Finest in the Land...Again???

I know that I am falling behind on posting...so today while the kids play with Mimi, and I will try to catch everyone up!!! I decided earlier this summer that it had been sufficiently enough time since graduation that I could return to Alumni band without being completely lame. Out with the spandex and sequins (no one needs to see that post-two babies) and in with the a classic red Georgia t-shirt. Emma approved of my outfit, and thanks to Aunt Terra, the kids had a great day playing with Parker and Nikki. Scott and I enjoyed a trip down memory lane, and Scott got some good laughs at me trying to be 'the finest in the land' just one more time....man, it had been awhile, but it is just like riding a bike, comes right back!!! It was awesome to catch up with some old friends and to remember how much I loved being a Redcoat (I know, completely lame....) Last semester I wrote a nice nostalgia piece on my Redcoat experience and after my first homecoming I think it is the perfect time to share....enjoy!!!

Game Day

The sun rises over the horizon as I turn onto Board Street from my small but quaint apartment. Only one reason could wake me at the early hour of six AM on a Saturday. The streets are quiet with anticipation, and the crisp air that blows through my cracked car window seems to smell of the excitement. My red flag flaps in the breeze as its pole stretches the entire length of my small sports car. My sequined uniform hangs in the backseat window almost announcing the purpose of my trip. The town is painted red and black.

I arrive at my destination to find that 400 of my closest friends are also awake this early hour. The silver tassels that hang from their red coats glisten in the sun as they dot the curbs around the Coliseum. They await the start of this weekly fall ritual. I grab my provided cold cheese biscuit and make my way to my sisterhood of flag girls who are gathering in our usual location in front of the Coliseum. We greet each other sleepily and share war stories from the Tivoli party the pervious night. Red flags spin around us as we aimlessly amuse ourselves before the all important Saturday morning rehearsal begins.

The town is beginning to wake as one loud fan screams from a convertible, “We love the Redcoats!” It is apparent that his party either began very early or last night’s party never ended; nevertheless, these fans always provide a good laugh to start the day. The clock strikes seven thirty, and as always, we migrate to Woodruff Field. The Redcoats share this Astroturf practice field with the football team. We must wait for their practices to end before we can take the field.

The band circles around the fifty yard line. The sheer size of the group fills the entire field, and I always feel small when I see the enormity of it all. The drum major raises his arms, and the horns strike the first note. It serves as a wake up call for the tailgaters who make it an all night affair in the Coliseum parking lot. The hill in front of the practice field begins to fill with fans, family, and past Redcoats coming to reminisce. Depending on the game, the hill could be completely full of onlookers. Because of the this spontaneous audience, Saturday morning rehearsals had become a bit of a performance and are the best way to start Game Day.

I love the performance. The sound of the snare drum makes me excited to take the field. The marching band is a passion that developed early for me. As a young girl, I loved watching my two older brothers march in our high school band. I followed suit, but because I lack any musical talent, the flag team was the next alternative for me. I spent all four fall semesters of my high school years spinning flag. After seeing one Redcoat performance, I knew I had to be a part of the incredible organization. Saturday morning rehearsal feels like a reward for the hard work it took to get there.

The hour and half flies by and soon we are gathering around the center of the field to receive instructions for the remainder of the day. They are predictable. We will meet at the Tate center at 12:15 for the Dawg Walk. Everyone in full uniform and be ready to go. The 400 person huddle ends with a loud “Go Dawgs!”, and we all break for an hour and a half of coveted tailgate time. I load up my small car with as many Redcoats that will fit. Until this ritual voyage, I did not realize that a 1996 Mitsubishi Eclipse could hold seven people with baggage and flags. Feet and Georgia “G” flags hang from the windows.

My parents never miss a game, and I never miss their tailgating feast. News about the party and the incredible free food travels through the Redcoats fast, and my parents’ party often attracts at least twenty hungry members. This Saturday the red tailgate tent protects a feast of grilled ribs, shrimp, and chicken along with all the homemade fixings. My mother had been on campus cooking for at least two hours and spent at least three preparing at home. There is nothing like a home cooked meal that travels to you.

The hour and a half of cherished minutes fly, and it quickly becomes time to travel to the Tate Center for our 12:15 deadline. This walk is never predictable. Red-sequined halter tops and black stretch pants with a Georgia “G” flags in hand promise amusement. We approach Lumpkin Street, which hosts some of the liveliest tailgating parties on campus. The livelier tailgate party makes a passing group of flag girls more entertaining. We run through a drunken spirit tunnel. We are offered food or adult beverages for spontaneous performances, and we hear over and over “We have the hottest flag girls!”. The walk down Lumpkin never disappoints.

As we all begin to gather around the Tater Center, the parking lot becomes a sea of Redcoats. Everyone is scattered about making final preparations for the upcoming performances. We make our way to the curb to add the final touch to our uniforms. We never enter the stadium without Georgia red lipstick. It had been a requirement for as long as I had been alive I am for sure, and although I hate red lipstick, I do not mind wearing it on Game Day. Horn players migrate over to our corner hoping to steal a red lipstick stain on the cheek. They wear them as some sort of symbol of pride. I look for my lucky recipient. I have a soft spot for one particular tuba player.

The whistle blows, and within seconds, the excited chaos becomes dignified flanks. Four loud taps. “Hey what’s that coming down the track? A music machine that is Red and Black.” We chant with pride as we take our place to usher the Dawgs into their house. The Dawg Walk is a new tradition that often times puzzles me. Our flanks break into two lines that create a tunnel for the team to walk through. We essentially serve as a security measure for this new tradition protecting the team from the outside fans behind us. I am not sure how thirty five girls with pom poms are suppose to provide protection for the two hundred pound football players walking into the stadium. I think we rather provide distraction for the excited fans behind us. Let’s just say that my “three feet of personal space” rule has been violated numerous times during this new tradition.

The Dawgs safely enter the stadium, and most of the fans remain outside to hear the Redcoat pep rally. A few more rounds of “Glory” followed by “Hail to Georgia” and the crowd is ready to cheer the team to victory. These pep rallies remind me how much tradition surrounds this University and this organization. The Redcoats have been playing these anthems for many years and will continue to play them for many years after I leave. I realize that through song the Redcoats add to this University’s rich tradition.

We make our way into the stadium, and we soon find ourselves between the hedges in preparation for the pre-game show. The stadium is beginning to fill, and from the field, I am able to understand the meaning of 96,000 people. I can establish faces for the first few rows, but it soon becomes just a sea of red and black. The excitement of the event pulses through my blood, and I find myself standing in awe of the experience. We take the sideline in preparation for our entrance.

The whistle blows and we scatter to the field. My hands and feet assume auto drive as I had done this routine at least two hundred times. My thoughts focus on the experience. I stand on the lush field and look into the sea of red and black. It is amazing that something so simple can bring so many different people together. I know each person in the stadium has his or her own story, but today, they are here for one sole reason: to cheer on the Dawgs. For four quarters on a Saturday afternoon, nothing else seems to matter but this simple game. It is truly amazing.

The trumpet sounds from atop the Tate Center Bridge. The band halts in straight flanks across the field. Redcoats past and present will always stop to give the hymn the respect that it deserves. Only the highest director conducts this song and it serves as a symbol of our incredible organization. I remember the first time I heard the Redcoats play the Battle Hymn. I knew I was part of something larger than me. I was standing where many had stood before and many would stand after with the same feelings of pride and appreciation.

The rich tone of the brass line feels me with pride as the hymn crescendos with a resonating “Go Dawgs!”. The band breaks with one simple chant “Once a Dawg, Always a Dawg. How sweet it is!”