Christmas shopping.
My wife and I have made a tradition of it. Every year we shun all other adult responsibilities and and wander off into retail utopia in search of a completed shopping list, all in the course of one school day. To be honest, we never quite complete it all in that one day but we do get time together, a quiet lunch for two and at least most of our list complete. And no crowds. That's my kind of Christmas shopping.
This year I had a bit of an epiphany. My youngest son, the naturalist, for exclusively academic reasons, has decided that he is a University of Florida Fightin' Gator. He might be the only 10 year old in this town that has not only chosen a school and a field of study, but has also paid a campus visit to the specific department building in which he plans to complete his coursework. Gators or no Gators, I'm going to feed that passion, I'm going to support this dream, just like any sane father would.
So we were looking for Gator gear. A shirt, a bag, pair of socks, disposable Bic lighter, something, anything with the colors and logo. Not easy to come by in Georgia. Sports stores. Four of them. The biggest had up and down escalators as well as an elevator but no men's room and, more importantly, no Gator stuff. But a few things this establishment, and the other three as well, had - Under Armour, Nike, Adidas. Hoodies. Hats. Pants. Shoes. Shirts. Looking over 2/3 of the sales floor it was easy to see that in every color combination imaginable, every active wear garment known to the free world was on display for purchase.
There was obviously Georgia apparel, as there should be, back in the corner. A few Tech items, Falcons, Braves, even a Georgia Southern hoodie. But it was all stuffed in a back corner accessible only by negotiating the trails through the merchandise emblazoned with brand logos.
I thought about what the team logos stand for. Georgia fans know the traditions that go with being a fan. Earning the right to walk through the arch, ringing the victory bell. Auburn fans roll Toomer's Corner. Arkansas fans call the Hawgs. Jax State fans get goosebumps when we hear Salvation and know where the references to troy fit in when the band plays Dixie.
The teams represent ideas, philosophies and for those of us that attended one of the schools, it represents some of the best years of our lives. Jax State Football means something to me because I've got sweat equity in it. It matters because I have hours on the books. It matters because I know my pertinent fields can be found on the 3rd and 4th floors of the Houston Cole Library and my professors were over the hill in Stone Center. It matters because I watched the Olympics on the big screen in The Roost while eating chicken fingers. It matters because I walked to Subway on cold evenings with a friend because that's what irrational college kids do, It's where I learned to drive a manual transmission and what good music was.
That UA or "Swoosh" or whatever means I paid too much to have the same brand as the kid next to me in health class. All I have invested in it is the $60 I gave the cashier. No one puked in a car. No one fell in a camp fire. No one sat in a place called "Restaurant" eating pancake sandwiches at three in the morning or took the Springfield, Missouri city bus for two hours to eat at Steak n Shake. Not one soul hollered "whup troy!"
So my question is, why does it matter to us? What is the magic a disconnected brand name mega company logo holds over us? This isn't capitalism, it isn't conservatism, it's consumerism. We're pushing our identity, our past, our great memories into a back corner of a store so that we can purchase someone else's dream across the front of a sweatshirt.
I'd rather buy my son his own dream on the front of his sweatshirt. Gators or no Gators.
Showing posts with label College Football. Show all posts
Showing posts with label College Football. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 9, 2014
Monday, January 28, 2013
Saving Saturday
Another local story. This one with a strong connection to current politics.
Football has a storied tradition in the South and Georgia is no exception. This particular story goes back to the days when football was young, back before Southern towns doubled their population on Saturdays in the fall.
On October 30, 1897 the University of Georgia, before they were known as the Bulldogs, played the University of Virginia. Sometime during the game, a young man from Rome named Von Gammon was carrying the ball when he was reportedly tackled "by the entire Virginia team." This, of course, is understandable as it would take 11Virginians to tackle a Georgia boy. But but that's beside the point.
When the pile unfolded, Von Gammon remained motionless on the ground. Doctors at the game determined he had a serious head injury. He was carried to Grady Hospital where he died early the next morning. He would be buried in Myrtle Hill Cemetery a literal stone's throw from the well travelled naval officer from the last entry.
The legislature was in session at that time and as the news spread across the state the government did what it does best. It initiated a knee jerk overreaction and passed a bill that would ban the sport of football in Georgia. It was said to be too dangerous. No football. No "Between the Hedges". No "Ramblin' Wreck". No tailgating. Nothing.
But football had an unlikely ally.
Rosalind Burns Gammon, Von's mother, wrote the local representative to the legislature. (I'm hesitant to call him "her legislator" as in 1897 she couldn't legally register to vote.) She lobbied for the sport her son and his friends loved. She didn't want Von's death to be the reason his friends were barred from playing. She begged them to stop the bill. The letter found its way to the governor - the last step the bill needed to become law. Part of Mrs. Gammon's argument was that Von had two friends die, one rock climbing and one skating, and their sports had not been banned from the state.
In the end, the governor vetoed the bill. Georgia Football was saved. It was all because a mom stood up, refused to be a victim and kept the government's meddling out of football.
115+ years have passed since that sad Saturday. Football has changed greatly. But two things remained the same. It still takes 11 Virginians to tackle one Georgian, and the government still can't mind its own business.
President Barack Obama recently opined about the safety of football, the likelihood he would have let his theoretical son play football and the changes that need to be made to deal with "the violence" in football.
Football without violence is like chocolate cake without the chocolate and broccoli substituted for the cake. Football without the violence is like...well...frankly it's like baseball. How dreadful.
But now that I think about it if you count those catcher/runner collisions, hit batters, Robin Ventura's ill-advised mound charges and the Braves tripping over each other in the post-season, baseball is rather violent.
Think of every sport you have heard an instance about someone getting a concussion. That leaves us with what?
If you're keeping score at home, that leaves us with nothing. Not even golf.
So what does Mr. Obama propose little boys do with their spare time? What would his theoretical son be allowed to play?
I'm hoping that somewhere along the way Mr. Obama runs across a old letter from a Mrs. Gammon and he learns what football is really all about. I'm hoping he stays far away from the gridiron and allows self-governance and personal responsibility govern football. Mrs Gammon understood that it wasn't the role of government to protect us from football. Hopefully, Mr Obama will concur.
Football has a storied tradition in the South and Georgia is no exception. This particular story goes back to the days when football was young, back before Southern towns doubled their population on Saturdays in the fall.
On October 30, 1897 the University of Georgia, before they were known as the Bulldogs, played the University of Virginia. Sometime during the game, a young man from Rome named Von Gammon was carrying the ball when he was reportedly tackled "by the entire Virginia team." This, of course, is understandable as it would take 11Virginians to tackle a Georgia boy. But but that's beside the point.
When the pile unfolded, Von Gammon remained motionless on the ground. Doctors at the game determined he had a serious head injury. He was carried to Grady Hospital where he died early the next morning. He would be buried in Myrtle Hill Cemetery a literal stone's throw from the well travelled naval officer from the last entry.
The legislature was in session at that time and as the news spread across the state the government did what it does best. It initiated a knee jerk overreaction and passed a bill that would ban the sport of football in Georgia. It was said to be too dangerous. No football. No "Between the Hedges". No "Ramblin' Wreck". No tailgating. Nothing.
But football had an unlikely ally.
Rosalind Burns Gammon, Von's mother, wrote the local representative to the legislature. (I'm hesitant to call him "her legislator" as in 1897 she couldn't legally register to vote.) She lobbied for the sport her son and his friends loved. She didn't want Von's death to be the reason his friends were barred from playing. She begged them to stop the bill. The letter found its way to the governor - the last step the bill needed to become law. Part of Mrs. Gammon's argument was that Von had two friends die, one rock climbing and one skating, and their sports had not been banned from the state.
In the end, the governor vetoed the bill. Georgia Football was saved. It was all because a mom stood up, refused to be a victim and kept the government's meddling out of football.
115+ years have passed since that sad Saturday. Football has changed greatly. But two things remained the same. It still takes 11 Virginians to tackle one Georgian, and the government still can't mind its own business.
President Barack Obama recently opined about the safety of football, the likelihood he would have let his theoretical son play football and the changes that need to be made to deal with "the violence" in football.
Football without violence is like chocolate cake without the chocolate and broccoli substituted for the cake. Football without the violence is like...well...frankly it's like baseball. How dreadful.
But now that I think about it if you count those catcher/runner collisions, hit batters, Robin Ventura's ill-advised mound charges and the Braves tripping over each other in the post-season, baseball is rather violent.
Think of every sport you have heard an instance about someone getting a concussion. That leaves us with what?
If you're keeping score at home, that leaves us with nothing. Not even golf.
So what does Mr. Obama propose little boys do with their spare time? What would his theoretical son be allowed to play?
I'm hoping that somewhere along the way Mr. Obama runs across a old letter from a Mrs. Gammon and he learns what football is really all about. I'm hoping he stays far away from the gridiron and allows self-governance and personal responsibility govern football. Mrs Gammon understood that it wasn't the role of government to protect us from football. Hopefully, Mr Obama will concur.
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