A Block-The-Shots Party

5 March 2007 by

If you live anywhere in the southeastern part of the United States, and if you listened carefully yesterday afternoon around three o’clock central time, you probably heard the sound of Sister and me screaming VERY LOUDLY INDEED as our beloved MSU Bulldogs clinched a piece of the SEC Western Division Championship in an awesomely lopsided victory against the Alabama Crimson Tide. 

(I totally just made up the word “awesomely,” by the way. It’s actually one of the nicer aspects of blogging, the making-up-words part.)

And if your reaction to that first paragraph is “What’s all this crazy talk about some short-legged dogs and a blood-red tide and some random letters from the alphabet and does this have anything at all to do with the Old Testament,” then I’m going to have to ask you to bear with me for a few minutes while I get my college basketball on.

This past Saturday I informed D. and Alex that due to the upcoming match-up between MSU and Bama, I was Officially Reserving the TV in our living room from one until three on Sunday afternoon. They were welcome to join me, of course, but they need not harbor any hopes of watching “Blue’s Clues” or “Heroes” or anything else. I had big plans for transforming our living room into a my own personal hillbilly sports bar – free-flowing diet Coke, all-you-can-eat peanuts, so many WOOOO-HOO!s flying around that you might just wonder if Bo and Luke Duke had stopped by for a visit – and I would not be deterred.

Now I have no idea why I can’t act, you know, normal as far as MSU sporting events are concerned. All I know is that if you put me anywhere near the vicinty of an MSU basketball game, it’s almost like some alien force takes over my body and transforms me from a relatively mild-mannered wife and mother into a delirious YOU’D BETTER DUNK THAT BALL RIGHT NOW OH YES SIR YOU’D BETTER lunatic.

And, for the record, I believe the “alien force” I mentioned is what The Doctors and The Scientists and The Mental Health Professionals refer to as THE CRAZIES.

When Emma Kate and I went to the State / LSU game a few weeks ago, she was very tickled (and somewhat alarmed) by my repeated use of the phrase “COME ON, NOW” during the basketball game. However, what EK did not realize is that screaming “COME ON, NOW” is Deeply Spiritual, and I know this because our former pastor used to say it frequently (albeit quietly) when he was particularly moved during a song or a sermon. I guess I took it upon myself to transfer “COME ON, NOW” from the sanctuary to the sporting arena, but please don’t judge me because at least I don’t scream “AMEN” when somebody hits a three-pointer at the buzzer.

Though I absolutely would if it were even remotely appropriate.

Needless to say, yesterday I yelled “COME ON, NOW” two or fifty four times, and about midway through the game, I noticed that I had somehow added another word and was actually shouting, “COME ON, NOW, SON.”

The only possible explanation for such strange diction is that at some point right before halftime I switched bodies with an 80 year old grandfather who was somewhat hard of hearing and apparently felt that if he referred to players by a familial moniker, the players would pay extra attention to him when he screamed instructions at them through the TV screen.

In the end, all the screaming and hillbillying and body-switching paid off. The Bulldogs won 91-67, and by late in the afternoon I was back to normal again. With “normal” being a relative term, of course.

But don’t worry, y’all: the SEC tournament starts in about three days, so you can rest assured that THE CRAZIES will be back on full display this Friday at noon when the Bulldogs take the court once again.

Normal never lasts long around these parts. Of this you can be sure.

Filed Under: Beloved Bulldogs, The South

Everything Was Glorious Except For My Jeans And The Chickens

4 February 2007 by

I have a confession to make.

It’s something that completely goes against my ladylike Southern heritage, but it happened, and I might as well ‘fess up.

So here you have it:

I high-fived Emma Kate during the basketball game.

I did, y’all.

I’m not sure exactly what happened, especially since my friends from college would tell you that I have three hard-and-fast non-negotiables in my Sporting Event Code Of Behavior:

1) I do not pump my arm in the air while making barking noises.
2) I do not associate with team mascots, as I am terrified of them.
3) I do not high-five.

And so it has been for the majority of my adult life.

Until yesterday.

But oh, there was this beautiful three-point shot for the Bulldogs, and just as the ball left the shooter’s hands he was fouled, and in all the resulting commotion surrounding the possibility of a four-point play I raised my arm and found myself, inexplicably, slapping Emma Kate’s hand.

I would give anything if I could push a rewind button and make the whole cringe-worthy incident go away. But as it stands, I am forced to live with the memory of my actions. Sadly, I cannot turn back the hands of time.

But you may rest assured that it will not happen again.

Also.

I think that as sassy as EK and I felt in our cute jeans, I definitely learned a valuable jeans-related lesson.

My beloved $20 Faded Glory jeans cannot withstand my level of activity during a college basketball game. I stood up and sat down approximately 863 times, and by the end of the game the jeans were a full size larger than they were when we arrived at the coliseum. I would pull them up – and they would fall right back down, and the back pockets ended up somewhere around the tops of my knees.

Attractive? Oh I think so.

And did I mention that there was a contest to see who could propel rubber chickens into laundry baskets at halftime?

I’ll let that one soak in a bit before I continue.

Now I recognize that my alma mater is a land-grant institution with one of the nation’s finest poultry science programs, and I realize that my home state of Mississippi has a proud agricultural heritage. But I can’t help but feel that if my alma mater is as forward-thinking and progressive as they tout in their promotional materials (and as I know them to be from my first-hand experience), then perhaps eliminating the throwing-the-rubber-chicken contest is in order.

Of course, I am the same person who just said that I high-fived my friend and then wore jeans that, by the start of the second half, gave the impression that I was struggling with an overloaded diaper, so I may not be the most credible spokesperson for creating more sophisticated halftime activities.

However, if the gameday operations people decide that they want to have a halftime high-fiving contest, I’m certainly now well-qualified to judge.

Filed Under: Beloved Bulldogs, Out Of Control, The South

I Tried My Best. I Really Did.

24 January 2007 by

I’ve been trying to write a post on and off for the last couple of hours, but the fact of the matter is that I just can’t do it. I can’t concentrate.

Because my beloved Mississippi State Bulldogs are going up against the Florida Gators tonight in basketball.

Florida, by the way, is the NUMBER ONE TEAM team in the country.

And I’m as nervous in a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.

The good news is that we’re playing at home. At The Hump. It’s gonna be rowdy.

Truth of the matter is, it’s gonna be rowdy right here in our living room, too, because I really do believe that if I scream at the television loudly enough, I can most certainly affect the outcome of the game.

So if you’ll excuse me, I need to go put on my MSU Basketball t-shirt. The one that I was wearing at this game, which, as I have mentioned, was one of the best days of my whole life ever.

In addition, I have a great deal of pacing to do before the game starts.

And a child to get to bed by 7:30, so that I have sufficient pre-game time to mentally prepare myself.

(You just think I’m kidding. But D. will vouch for my insanity.)

Lest you worry, I’m not the only one suffering from the basketball crazies: Sister will be cleaning up a storm tonight at her house, as is her custom when the Bulldogs are in action. We both like to dust and vacuum during basketball games especially, as there has to be some outlet for all the nervous energy. Cleaning seems to work better than, you know, jumping up and down until we hyperventilate.

(I’m thinking our game-watching OCD is probably genetic. And I totally hope that Alex has inherited it.)

So I’ll see y’all tomorrow.

Unless the Bulldogs win, in which case I’ll be back here late tonight posting the score in a 72 point, chartreuse green font. Because I’m subtle and understated like that.

Go ‘Dogs!

Filed Under: Beloved Bulldogs, Out Of Control, The South

Time And Tide

6 March 2006 by

Two years ago today – March 6, 2004 – Sister and I took Alex to Tuscaloosa to see the Bulldogs play the Tide in basketball. At the time the two teams were finishing up a heated conference race, and there was a tremendous amount riding on the game, from bragging rights to SEC standings to NCAA tournament seedings.

Alex wasn’t quite a year old, but it was his second Bulldog basketball game. His daddy and I had taken him down to Auburn a couple of months before, where he slept peacefully in my lap as the Dogs eeked out a tough victory over the Tigers/Plainsmen/War Eagles (note to AU: pick a mascot and stick with it). However, the basketball rivalry between State and Bama is on an entirely different level: the coaches don’t like each other much, the schools are just a little over an hour apart, and both teams like to play fast, in-your-face ball with an emphasis on defense. For a college basketball nut like me – well, it was a little piece of hoops heaven on earth.

Alex actually had several firsts that day. He had his first trip to Tuscaloosa (since birth, at least – he made a trip over there when I was seven months pregnant, and his daddy was certain that labor was inevitable given my loud and raucous behavior during the game). He took his first bites of cheeseburger when we ate lunch. He lost a shoe for the first time as I carried him down to the court to watch the pre-game warm-ups. He also saw Jackie Sherrill for the first time – but I don’t think he cared too much.

Once we settled in our seats, it became clear that holding Alex was going to make it difficult to jump up and down like an idiot, which is something that I personally take a great deal of pride in doing at SEC sporting events. I actually ended up standing for most of the first half, but I made a point to stand in front of the State players’ parents section because I knew it would be good and lively in that part of the coliseum. Alex did great – he was at that fun stage where he was old enough to be fascinated by everything going on around him but young enough that he couldn’t get away from me – though after an hour of holding him on my hip, I figured that either 1) I was going to have arms of steel by the end of the game 2) my arms were going to fall off altogether or 3) I could just leave him sitting in the aisle alone so that I could watch the game without a 20 pound weight to hinder my cheering. Option #3 seemed preferable, but really, probably not one of my best ideas ever what with, you know, thousands of people milling about.

Sister came to the rescue and offered to mind the young’un during the second half. The Bulldogs, who had fallen way behind, gradually started to mount a comeback, and as I screamed and cheered like some sort of hillbilly Price Is Right contestant (“WHOO! BREAK HIS LEG! WHOOO!”), I hoped that Sister was positioned somewhere with a relatively decent view. Before I got too concerned, something Terribly Exciting happened, and I shifted my focus back to the game.

I’ve seen a lot of basketball games in my lifetime, but I’ve never been at any sporting event where I really questioned whether or not my heart could take it. The last two minutes of regulation offered me several insights into the state of my health, chief among them the realization that I have no clogged arteries, because if I did, any and all blocked passages would have exploded / ruptured / burst right there on row too-high-to-count, section Y of Coleman Coliseum. Bama fans have an annoying habit of not supporting their basketball program, no matter how well they’re doing (I suppose that’s because Bear Bryant did not coach the basketball team), so thousands of State fans had snapped up available tickets. With less than two minutes left in the game, you could not hear yourself scream. It was deafening. It was divine.

With seconds left in regulation, Timmy Bowers tied the game. I seriously doubted whether my heart or my voice could take much more, but seeing as how it was the most exciting sporting event in the history of all time ever, I decided I could make it through overtime.

In the end, the Bulldogs won the game – and as a result, Alex, Sister and I got to experience another first: seeing the Bulldogs win the SEC regular season title. I know it sounds sort of bizarre and maybe to some of you oddly pitiful, but I really do think it was one of the top 5 highlights of my life. It was the most exciting, tense, thrilling environment I’ve ever been a part of, and it only stands to reason that afterwards I rushed to the court and threw Alex into Lawrence Roberts‘ arms.

I’ll always wonder what in the world Alex was thinking when I took this picture, but truthfully I think he was completely mesmerized by the bling in Lawrence’s right ear.

But this is really the special picture. Seeing Alex with Sister, seeing the Bulldogs do something they’d never done before, seeing the State players hold my little boy – well, it made for a very memorable day. And it’s not because I put those players on a pedestal. It’s because I was able to share a piece of my life outside of motherhood with Alex. So much of who I am is a result of where I went to college…it’s where I met most of my friends, where I got my education, where I really got to know the person who would eventually be my husband. There’s no way to measure the amount of impact State had – and continues to have – on my life.

Honestly, March 6, 2004 was so much more than a basketball game. It was family, it was tradition, it was a little tiny part of Alex’s history. Being able to experience that with him – even if he’s only able to “remember” it by seeing pictures – is something I’ll never forget.

Go Dogs.

Filed Under: Beloved Bulldogs, Other
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