We’re trying to make history, and only have the GOAT standing in the way. And he’s bringing the scariest team in CFP. To a game where we’ve failed every previous time. The only thing worse would be a biased TV announcer – oh, hello Gary. What, me worry?
We didn’t contain the last good run team, and we’re about to see one of the nation’s best. Complacency is an issue, so are cigar-smoking goalpost-toting checkered overalls. It’s the next to last time we can tell Gary to shut up. And we only have everything to lose. What, me worry?
Georgia was known for running the ball and stopping the run defensively, and those now seem to be our weak points, we’re facing an undefeated ranked UK team, all the Vegas money is against us, and we have to wait all day to sweat it out. What, me worry?
We finally have a good kickoff time, but we pay the price with commercials and Gary Danielson. Kirby is facing one of his former assistants, the SEC opener, a division foe, and the last team that beat Georgia at home. And we’re likely still missing RB1 and WR1. What, me worry?
We lost the MVP of the last 4 CFP games, we’re picked #1 for the first time since 2008 (look how that went), running backs are going down like my GameStop investment, the new OC is like the old OC, we have to break in a new Uga, and you won’t even be able to find the game on TV. What, me worry?
Dealing with a hangover, the national media suddenly fawning all over the place, continuing to deal with injuries, a QB that had to change his phone number, facing a pirate and a record-setting quarterback. And we don’t even get Gary to tell us how we’re not Alabama. What, me worry?
We’re back on TV though I’m glad last week wasn’t, hitting the road for another divisional opponent, another Columbia (at least a better one), we’ve got injuries and moving violation, and our defense has allowed scoring in the last 5 quarters. What, me worry?
The media giving Georgia the national championship after week 3, but are so overrated and this matchup is so bad they’re not even broadcasting it over the airwaves, the receiving corps dropping like flies, we’re burning redshirts faster than Brock Bowers on a jet sweep, and kickoff is at noon. What, me worry?