Maestro, the music:
You know, I don't really hate Vanderbilt. I don't really feel the burning pangs of rivalry that I probably should feel for a divisional rival whom the Bulldogs have played eighty football games against. Maybe it's because the Classic City Canines have won roughly two-thirds of those contests.
Of course it's anybody's guess what kind of Georgia football team we'll see tomorrow when Bulldog fans the world over convene to see how their team will react to a tough loss to the Missouri Tigers. There are few things worse than watching a Bulldog loss to Vanderbilt. Not only because it's a loss but because it's usually a self-inflicted wound of a high and aggravated nature. And Vanderbilt fans love to beat Georgia. It happens just infrequently enough to be special but frequently enough that it's never out of the realm of possibility.
Also watching will be Vanderbilt football fans, who will be easy to spot. It's tough to slander the name of a fan base you don't really dislike, but for the Commodores, I'll make an effort.
Because approximately 28% of people who shop at Whole Foods and annoyingly explain why you should too went to Vanderbilt.
And Vanderbilt fans are disproportionately represented among over-equipped and underskilled fly fishermen.This percentage rises among those who drive to chase farm-raised trout in their Saabs.
Vanderbilt fans secretly prefer basketball. Except when their basketball team is good, when they make no effort at secrecy and become Kentucky fans with better credit scores.
Vanderbilt fans also secretly prefer rye whiskey to bourbon.
James Franklin is only the 35th biggest jerk at Vanderbilt.
Vanderbilt is Belmont for Michiganders. This is an obscure distinction, except to those for whom it is not.
Vanderbilt University is named after a Yankee who was married to his cousin from Alabama, who was named Frank.
Feel free to use this space to discuss this weekend's college football action, why exactly Vanderbilt's in the SEC while Clemson's in the ACC, all the reasons I should be shopping at Whole Foods, or whatever pops into your collective heads. I'll see y'all at the Goat Roast tomorrow. Until then . . .