Cow Bowling

Cow Bowling

Census estimates from 2005 show the Atlanta Georgia Metropolitan area with a population of nearly 5 million. The city of Atlanta, itself, only has a population of about 500,000. What this means is that urban and suburban sprawl radiates many miles in all directions from the city hub. I learned that it is almost possible to visit the Atlanta area without actually meeting any real Atlantans.

My sister, son, and I motored to Atlanta from our home base in Roanoke, Virginia on Saturday, December 30 to see our beloved Virginia Tech Gobblers lose to the barking Dawgs from Georgia at the Georgia Dome in dramatic fashion. Our trip took close to eight hours to our hotel near the suburban Interstate town of Duluth, just north of Atlanta. After a brief rest at the hotel, we made our way on the Metro Atlanta Rapid Transit Authority (MARTA) trains to the Georgia Dome in the heart of the big city.

MARTA is a very smooth operation and seemingly secure. When we loaded first got to our Doraville station, a friendly clerk was standing by the toll card machines and happily assisted us in getting our fare cards. Once inside the secured zone, we easily hopped our southbound train and passed through about nine stations until we got to the central processing station, Five Points Station. There we switched to the westbound train and hopped off at the first stop, the Georgia Dome. After we exited the train, we passed though a secure fenced walkway that led directly to the Dome gate. Once inside that secure facility, we mingled with the secure crowd. Dome officials carried bullhorns and were shouting at us in some undecipherable language. The crowd instinctively knew that the blaring bullhorn men were urging us to “Move, Move, Move.” I sort of felt like I was being herded to my death. Little did I know…I was heading for a kind of sports death. Afterwards, we reversed the process. Throughout the whole process, I only saw one Atlantan outside the secure zone. That was a ragged man, who was staggering below the walkway to the Dome. He briefly stopped, looked up at me and begged me to toss him some money, because I “…gots so much.”

Without being encumbered with social encounters with the local populations, my travel party and I were free to observe life on this most linear of trips. Our brief 36-hour trip allowed us to observe classic roadside Americana and quirky social behavior.

The Drive
We followed the major arterial route between Roanoke and Atlanta. Interstate 81 south to Interstate 77 south to Interstate 85 through Charlotte and on to Atlanta. On a clear day like Saturday, the drive through Virginia is one of the most beautiful anywhere in the Unites States. Fancy Gap Mountain, on the border of Virginia and North Carolina provides a stunning vista. You can seemingly see almost to the Atlanta Ocean.

When we returned on Sunday, the weather was less favorable. In fact, unbeknownst to us, a small plane had crashed in a Charlotte neighborhood. As we drove through the area, the rain was pelting our little car and we were listening to the local broadcast of the Carolina Panthers. Shortly after the game began, the New Orleans Saints, who had nothing to really play for since they had already secured a spot in the upcoming playoffs, replaced their starting quarterback with back-up signal caller, Jamey Martin. His wife, according to the announcers has been undergoing treatment for breast cancer and Jamey wanted everyone to know this so that we could all become “aware of this terrible disease.” I’m pretty sure most Americans are aware of breast cancer, but if mentioning that knowing that the back-up quarterback’s wife from the home team's opponent has breast cancer helps some person in the metro Charlotte area become aware of breast cancer, then I suppose that’s a good thing. From that moment on, every time the announcers set the line-up for the Saints, they’d say something like, “Jamey Martin, 12^th year man from Weber State whose wife has breast cancer and who wanted everyone to know it in order to raise awareness of that dreaded disease, is under center.”

One of the rest areas in North Carolina that we visited on the return home had lots of depressed Virginia Tech fans. Usually, we all just nod to each other and shake our heads. One old guy, however, seeing my VT hat, began grilling me about the game. He was wearing an Ohio State t-shirt and spoke with a definite Ohio accent. I know they claim not to have an accent, but it’s easy to pick out. Soon the guy began talking about college football in general and Ohio State football in particular. He regaled me with tidbits concerning all of the teams in his conference and in deficiencies in teams from other conferences. I listened and listened and listened and listened some more as I walked back to our car after doing my business. As I stopped at my car, the guy continued to talk. Normally I enjoy talking to people like this. I find that I learn a whole lot about a whole lot of stuff that I don’t know anything about nor knew that I cared to know about. But this guy kept talking as little spittle balls formed on his lips and occasionally flecked off in to the mist. Finally I just escaped by ducking in to the car as the man wandered off.

Somewhere along I-77 in northern North Carolina, there’s an exit labeled “Barium Springs/ Home for Children.” My sister immediately wondered what kind of experimentation they do on these homebound children. Do they glow? I remember once that my son had to go to the hospital when he was an infant. He was screaming and screaming. Our doctor suspected that he had an intestinal blockage and that he needed to know just where the blockage was so that he could operate successfully. So he loaded my boy up with a barium enema. When that junk was inserted into to him in a rather provocative manner, I thought his screams would go off the decibel charts. My son was famous for angrily screaming himself into passing out. The first time that happened when he was an infant, my wife and I freaked out and immediately called 911. However, within a few moments, he snapped back to consciousness. The next few times he passed out, we consulted our doctor and he eventually told us not to worry about his dark temper tantrums…just ignore him. So every time he passed out in public after that, we’d just let him go limp while people watched in horror at our nonchalance. Yet every time, he’d start breathing again within a few moments. My boy never passed out when he got his barium enema that day and in fact the glowing isotopes seemed to clear the blockage. I suspect that those children being sheltered in Barium Springs, North Carolina have no problems whatsoever with intestinal blockages.

South Carolina along I-85 is a nutty place. All along the depressed roadside as you travel through are deteriorating buildings and rusting trucks parked haphazardly in the patches of hibernating kudzu. Trashy billboards pollute the roadside like bags of garbage. One most annoying series of signs were from the “Café Risque.” Sign after annoying sign shouts the same provocative messages, “TOPLESS! TOPLESS! TOPLESS! Adult Toys Trucker Parking In Rear (made up that in rear part)” One woman’s report on the Fodor’s Travel site recounted her husband's stop at the Café Risque. She said that the signs were so intriguing that he just had to stop. He reportedly paid the $12 to get in and was served coffee by “saggy” attendants.

As you enter South Carolina near Gaffney, the interstate traveler is greeted by a giant peach colored butt painted on a water tower behind the Fatz Restaurant. That's right, That's right, a peach colored butt. At least that’s what it looks like as you approach the tower from the north. The crack is perfectly formed, thus creating a very lifelike human caboose on the water tower. Now coming from the south side, the whole thing looks a little more like a peach. Somehow the southbound view of the Fatz peach fuzz water tower butt seemed an appropriate representative for the area.

The people in Upstate South Carolina must be a generous lot, however. All along the roadside near Spartansburg are signs encouraging interstate travelers to donate their speedboats to Project Angel Boat. While details weren’t on the sign, I imagine that poor people are given donated speedboats so they can go out on the muddy industrially tired river to fish.

Education is gaining popularity in this part of the world, apparently. One large advertising sign struck me. Filling the large orange canvass was one word, “P-NUTS.” I’m not sure why the sign had that on it and I’m glad that literacy education is making progress otherwise the sign may have been “P-N.” In the future, perhaps the creator of the sign will learn more letters and then begin to develop location direction concepts.

In sort of a ironic twist, we slipped off the Interstate just before entering Georgia to get gas in a sleepy little place called Clemson, South Carolina. Clemson, as you may know, is also home to conference rival Clemson University. As we walked in to the Interstate Wendy’s, eyes glared at us in our Virginia Tech garb. The manager grudgingly served us. However, the cashier was very friendly and thanked us for stopping by.

The Hotel
Our hotel was a well-maintained Hampton Inn near Duluth, Georgia. I suspect that twenty years ago there was nothing but cow pastures there, but these days, the place is concreted buildings. Out hotel was an eight floor structure and we stayed on the third. Our suite was delicious with a living room, dining room, kitchen, bathroom and large bedroom with two queen sized beds. The desk clerk was friendly but enjoyed giving us a hard time for being from Virginia Tech. One thing I noticed about our hotel that I found strange was that there was a nice gas grill beside the hotel outdoor pool. That wasn’t strange in isolation, but I also noticed hotel after hotel on our journey back from the game that had gas grills by their pools. One hotel had at least ten grills lined up beside its pool. Obviously grilling is more popular in the Deep South than it is in my part of the south. We enjoy grilling, but we don’t have our backyard deck lined with grills. We chose not to grill out for breakfast at the hotel, instead opting for the bagel, egg, and cheese breakfast in a microwave popcorn bag.

The morning after the game, I was awakened at about 8am after having gone to bed at about 3 am. Screaming noises were reverberating through the wall behind my head, kids, many kids, yelling. Groggily, I got out of bed, crawled in to some clothes and headed down for my microwavable egg and cheese bagel. My path to the juice and microwave was blocked, however, by female family servants. There must have been four of five of them, each serving different families. Each family seemed to consist of one stout male nicely dressed, and four or five very young demanding children. The female servant or mother would bustle around the food station area as if it was their own private kitchen and gather milk, cereal, toast, juice, etc for her man and their kids. The men sat comfortably awaiting service as the kids screamed. Countless kids. They were everywhere. Soon they started coming down from the elevator, too. These kids were all dressed in their Sunday finest. I got the feeling that I had landed in some bizarre neo- Christian cult on its way to some kind of New Year’s sacrifice.

The Cows
Two years ago, I visited the Super Dome in New Orleans only six months before it was severely damaged in Hurricane Katrina. I was amazed by the size of the structure. This year’s bowl game took my group to the Georgia dome, and I must say that it is an even more impressive structure and facility. I cannot accurately describe exactly just how huge this building is. All I can say is that I felt dwarfed inside. In fact, I spent a good deal of the two hours before the game wandering around and exploring this miniature city.

At one stop, I stood in a portal in the corner of the stadium in a Georgia BullDawg section. The view from this upper deck was amazing. As I stood there dressed in my Hokie hat and dark fleece pullover, Georgia fans kept coming up to me asking me to help them locate their seats. I’d like to believe that they simply mistook me for Dome staff and didn’t just assume that since I was a fan of the opposition that I was just there to be used in whatever way they saw fit.

I especially enjoyed checking out the food vendors. My first experience was with a smiling Chick-fil-a man who stopped by our seats peddling $4.00 chicken sandwiches. So in support of the bowl sponsor, I bought one and thoroughly enjoyed it. The chicken was cooked to delicate perfection flavored with two thinly sliced pickles and wrapped in heat conserving foil wrap. I also ended up opening Frank’s Place. This concession stand specializes in hot dogs. Now I’m a sucker for a good hot dog while my stomach often dislikes those choices. I waited in a non-line as the young lady readied herself to begin taking orders. Standing right in front of her, I waited while she adjusted her hair, her hat, her nosepiece, and finally I placed my order. I decided on the $4 sausage dog loaded up as “Rookie of the Year.” This was an excellent choice. The dog came with shredded lettuce, salsa, and lots of cheese. It gastronomically worked well with my chicken sandwich.

Entertainment is what bowls serve up in sappy proportions. I can honestly say that I’ve never really enjoyed bowl game productions. Once at the Music City Bowl (1998), we were subjected to a most horrid rendition of “The Star Spangled Banner.” This guy was driven onto the Nashville field and he popped out with his white suit and fly hat. He was handed his guitar and in faux Hendrix fashion began slaughtering the song with his solo screaming rockets red glare version. While I liked it when Jimi Hendrix did it, this attempt to recapture that spirit was more akin to dredging something from the underworld with piercing sounds. Luckily none of the entertainment at the bowl formerly known as the Peach Bowl descended to such levels; however, there did seem to be way too much Bon Jovi music played for my tastes. The band played some Bon Jovi tune, and it also seemed to be piped in over the LOUD loud speaker at every break.

Indoor fireworks went off every time one of the teams scored. It seemd the fireworks were a bit more enthusiastic when Georgia scored. I must say that seeing fireworks explode right next to the circus tent roof of the structure worried me a bit. Early in the second half one charge went off accidentally and flaming embers floated down to the flammable turf. I don’t believe anyone in the catwalks where the charge exploded was injured seriously and the field suffered nothing worse than hotel room carpet cigarette burns.

Chick-fil-a is a clever sponsor. They have that very cute cow in all of their chicken commercials always urging people to “Eat more Chikin.” Well this bowl was loaded with cows. There was a stuffed cow on every seat. I gave my wife mine when I got home and she tossed it to the ground and stomped on it in Marcus Vick-like fashion, so frustrating was out loss. Cows were everywhere though. On the field, cows directed the bands, cows ran on the field during commercials, and stuffed cows parachuted from the rafters. Some crashed onto the field when their chutes failed to open.

The Bowling

We were sitting at the aisle between sections 346 (VT) and 347 (GA) and it was intense. The evening kicked off with a drunk Georgia fan being pushed up to his seat in section 347 just across the aisle from me. Within five minutes, he had blown all over and people evacuated. Later, his buddy somehow successfully navigated him down to the restroom where he made that place stink worse than the second half.

In the first half, frustrated 50-something chubby Georgia men right across the aisle from me began heckling a Virginia Tech fan three rows in front of them for standing up. The young Virginia Tech fan was celebrating excellent Virginia Tech play, but not excessively in my opinion. He was standing because two rows of Georgia fans were standing in front of him. Yet the heckling, angry Dawg men continued their verbal attack...I remember looking over once and seeing the temple area of the chubby man's face rippling with rage as he quietly swallowed his team's lack of success. At one point, he tried to get "security" to remove the VT fan, but apparently the security guy was reluctant to make that move.

The real shenanigans began when Georgia came back. Suddenly, the Georgia fans beside me were pointing and taunting anyone in the VT section they could make eye contact with. There were three young VT student fans in front of me who were reacting to the taunts with similar finger pointing. By the fourth quarter, one Dawg fan four rows down from me on the aisle in section 347 began crossing the aisle and pointing his fingers right in the faces of some older, quiet Hokie fans...shouting things about how they sucked, etc...Then inexplicably, the young Dawg fan then began humping the aisle rail...I have no idea why...perhaps that is some kind of Dawg ritual. Anyway, the three VT guys in front of me were obviously plotting. They grew quieter and quieter as time wore down. Then as soon as the gun sounded ending the game, they bolted from their seats, ran down a couple of rows and began swinging at the Dawg humper. Beer flew...coats were tossed... both sections were within seconds of being in full physical confrontation. Luckily, the altercation blew over after a few seconds as the VT guys disappeared into the portal below. As I walked past the Dawg humper a moment later, he leaned over and grabbed me by the collar asking me who those guys were who were sitting with me (they weren't sitting with me and I didn't know them). I simply told him I didn't know them and left that sorry place.

Things aren't always as bad as they seem and things usually aren't as good as they may first present. That was the case last night illustrated in one football game for each team. In the first half, we lived on the edge of disaster especially with key Georgia drops, tipped passes, and amazing flea-flickers (a hair away from disaster itself). In the second half, the Earth's axis tilted ever so slightly and we found ourselves in a "Mirror, Mirror universe" filled with evil Kirk's and Sulu's.

The sad thing was that I had met some excellent Dawg fans on the way to the game. In fact one very nice gentleman and his wife sat directly behind us, and we carried on great conversations during the rare quiet moments. Our seats were fantastic for viewing the game, but those "fans" for both teams who came to the game with something other than sportsmanship on their minds and the “Mirror, Mirror” (oblique Star trek reference) meltdown by our team certainly left a rather sour restroom puke taste.

Picking Up the Pieces

This final tale gets a bit complicated, but stay with me here. My party stopped by a 24 hour McDonald's at 1:20am after the game. We left there for the second time with our correct order at 2:05. We knew when we ordered one double cheeseburger with just pickles, mustard, and ketchup then two double cheeseburgers with everything followed by a double cheeseburger meal, and finally a side salad with Italian dressing that more than likely some part of the order would be wrong. In fact, we even had the clerk read the order back to us, but her broken suburban English automatically deleted a key identifying modifier. She said, “Thaz two double cheeseburgers, one [of those] double cheeseburger with ketchup, pickle, and mustard; one double cheeseburger meal, and one side salad with Italian dressing.” If she had just said, “of those” we could have corrected her.

In our groggy, whipped state, we pulled around, paid, and received our order. Sensing a mistake coming, I checked the order immediately and quickly realized that instead of four double cheeseburgers, we only received three. So we brought this to the attention of the attendant and allowed her to take our burger bag back to recheck it. The salad bag looked okay. We did later learn that we received ranch dressing instead of Italian. She tried to point out that according to the ticket, the order was correct. We countered that the ticket was wrong. So after at first telling us we had to go back around to get the other burger, she gave in and sold us one more double cheeseburger for $1.05. Within moments, she handed us our new double cheeseburger in a new bag, and we drove off oblivious to the fact that she never gave us our original burger bag back. Seconds after pulling away and heading back to the hotel to watch Star Trek Classic (Mirror Mirror-strange ), we realized we didn’t have our bag of three burgers. Talk about slapping poor souls when they're down. We felt abused and disrespected.

So we turned around and went back to the McDonald’s, got in the line and waited another twenty minutes to get to the front. Thankfully, one of the lady attendants smiled and laughed a bit and that cheered us somewhat. We received our bag back and went on our foggy way. There were no personal fouls called.