FanPost

I Am Not a Sports' Writer

I am not a sports’ writer. I am, however, a 60 year old mother, teacher, and poet. I can’t diagram a read-option, heck I am not even sure if that is really a thing. But I can tell you the trauma I experience every time I hear "Drops of Jupiter" by Train. How I sat with my nephew Zachary in Pro Player Stadium, no...Dolphins Stadium, umh...Land Shark Stadium, no, no….Sun Life Stadium, ummmmm New Miami Stadium, yes, !! Hard Rock Stadium ( I am not even sure what they call it any more, maybe Christian Wilkins’ Stadium) in 30 degree weather until the clock read 00:00 and the scoreboard read West Virginia 70- Clemson 33.

I only get to about three Clemson games a year, but my sister Kelly and I have marched in the middle of the Tiger band coming down the hill. The same hill adjacent to a shoebox dorm, Benet, I lived in a thousand years ago. If anyone noticed that we were out of step and without an instrument, no one indicated it. It seemed like they were happy to have us.

I can identify offsides, but that whole targeting call has me confluxed. You know what else baffles me, how a school as wealthy as Wake Forest can have such a crappy stadium. If you partake in a tonic or two before going in the stadium and find your seats are on the sunny, eye-blistering side in section ZZZZZ, do not expect that you will have a railing to hold onto as you traverse the crumbling steps.

I was not able to make it to the Fiesta Bowl Ohio State game(I was , however, present when Woody went wacko, but that’s another story for another day), but I did watch it with my 91 year-old mother. I found it was better to mute the announcers, because my mother kept yelling at them. Something about Kirk triggers her, but I do understand others suffer from this same ailment. Post game, we decided to sell our kidneys to attend the Championship game, but were not sure how to proceed with that venture, so we will not be among the blessed who attend the game. .

What is the purpose of my little missive, you say? It is simply to proclaim that while I am not a sports’ writer, like many of you, I am a passionate Clemson fan with many Tiger memories and stories. As we approach game day, let me holler "Go Tigers" (note I did not say "geaux" because the English teacher in me(BA, English Major, Class of ‘81) can tell you "geaux" is a silly un-word crafted by somebody who had sipped one hurricane too many on Bourbon Street).


These opinions are not necessarily those of the Proprietors of Shakin' The Southland.

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