult beverages, we headed for the stadium.


The atmosphere around the stadium is absolutely electric with anticipation and excitement. Our seats are in the end zone, directly across from the replay screen and a comfortable distance away from the Redcoat Marching Band. I learned about 'squeezing' from my far-more-experienced friend from Charleston and was delighted to see how well it worked!

The game was a nail-biter up to the very last seconds. It was an ugly win for us, but a win nonetheless. It was also a very long game--more than 4 1/2 hours. We didn't get home until nearly midnight.

I thoroughly enjoyed myself. Yeah, I got hot, and when I get hot I sweat like Niagara Falls. In person it was harder to follow what was going on, and I really wish those yellow lines you see on television showed up on the field. Still, going to the game was an incredible experience and I find myself looking forward to the next. I just hope it, too, will be a night game. Anything else is likely to make me once again...

The Crotchety Old Man