It's Wednesday, the no-man's-land of the week-long lull between college football games. The sting of last Saturday's loss has not yet subsided yet the dread of the upcoming outing is beginning to mount, along with the accompanying sense that any feeling of dread regarding a night game at Vanderbilt is itself a sign of some deeper malaise.
In short, I am bummed, and that sensation was not ameliorated by the release of a BlogPoll that ranked six S.E.C. teams (including four from the Eastern Division) yet consigned Georgia to those poor souls "also receiving votes" on the strength of such ballots as Orson Swindle's, which characterized the Bulldogs not inaccurately as "a mongrel mess." Even Sunday Morning Quarterback's kindhearted No. 24 ranking did little to boost my spirits, particularly since he placed the 'Dawgs directly behind the 23rd-ranked Volunteers, whose record he misstated as 4-2 instead of 3-2.
Fortunately, Hey Jenny Slater's Doug Gillett had just the thing to improve my mood; namely, a story about a terrier, a homeless meth addict, and Miss Birmingham that ended with this gem:
If you haven't read Doug's account already, go read it now. Don't worry; I'll wait.
Done? Good. Doug, your reasonable request has been granted to the best of my ability. Admittedly, I am no Steve Goodman, but, then again, Doug is no David Allan Coe.
Actually, Doug may be David Allan Coe, come to think of it.
Here now, I give you "Losing 35-14 in the Game of Love":
Down to the Magic City AIDS Walk.
Miss Birmingham was there, too,
So we started making small talk.
A homeless lady cramped my style
And it hurt too much to laugh.
I couldn't get untracked; I was down
By four touchdowns at the half.
Chorus:
I couldn't win for losing.
I lost my shot with a beauty queen.
It never crossed my mind that I'd fall so far behind
And lose 35-14.
She thought my dog and I were cute
Until that woman who had mange
Ripped apart my secondary
Just like she was Erik Ainge.
I think Miss Birmingham was mine;
I think I had her, but I lost her
When that homeless woman ran
Over me like Arian Foster.
Chorus:
I couldn't win for losing.
Some days it's bad to be alive.
I wished I was dead, along with that methhead,
When I lost 14 to 35.
Woo-ooh . . . baby, I could use some lovin' . . .
Woo-ooh . . . I'm going home to break my toaster oven . . .
Go 'Dawgs!