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Blogs by Robert A. Mills
FOOTBALL 7/9/2014 9:10:27 AM
I sent a brief letter to Head Coach Mark Richt of UGA, congratulating him and his team on a most gratifying season 2012 and ’13, 2013. I expected a reply by June 3 or 4th, 2013. None was received until September 5th that year.
“Dear Mr. Mills,” it said. “As unaccustomed as Coach Richt is when it comes to answering fan mail from the Great Unwashed, he thought it would be most advantageous for both if you could join him and the team at the practice field on Monday, August 26th at 12.30 PM., in Athens, GA.”
It was signed by a “(Miss) Francine Deangelo, Secretary to Mr, Mark Richt, HDC-UGA football.” The letter was dated Aug. 12, 2013 and postmarked Aug. 18th that year.
I had written to Coach Richt back in June as follows: “Dear Coach Richt, . . .I would like nothing better than join you and the team on Aug. 26th and don a bulldog uniform (No. 0) and score a TD from the 5 to 19 yard-line on a pass from Aaron Murray; on a subsequent play I would like Jethro Greene to catch a pass from ME and score. . . .Etc.”
I went on to say this would be a most beneficial promotion event though “I was no Plimpton, no editor of anything pretending to be the PARIS REVIEW, or that I have never met Ernest Hemingway nor Dorothy Parker; I am a meteorologist with a very large and faithful following, and though I am now retired and have a daughter and future son-in-law at UGA, I do get rare and occasional TV assignments — but I am a prodigious writer (very well read) of Blogs and Newsletters on Author’s Den on the Internet. And I can and will do you and UGA a world of good!”
Anyway, I cleared the decks and showed up at the specified place and time.
There were no fans, no crowds, no sports’ writers, and no nobody— only a few folk: water boys, refreshment vendors, yearbook photographers and university people, professors, and other off-duty campus icons. Of course, there was Mr. Richt and Miss Deangelo, and Arron Murray, Jethro Greene, and others all decked out in clean, brilliant, and unused uniforms!
It was much different scene in the actual Sanford Stadium in Athens for the first Saturday afternoon game between UGA and the South Carolina team. The seats were full of screaming fans, the press boxes were full of sports’ writers — even Larry Munson couldn’t shut up about “the mystery quarterback, the unknown entity, with Number 0 on his jersey!”
Mr. Richt was wearing a brand new, tan and wide-brimmed, Fedora-like hat, a narrow-lapeled, three button, dark brown sports’ coat, topped off by a pair of light brown, razor-sharp sharp, pressed khaki trousers, and two ox-blood loafers; Miss Deangelo, sitting in an end zone section reserved for outstanding students and front office personnel, wore a frock, recently dry cleaned and of undetermined character.
Early in the first quarter, the ‘unknown entity’ was sent in, and I handed off to Aaron Murray (I expected a pass in return from the great quarterback, but instead all I got was trampled by a S, Carolina guard and tackle) — Murray marched in, untouched and unmolested, all the way from the 3 yard line to the rear of the TD zone for a 6-pointer. The crowd went berserk, and not even Larry Munson could have cared who No. 0 was!
In the 4th quarter I again got into the game. This time I got my face and head stepped on — but not until I had tossed a lateral pass to Jethro Greene that bounced off KeenanWhatshisface‘s helmet (never called by the ‘blind’ refs) and into the waiting arms of Greene who scampered into the end zone from the 7 yard line. Another 6 was added to the already lopsided score: 41-6.
(South Carolina, I’m certain, will not be invited again to participate in opening day at UGA.)
The unidentified ‘local George Plimpton’, however, was on his way!
* * * *
(What you have read above, is for the most part, an exercise in ‘adventure’. There is little truth in the scenario. When I became afflicted with PLS (Primary Lateral Sclerosis) in 2011, I awoke that fateful morning to the realization I would spend the rest of my life unable to walk or get around much — in the house, or outside, getting the mail or taking the dog for a walk (thanks to my dedicated wife and Sue Sharp at Mobility Scooters & More on Alpharetta Hwy, I licked that problem) — I voted to not living but writing about my love for football, hockey, baseball, basketball, golf, tennis and chess from the memories and fantasies I got from years on TV when I was King of the Hill, locally, in Rochester. (Of course, having seen the two- hour program on PBS of the life of George Plimpton, whom I had always disliked, helped immensely.) I am now 83 and residing near Roswell, GA.
