I was just a young pup back in the glory days. When the great Herschel Walker graced the field with his big thighs, when Dooley and his Dawgs met up with Notre Dame and captured a national championship for this beloved nation of red and black.
I wasn't really old enough to enjoy the pure elation that my elder Dawgs felt on that glorious day. Yet, somewhere deep down inside me I have that glory. I believe it is a birthright, it's part of the package, it's something you feel on your first trip to Athens, and you take it with you for the rest of your life.
Every year I believe it could be the one. Not because it looks that way on paper or because I have reason to believe. I just do. I have this stubborn faith in the Dawgs that refuses to let me think otherwise. Every Saturday, I deck out in my red and black and get ready for what could be the next step toward the glory days.
Today, I find myself humbled, stunned, and in pure shock. Only six weeks into the season I feel immense heartache, and for the first time in forever I feel seperated from that glory.
It's not that I don't believe in them. I always will, no matter how many times they fall, no matter how many times my hopes are dashed, but something is missing. The confidence that, on any Saturday, we would give it all we had and could compete with anybody, has been overshadowed by confusion and disbelief.
From the Oklahoma State game all the way up till the LSU game, I thought all was not lost. I felt like we could still get the train back on the track. I saw a bunch of young guys leave their hearts and souls on the field. The likes of AJ Green, Boykin, Smith, I thought could add a spark and maybe get things to swing our way.
Yet one Saturday removed from a heartwrenching lose to LSU, I watched a season, and a team, unravel before my eyes.
I, for one, will never be on the "fire Mark Richt" bandwagon. I think the man loves all that is Georgia and he has proven that in his years in Athens. I know his heart aches worse than mine ever will to see a performance like the one yesterday in that orange-clad town.
With the state of this program, Richt is being called upon like never before to do what is right for this program. Something has gone amiss in Georgia, and he needs to find out what it is.
A stagnant offense, a less-than-enthusiastic defense. A team that looks plagued by mass confusion and a lack of "fire" that is present in other programs. I watch those guys and they seem like robots going through the motions, and I wonder to myself what is missing.
Is it Martinez? Is it Bobo? Is it Joe Cox? Is it a lack of confidence? I never want to call for heads of coaches or watch a player fall from grace, but I want the glory back. I want that excitement and enthusiasm that is Georgia football to come back in full force a ravage the football world. I want whatever needs to be done, to be done.
I sit here on Sunday, and I feel almost numb. I don't have hope for a salvaged season, I don't have that excitement for next Saturday and I don't have the glory. That scares me.
It scares me because Georgia football is my passion and I never want that passion to grow stale. I want to pick up the pieces and put it back together, and I can't. All I can do is hope that the head man does what needs to be done to get the red and black back on the track.
To bring the glory days back to Georgia. I want my chance to feel it. What they felt on Jan. 1, 1981.