Glorious and Victorious

It’s that time of year again when I make my annual trek to Gainesville to see Cory. Oh yeah, I get to go to a University of Florida Gator football game while I’m there. Wait, that didn’t sound right. Let’s start this over.
As soon as the football schedule for the upcoming season is posted on the UF website I pick which game I would like to attend. Don’t get me wrong, I go to spend time with my son. However, when I get to spend that time at a sporting event with him, well, there’s nothing that equals that, unless it’s spending the weekend, and attending said sporting event with a dozen or so of his closest friends. That’s what this past weekend was all about. If it were a beer ad it would have been an old Lowenbrau commercial. On the other hand, that commercial never made me feel the way I felt last weekend. Indulge me if you will, and let me tell you about it, no homo.
Cory thinks I can be a big emotional pussy sometimes. I can’t blame him. I do apple up every now and again. Not as much as I used to when I drank, but still from time to time. I think it started after I had my motorcycle accident, which resulted in the loss of my left leg. The outpouring of kindness from everyone I knew overwhelmed me, thus tapping into new depths of my emotional well. I was unfamiliar with this uncharted territory, and it showed in my outward displays. I like to think now I just experience things more fully than before. There doesn’t have to be tears shed to get emotional. There can be times when my heart beats faster, or my insides swell. Besides, it had been building for months.
Lane Kiffin is the head coach of the University of Tennessee football team. He replaced Philip Fullmer, after a distinguished run that ended rather ignominiously last season. Kiffin was recently fired as head coach of the Oakland Raiders, which made him available to coach in the college ranks. He was obviously unprepared to head a professional program. At the press conference announcing his hiring, Kiffin made it a point to declare the pleasure he was going to get out of singing “Rocky Top,” (the Tennessee fight song) all night after beating Florida. Not too long before this proclamation, Florida had been crowned National Champion. The Gators were returning eleven starters on defense. They still have a stacked running attack. They still had Tim Tebow, and this guy is predicting victory? I was furious. How dare he! I knew then which game I wanted to attend. Shortly after, Kiffin added insult to injury in an address to Tennessee alumni, when he inferred Urban Meyer, the head coach of Florida, cheated. I don’t know Lane Kiffin personally, but his behavior thus far indicated to me the man was a bit of a douchebag. Now I had to be at that game. I was aware of the chaos that would ensue that particular football weekend. I was there for the LSU game last year. I waited for the announcing of the Gator schedule.
Meanwhile, I followed the rantings of the Gator faithful on Facebook, each responding as if personally affronted by Kiffin’s utterances. The day the football schedule was posted I made my motel reservations. Tom Bodett always leaves the light on whenever I go to Gainesville, though he does price gouge me on football weekends. While many of you may turn your nose up at Motel 6, consider this. I spend a maximum of fourteen hours over three days in my room. Why on earth would I spend $300 plus a night at a frillier establishment? All I need is a bed, a shower, and Sportscenter, and I’m good to go. I couldn’t wait.
Many of Cory’s friends who’d graduated would be there. Dan Linden was flying in from New York. A contingent from Tampa that included another Cory, P. Scott and Fera, were coming. Will Pelzer, and his brother Cole were coming. Rob McCoy, the senior member of The Brothers McCoy would make the duo whole. Jarrod Hess, and his brother Jordan- do you sense a trend here- were driving up. Devin and John Domm, Meredith, now over her bout with the swine flu, would join in the festivities. Wilhelm, and his significant other Berkley, the Leaning Tower of Perez, who secured his mention after National Championship. In addition, new roommates of Cory’s would befriend me, emphasis on befriend. The mental defective league, great individuals all, was called to order, with the Tennessee football game serving as the impetus. Everyone being assembled to share a common bond made me grateful to be part of it. Let the games begin.
I have seen the Gators play Arkansas, Kentucky, Vanderbilt, Alabama, Florida Atlantic (my alma mater), LSU, Oklahoma (National Championship), and never before have I ever left so early in the morning. At 6:00AM on Florida’s Turnpike was a seen directly out of Stephan King’s The Langoliers. I hit a straight, flat, stretch of road where I was the lone vehicle for as far as I could see. I did not take this opportunity to test the auto- fuel shut off mechanism, you never know where 5-0 could be lurking...out there…in the dark. I did have a fleeting thought about how I would be the first to arrive, and that got my heart pumping. Eventually, others Gainesville-bound would join the solitary caravan.
There wasn’t much to see once the sun came up, save the Red Bull energy drink delivery truck whose rate of speed was less than that of what was posted. It felt wrong. It was like something out of a living Salvatore Dali painting. An armadillo that was on the losing end of a confrontation with a moving vehicle, laid dormant on the roadside. One of its brethren suffered a similar fate several miles away. No dead raccoons. No dead possums. No dead cats, dogs, snakes, turtles, or iguanas, just armadillos. I thought of the efficient clean up job done by some of Florida’s prison population.
As I pulled off the Archer Road exit of Interstate 75, I glanced at my dashboard clock. The normally four and half hour drive was completed in three hours fifty-eight minutes, with the aid of an on-board wide mouth.
After the requisite checking in, meeting with the University Athletic Association in the continued hope of them one day booking me to speak, purchasing a new Gator hat, and acquiring a fresh bottle of Dr. Bronner’s Original Peppermint Soap, the festivities truly began. They arrived to Trip Deuce alone, and in pairs, these loyal friends of Cory’s, and I’ve come to believe of me as well. Friendship by association; I’ll take it. Once assembled, we made our way to Gator City, a favorite drinking establishment of the Midtown Mafia. One by one more of the delegation arrived. My National Championship saviors Danny and Sara were there which delighted me no end. All were appropriately hailed with handshakes and hugs. A special tribute to Fera when he graced us with his presence gave me chills. Oh, to be welcomed with such unbridled enthusiasm! I hope he never forgets that moment, I surely won’t.
There was no closing of the bar this time, my beat up body only going twenty hours without sleep, I was operating on adrenalin and the caffeine in the numerous Diet Pepsis I’d consumed for the final three. I needed to get some rest, there was an ass kicking to watch the next day.
Gameday! Weeks of hubris and bravado peppered the Facebook pages, and now the day was here! Tailgate preparations were made the previous evening, unbeknownst to me. More familiar faces appeared at the designated tent area. Though I did not engage in the consumption of potables, I was a very interested observer of the camaraderie on display. Many of the throng engaged me, not out of sympathy or obligation as I used to think, but because they were genuinely interested in what I had to say. Talk about being made to feel a part of! As game time approached we made our way to “The Swamp.”
Like the National Championship game, I did not sit with Cory and the others I’ve come to know. My saviors this year, The Pelzers, provided me with one of the hardest to come by tickets around. Let me publically express my gratitude here. Just like the game last January, once inside the stadium, there are no strangers, only Gator fans you haven’t met, to paraphrase.
There would be no systematic annihilation this day. I dutifully stood most of the game even after the mechanism on my prosthetic limb broke, making it rather unpleasant to get around during, and after the game. I scrambled to stand at the end of the third quarter to participate in the “We Are the Boys” tradition. Arm in arm I stood, sang (badly) and swayed, thinking of what the University means to my son and his cohorts. A tear did escape…as usual, shame on me, but I wasn’t the only one. At the conclusion of the well fought contest, the Orange and Blue came out Victorious, 23-13. After, the majority of the record crowd stayed to sing the Alma Mater (a couple more tears). Exiting “The Swamp” Grumblings were heard throughout the melancholy horde. A victory was not enough, pity the pressure those student-athletes must endure; their following only satisfied only if the head of each Tennessee Volunteer were displayed on a pike, and paraded across campus. Me? A victory is a victory. The Gators, who did not play their best football (if you watched), remain atop the polls undefeated.
The following day Cory and I spent some alone time watching my Cincinnati Bengals play. I only stayed for the first half. I would listen to the remainder of the game on the way home in the car, trying hard to focus while the weekend’s events replayed over in my head. My weekend? Its true value and meaning was felt during the long drive.
I thought of those who made sure I was comfortable. I thought of those whose company I so enjoy. I thought of Cory, who goes to any length to make each and every visit so special. And I thought of his friends, many who I’ve known for the last six years. A tear, maybe two, slowly rolled down my face outside of Ocala. My weekend? Glorious! The memories of these football weekends shared with, and because of my son, I will carry with me for the rest of my days.


Florida, our Alma Mater, thy glorious name we praise
All thy loyal sons and daughters, a joyous song shall raise.
Where palm and pine are blowing, where southern seas as flowing,
Shine forth thy noble gothic walls, thy lovely vine clad halls!
Neath the orange and blue victorious, our love shall never fail,
There's no other name so glorious, all hail, FLORIDA HAIL!