Did you know that Uga VI died? Yep. National news a few months back. Poor guy dropped dead (peacefully, of course, in his sleep) from congestive heart failure. I’m sure they’ll be bringin’ Uga VII up any day now to debut his first football game, but there is a riff in the air about who will be the lucky DAWG…
What? Some of you don’t know to whom I’m referring? Well, friends, let me enlighten you! Uga VII has been around the University of Georgia’s campus for nine seasons. And by nine seasons, I mean that little Churchillian English bulldog served his biggest (metaphorically and literally) fans for nine football seasons, slobbering all over the football field…when he wasn’t resting in his air conditioned house on the sidelines from “being sore from people petting him too much.” To which part are you furrowing your brow so far: the air conditioned house that a freakin’ dog has on the UGA football sidelines, the free flights from Delta to away games (forgot to mention that one), or the massages he used to get because he was pet too much? They even quoted someone in the Atlanta Journal Constitution back in June talking about the dog’s political status! I’m not pullin’ your chain here:
With the passing of one Uga there's always speculation regarding which bulldog will be heir to the throne, which comes with a few perks, including an air-conditioned doghouse, travel by Delta Airlines to away games, celebrityhood (Uga V was on the cover of Sports Illustrated in 1997 as the nation's best mascot) and a fanbase that's paparazzi-like in its obsession. "People pet him so much his head gets sore," Seiler once said of his line of Ugas. "He's like a politician who shakes too many hands." (AJC, 6/28/08)
There’s just so much that’s wrong about this that I don’t know really where to begin. But you all know I’ll find a starting point somewhere…Celebrityhood…for a slobbery dog, how about that?
How about also that I didn’t learn this news by reading the Atlanta Journal Constitution because…well…I don’t read. (Well, we all know I READ or I wouldn’t have wonderful pieces of theory, philosophy and websites to pass on to all of you.) Newspapers, I mean. No, I learned this Bull(dog)-fan--tasmic information from the guy I’m dating. Because he went to University of Georgia. So he’s a DAWG! Part of the cult. You know, kinda psycho like all the rest of the people who went or go to the University of Georgia about a sport where very large men wear very tight pants and role around on the ground with other very large men in a rough and animalistic kind of way…and thousands of people stand around and cheer for them to do that. Loudly, inebriated, and violently. Sounds kinda Greek to me….hmmm…..Athens…..makes sense….
Launching into my third year of graduate school, I’m probably more amazed now than I was when I moved here two years ago with the absolute crazed-obsession thousands of people have here with football. And dogs. That aren’t even human. Yet these slobbering, heavy-breathing canines (who can’t even play football, mind you) receive free plane tickets, air conditioned houses, and massages. What the hell is wrong with this society? Or shall I say, this SEC (Southeastern Conference) society? I am surrounded constantly in Athens by people who are homeless or near homeless or college students who are working on becoming homeless because they attend more football games than classes. (Actually, as I am writing this essay I am surrounded by a few of the homeless people who keep feeling the need to strike up conversations with me, and because I’m politely nodding and writing with my EARPHONES on trying to give the not-so-subtle hint that I’m KIND OF BUSY HERE, HELLLOOOO, one of them keeps circling my table trying to get me to look at him…so fun….But anyway, back to the sob-story: I have seen more poverty in this town than I have seen in any other town I’ve lived in during my short (almost) thirty-five years, and the freaking mascot dog who can’t figure out where he is most of the time gets free plane tickets? First class, probably, too. My cat could kick that dog’s ass in a game of chess or Scrabulous on Facebook, and yet, Phoebe doesn’t have gigantic statues all over the city dressed in different outfits (some in drag, thank you very much) icon-izing her greatness.
The article I was quoting earlier talked about Uga VI being the “most winningest” mascot. Yeh, um so I won’t even GO into the term the AJC used as a superlative for “win.” But the most winningest mascot will be buried in a marble vault at UGA’s stadium with his ancestors in case any of you were wondering. His ancestors, by the way, have been around since 1956. I’m tellin’ you, I know more than I should about this stupid slobbering line of mutts that don’t know how to do anything with pigskin except drool on it or pee on it.
I probably write this essay today because recently, as many of you may or may not know, the Georgia Bulldog football team was named numero UNO in the pre-season picks AND three of their players were on the COVER of Sports Illustrated just last week. All of this, of course, just after two of the players were arrested for “simple battery” because they were drunk and (accused of) harassing a pregnant lady using sexual innuendos. A six month pregnant lady who was visiting a friend in a dorm at 1:30 in the morning, mind you. Cuz, she…couldn’t sleep….because she was so pregnant that she was….uncomfortable? Another UGA football player was incarcerated for beating the shit out of someone that same night…cuz he could…cuz he’s a DAAAWWWGGGG! “Gooooooooo DAWGS! Sick ‘Em! Whoo, Whoo, Whoo!”
What am I looking forward to during this upcoming football season, you ask? Well, the usual, of course: tailgating that begins at 6:30 in the morning for miles and miles and continues on for a strong red and black thirty hours; the once beautiful eighteen-to-twenty-year-old sorority girls in the stands who are all disheveled by half time because they’ve been throwing up on themselves thanks to their date’s chivalrous acts of pumping them full of Kentucky bourbon, which is kept secure in a Zip-lock baggy that’s been shoved inside the girls’ bra straps; the really old drunk men who scream and shout at the players on the field as if 1) the players will actually hear the professional-sounding plays the men are shouting at them, and 2) the really old drunk men could do any better out there in the 100 degree weather with the pressure of being number one in the country lying peacefully on their roided-out shoulders; and I am looking forward to the new rule this year in Stanford Stadium: NO SMOKING. Can you believe it? What will the drunks do who “smoke only when they drink,” or the ones who smoke three packs during the first half because they’re so drunk? Will they just drink more? Will ciggies be added to another Zip-lock and stored in the opposite bra strap?
Oh, and the new look! I’m really looking forward to some snapshots of the adorable twenty thousand-twenty-somethings in their—you guessed it—flow-ee skirts just below or above the knees and their cowgirl boots. C’mon, I know you’ve seen it on Entertainment Tonight, in People, or tromping around your local downtowns. This new look is apparently for all shapes-n-sizes and here to stay for the fall! I wonder how they’ll accessorize it for the UGA red-n-black days. More to come…
