Football has started, the air is laden with the tailgate-mandated crispness we all love, and I pity anyone who prefers the clinging stickiness of summer over fall. Thanks, Labor Day.
I gave up watching the NFL after years of working Sundays. Besides, professional ball is too much like a well-oiled, or at least well-Bengayed, machine that runs with the precision of a video game, as though the sport were based on the electronics and not vice versa.
My one concession to professional football is the Super Bowl, and only because it’s too huge to ignore, like the mother ship from Independence Day hovering over us with a portent of doom. I must admit, though, that it seems to have jumped the shark, at least as far as the vaunted commercials go.
As for college ball, I pretty much stick to the SEC, which includes the school on my graduation. Most weekends I’m not disappointed, though if I am, I can fall back on a good school from the ACC that I attended for a while.
College ball is more fun to watch than the NFL, more likely to include human error and gallantry. High school is college times 10, but long years of working nights have kept me from attending the games of my kids’ and grandkids’ school.
I do recall how much fun my high school games were in the days when helmets were made of leather and the flying wedge was still allowed. Well, nearly. It was a long time ago, when a hot dog and soda on a cold Friday night was the supper of champions.
In high school I was the size of a Minion, so I never dared go out for football. I did try out for track, but being so tiny meant my running legs were short and not very productive. During sporting events, then, I sat on the bleachers and cheered on the Orange and Black.
I recall all the stanzas to our Alma Mater, and our fight songs, some of which, in retrospection, were a bit racy for the times. I remember that the band would play a dirgelike number called Bells Across the Gridiron, but only when we lost, and that it became such a constant tune in my life that I can hum it even today. (I looked back at my yearbook for my junior year and found we won — gulp! — three games.
Our mascot was a Rambler, but if memory serves, the actual jalopy they brought out at halftime to run around the field was a Ford. We might have been the only Ramblers below college level in the country.
THE NICEST PEOPLE: Meagan, just graduated from college, will be moving on, but right now is among the brightest stars in the drive-through window. Bright in both smarts and smile, friendly, accommodating, she even informed me the day I met her that it was only 17 weeks to Christmas. There are a lot of young folks out there waiting to serve up a smile for you, too. Merry Christmas, Meagan.
Reach Glynn Moore at (706)823-3419