November 18, 2014
Most Saturdays in the fall, our neighborhood park becomes a football field. A group of young men in gym shorts and sleeveless T-shirts arrive mid-morning to play a few hours of pick-up ball. They slap hands “hello” — a required pick-up ball pleasantry — and toss the pigskin for a while.
I have a front-row seat to the game since our home faces the park. My dog, Honey, alerts me with her bark to the players’ arrival so I grab my cup of coffee, sit on the couch and watch the game with Honey. Well, Honey actually sleeps beside me until one of the players scores a touchdown; she snaps back to consciousness during loud celebrations that would rival the end zone dancing of NFL legend Billy “White Shoes” Johnson.
I love the sounds of football, pick-up or other — the quarterback audibles, the victory celebrations and the traditional chants of fans.
For me, the game is a sensory experience, especially college football thanks, largely, to my dad who loved the game — especially his University of Florida Gators — almost as much as his family of five women. Dad realized the gender odds were stacked against him to field a family football athlete. So he worked hard to create diehard female football fans.
As a little girl, I would wake up on college game day salivating for boiled peanuts like Pavlov’s dog. And not just any kind of peanuts. I craved a bag of the salty, tender Southern delicacy best found along U.S. 441 at Seiler’s Peanuts stand. Dad made sure we left for the game early to stop by Seilers and get two hot, soggy brown bags of boiled heaven that would be gone by the time we crossed the Marion-Alachua county line.
The car radio filtered pre-game predictions by Gator radio broadcasters Otis Boggs and, later, David Steele, who pleased and infuriated Dad with their football analysis when the Gators weren’t predicted to do well.
“Awwww, I still believe in my Gators,” Dad would say driving his car with the license tag holder that read “UF Gators: Wait’ll Next Year.” These were, after all, the years of modest-winning Gator coaches Doug Dickey, Charley Pell and Galen Hall.
Arriving at Florida Field amid a sea of orange and blue-adorned cars, motorhomes and people, we’d find our usual tailgating spot and take in the smells of barbecue, fried chicken and beer — an aromatic mix only a football fan could love. For a few golden hours, we became family with our tailgating and stadium buddies. At the end of the third quarter, we’d link arms to shoulders with one another singing the anthem of sticking together in all kinds of weather down where the old Gators play. After the game, we’d listen to the post-game radio show on the ride home in case we missed anything during the actual game.
Dad died several years ago, a month after another Gator football season ended. He wore his favorite “lucky” UF shirt on game days though confined at home in the twilight of his life.
I still go to Gator games, buy the roadside peanuts, tailgate with friends old and new, and link arms at the beginning of the fourth quarter. Such rituals are as important as they are sentimental.
This has been a rough week for Gator fans with the announcement of Coach Will Muschamp’s departure amid a disappointing season. But I’ll be back at The Swamp next week cheering for the orange and the blue. Just as Dad would want.
My neighborhood park’s pick-up games end by early winter. I will miss them, wistful for fall to come again.
This is the kind of tradition I love, in all kinds of weather.
