Tuesday, September 4, 2007

Heat, senility, and Gatorate into wine on a Gainesville


My college football Saturday started much earlier than I thought. I had been out drinking Friday night with a former stripper that conveniently pissed her pants and then rode back to Jacksonville in the front seat of my car. I got home and then promptly rose four hours later to climb into a car and drive the hour and a half to Gainesville. With three family members that included my insane senile uncle it was a fucking hootenanny and a half. He regaled us with a story of how he got a lot of ribbing from his co-workers in South Florida when Ohio State beat Florida in the Fiesta Bowl in '95. My Mother shot me a glance, and I kept my mouth shut. Senility can be embarrassing. Daddy had no problem correcting him. I only hate the time with him because it is like looking into Dorian Grey's twisted little mirror.
In the good judgment of the University and those fucks at Lincoln Financial the game started in North Central Florida on a humid day at 12 fucking thirty. I will never do business with you Lincoln Financial and you missed out on the vast estate that is my paltry fortune. Before the game Tim Tebow was in the end zone and was laying hands on the sick and handicapped. He then turned the Gatorade into wine and went back to the locker room for the traditional run out on to the field.
Whereas some College Football stadiums are built like Southern palaces, Ben Hill Griffin is like a teenage kid's room, cluttered and garish. That being said it is the most difficult place to play in the entire Bowl Championship Football Alliance whatever the fuck they call Division 1-A. There is nothing greater than a close game when the defense has the ball at The Swamp, but with Western Kentucky in town the place was just a bit subdued. One thing I have found about the way sports apparel manufacturers have decided to design ladies wear is to take a team's name, and place it on and or around the ass. I really don't have a problem with it I was just making the observation. When Tim Tebow finally took the field a series of 45,000 hard-ons erupted and they were all pleased when he took them down the field with ease. He sprinted on the outside and threw down field, and when he was hit late out of bounds he reached up to the heavens and a bolt of lightning struck the opposing player dead. It was at this point the game was called.
The ride home was punctuated by running out into traffic to get beers out of the trunk, and listening to both sides of the Illinois - Missouri game on the satellite radio. The games better get better if the day's surrounding them don't. Maybe I'll take up Biggus's invitation and venture into Athens one of these days. Hopefully I can stow in the trunk, because I think they'd arrest me based purely on my degree from the University of Florida.

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