by Saxondawg
I can remember Sanford stadium with no upper deck; an old-fashioned scoreboard featuring a bulldog holding a plank with protruding nail; walking down to the field house at halftime and getting a smile from Vince Dooley when he stepped out for fresh air.
I can remember hearing the Dixie Redcoat Band play "Dixie"; the first time singing the national anthem was called "a proud Sanford Stadium tradition"; laughing when a train came along, and the track crowd had to scurry down the bank, raising a rebel yell as they scooted.
I can remember when the Beechwood Buffet posted a large panel each week, with a cartoon showing last week's score; when finding the best parking space was part of the fun; when I was too small to see over the hedges.
I can remember my greatest birthday present: a ball signed by the '68 SEC champions--I remember clutching it just as proudly after we lost in the Sugar Bowl.
I can remember fast, miserable death-marches back to the car after losses; and euphoric, leisurely strolls when we won.
I can remember 1978: driving around at night in Fort Worth to hear Larry's "Yeah, yeah, yeah!" call; getting live long distance reports from my brother on the Florida game; waiting miserably for an Auburn score from ABC.
I remember 1980. I remember every moment of it; every play; every surging emotion.
I remember rows and rows of lettermen; some of them now stooped and wrinkled, a few of them departed, all of them forever Bulldogs.
I remember the relief of autumn in the South--the crunch of the leaves, the lost aroma of burning leaves, and the hope of a new school year, all mingled with that eager, frantic, impatient longing for the Bulldogs to make their first sprint out of the locker room through rows of Redcoats, onto the field and into our hearts.
I remember--and I anticipate.
I can remember Sanford stadium with no upper deck; an old-fashioned scoreboard featuring a bulldog holding a plank with protruding nail; walking down to the field house at halftime and getting a smile from Vince Dooley when he stepped out for fresh air.
I can remember hearing the Dixie Redcoat Band play "Dixie"; the first time singing the national anthem was called "a proud Sanford Stadium tradition"; laughing when a train came along, and the track crowd had to scurry down the bank, raising a rebel yell as they scooted.
I can remember when the Beechwood Buffet posted a large panel each week, with a cartoon showing last week's score; when finding the best parking space was part of the fun; when I was too small to see over the hedges.
I can remember my greatest birthday present: a ball signed by the '68 SEC champions--I remember clutching it just as proudly after we lost in the Sugar Bowl.
I can remember fast, miserable death-marches back to the car after losses; and euphoric, leisurely strolls when we won.
I can remember 1978: driving around at night in Fort Worth to hear Larry's "Yeah, yeah, yeah!" call; getting live long distance reports from my brother on the Florida game; waiting miserably for an Auburn score from ABC.
I remember 1980. I remember every moment of it; every play; every surging emotion.
I remember rows and rows of lettermen; some of them now stooped and wrinkled, a few of them departed, all of them forever Bulldogs.
I remember the relief of autumn in the South--the crunch of the leaves, the lost aroma of burning leaves, and the hope of a new school year, all mingled with that eager, frantic, impatient longing for the Bulldogs to make their first sprint out of the locker room through rows of Redcoats, onto the field and into our hearts.
I remember--and I anticipate.