Look out, Peyton!

Today reminded me of one of my more enjoyable, yet downright depressing, nights in Athens. Two years ago, when Tennessee beat Georgia in Athens (which by the way is Tennessee's only victory in the series since 1999 - 1999! when I was still in freaking grad school!) we all took it pretty hard. I was already having a very rough month and the defeat didn't help things.

Luckily, Warren and the Funkles were there to help. Los Funklos were playing Tasty World after the game. As they played, Warren and Brad and I sat down outside (visited on and off by J.J., Keith and others). After having several sips, our tolerance for Tennessee fans in Peyton Manning jerseys had worn thin. So the whiskey began talking to these fans very loudly, in a manner that would be most accurately described as drunken impassioned screaming. To each Warren and I would yell, "Look out, Peyton!" as he or she crossed the street at Jackson and Broad, while Brad smoked a whole pack in one sitting and looked at us like we were the most immature people who ever existed, accompanied by the occasional "Pfft," when something struck him as mildly funny. We knew it wasn't funny. No one actually looked at us. It didn't change the outcome of the game. But it was still fun, or at least made us feel better. Or maybe that was the Jack.

The night was finally ruined when a gracious Tennessee fan came up to us and told us what a great game we'd played, how lucky they felt to leave Sanford with a win, and how muck they loved Athens. We shut up then. What a dick.

At any rate, I stand corrected about Peyton getting his ring. He obviously won't this year, and I would have felt as though he were receiving it unjustly if the kicker had hit the field goal, due to the horrible review of the interception in the fourth quarter.

In other news, I got a crotch crock pot for Christmas. I am tonight attempting my first roast that does not involved booze, a downtown hotel room, or stories about me and Ln's bride's maids.