We stopped at a curb store in Crystal Springs so my buddy could take an order. While he typed I got up to get coffee. At the urn was an older black man stirring cream into his cup.
"You know that was the worses war of all."
"Sir?"
"They said that was more people killed than all them other wars put together."
"Which war?"
"Well," he held out his right hand and pointed to a finger with his left as he explained, "they had the Conferararcy...and the North. It was turrable...they shot mothers, brothers, sisters. They shot up e'erybody. It was right here...they shot up e'everybody here."
"Yes sir. My people fought in the War."
"I ain't sayin' they didn't had cururash...they had cururash but, if people woulda just had a thought...they coulda stopped that war...but, when you smoke that grass you don't curr 'bout nothin'."
Lincoln got his war because everybody was too stoned to stop him.
I mean I lived in a house...went to school and church in buildings but, this is where I spent at least half of my childhood. It's Lake Cascade. We lived on Cascade Dr...a small neighborhood, that came off the truck route, made a loop along one shore of the lake and then back out.
This is where we played. When I was little, I got at least two whoppins for goin' down there without supervision. We found a dead gator down there one time...he'd been shot and hacked up. There was a baby gator that lived in one the pools around the lake. Seemed like he stayed on the same stump for a year.
Of course, the place was the natural habitat of our arch enemy, Satan's charm bracelet...
.
I guess we just tried not to think about him. There was a little island in the lake that was said to be so covered with Cotton Mouths that if you looked hard enough you could see it wriggling. Maybe it was a defensive mechanism...mentally we put them all out on the island. I did watch a fella kill one in the water with a bow. That was pretty cool...back to hell you go.
There were big, high banked ditches...like canals that would connect some of the pools with the lake...we never went in those. That was a strip of black water running between 6ft walls of roots and holes. We did swim in the lake though. Out towards the middle of the lake there was a homemade diving platform built in group of cypress trees. One of my fondest memories is being out there with my brothers and their friends. I was still wearing the bubble (an egg shaped piece of styrofoam with canvas straps that chaffed and dug into my under arms)...so, I must have still been pretty little. They were trying to get me to jump off into the water. At my size it looked like were were 50ft in the air. They finally bribed me into it by promising that I could be the first to kiss Daddy when he got home from work. It was quite a race to meet him at his car in the evenings...with my tiny legs I didn't stand a chance.
One day, me and a buddy of mine come up on a fella that nearly drowned. His canoe had turned over and he couldn't swim. We helped him in the last few feet. It had to be a strange scene...two ten year olds draggin' a grown, gasping man out of a foot and a half of water. The most absurd part was that, except over sink holes, the water never really got that deep. He could have bounced off the lake bed from 100 ft out.
It dried up every couple of years...or drained. Sink holes would drain it. The other side of the lake was near wilderness. It was crisscrossed with dirt roads...and pocked with sinkholes. Sink holes are just creepy. A perfect cone, about 150ft across and down to a pool of jet black water. Every once in a while they'll crack open in a populated area. Gainesville had a couple of big ones open up in the middle of town.
You can see the waterline on the cypress but, obviously this was taken after a long dry spell.
In its Glory.
The little cinder block house we lived in is gone now. In fact almost all the houses are gone now. The airport bought up most of the neighborhood years ago. It wasn't a fancy place to start with and now it's gone back to wilderness.
Friday night, as Martha and I sat on the couch, tryin' to get reaquainted after bein' apart for almost a week, we heard the familiar BE-Dink of a text message notification. We didn't recognize the number or...
Damn!
Rather than call the police to warn them that the city of Jackson was in for serious trouble that night...we told 'em to rock it.
REP. RANGEL (D-NY): New York is different and more progressive than a lot of areas in other states, and some of the Southern areas have cultures that we have to overcome.
Hey Chuck...we shoot Ducks, Deer, Turkey and people we know. We are not shooting up your malls, your movie theaters and we sure as hell aren't shooting little kids.
You people are different alright.
One of the very first school shootings, back in the mid-90s, was here in Jackson. It was stopped by an assistant principal with a pistol...one that he may or my not have been authorized to carry. Around this time, there was another schooting in Arkansas. Since then, in Mississippi and the surounding states there have been zero.
We don't do random killings in The Deep South. There are too many people we know that need killin' to go on targetless shooting sprees.
We don't, as general rule, do serial killers either. We are violent. Our murder rates have always been as relatively high as our suicide rates have been relatively low. We have some horrific killings...a man kidnaps his family and kills them because his wife left him, a man kills his brother's family over property, a black man that has been in the employ of a notorious White Supremacist (transplanted Yankee by the way) burns the whitey's trailer down...with him in it.
We are not innocent people. There's a kind of code that governs most violence. It's been noted. Thomas Sowell's Black Rednecks and White Liberals is last piece that comes to my mind. He explained violence in the Black community as an inherited cultural trait picked up from white Southerners...who had brought it with them from Northern England. To this point, how many black serial killers and spree shooters can you think of.
Then there's just plain crime...we have a lot of that too. We are, generally speaking rowdy, ungovernable, violent people but, when it comes to gunning down little children, we aren't your problem.
I know this has the potential to get as rude as rude talk can be. I have always tried keep this place open for various ideas...if you want to go off on guns GO OFF. The only thing that will cause me to lose my manners is on issues of Southern Culture (sadly we've lost a reader over this...I let down my upbringing and forgot my duties as a host). Having said that, if you want to blame The South...go for it. It'll be a more rowdy conversation than usual but, please feel free to express yourself here.
Y'all know I spend a lot of time on the road...and if you're a careful reader you know I do a lotta diggin' on the radio. I've got my i-tunes but, nothin' beats a pleasant surprise.
One of the great things about being in Mississippi is that more often than not, the best things to come across the airwaves are the local products.
It's been almost a complete shutout in last few days as I've crisscrossed the fish bowl that this part of the world has become.
Not just songs either...Jerry Clower will often get some air time, in a city with any traffic, around rush hour. An obvious attempt to curb people's nerves...which, when you consider the amount of traffic we're talking about, demonstrates just how low the tolerance for interference of any kind is around here.
They broke mold...lotta broke molds around here.
We end with an appropriate highlight...we are sleeping in Slidell, Louisiana after all.
"There is a class of people (in the South, among whom your author's kin were included), men women and children, who must be killed or banished before you can hope for peace and order."Genral Sherman to Thomas Ewing (Order #11)
A curious pehnomenon occurs after and around every election in this country. Whether the Yankee Statist wins, loses or draws, he turns his attention to The South...to bitterly damn our existence or, rejoice in our immenent extiction.
"On a repeat viewing of Steven Spielberg’s “Lincoln” over the New Year’s holiday, a scene I had barely noticed the first time jumped out at me. Confederate vice-president Alexander Stephens (played with reptilian gentility by Jackie Earle Haley), in a secret meeting aboard a steamboat with Abraham Lincoln and Secretary of State William Seward, faces up to the reality that the era of slavery has come to an end. Ratification of the 13th Amendment, Stephens muses, will destroy the basis of the Southern economy and the South’s traditional way of life. “We won’t know ourselves anymore,” he says.
"If only it had been so." Andrew O'Hehir
Sorry about yer luck prick...but, we're still here and I'm raising one just like me. Of course, all I want, all he will want, all my fathers have wanted for generations is to be free of any and all connection with you....and your empire. We don't care how you live your life because we don't think about you...except to the extent that we are forced to continue in the political process of this ridiculous construct you call the United States. Sorry, Andy...as long as we have to be here we aren't just going to shut our mouths until you want to hear a story or a bit of song.
For Andy Southern culture isn't really a culture at all...it's just a corporate expression of racism and bigotry. What was actually done to the South was less than we deserved...
Look to the South and you who went with us through that land can best say if they have not been fearfully punished. Mourning is in every household, desolation written in broad characters across the whole face of their country, cities in ashes and fields laid waste, their commerce gone, their system of labor annihilated and destroyed. Ruin and poverty and distress everywhere, and now pestilence adding to the very cap sheaf of their stack of misery.
Sherman
Take heart Andy, according to George Parker we are once again on the verge of extinction...but, beware
Northern liberals should not be too quick to cheer, though. At the end of “The Mind of the South,” Cash has this description of “the South at its best”: “proud, brave, honorable by its lights, courteous, personally generous, loyal.” These remain qualities that the rest of the country needs and often calls on. The South’s vices—“violence, intolerance, aversion and suspicion toward new ideas”—grow particularly acute during periods when it is marginalized and left behind. An estrangement between the South and the rest of the country would bring out the worst in both—dangerous insularity in the first, smug self-deception in the second.*
Again...as long as they smile and dance for you they're fine but, they are still under the delusion that they have some say in the affairs of the country.
Let me put this as clearly and as literally as I can (the only way to be understood among these, rootless, block headed, bell ends). We have tried to separate ourselves from you before and you responded by trying to exterminate Us. You failed. You have failed repeatedly. Why do you persist in this failed endevour when all we want is to be shed of you...and your absurd, greedy, warmonger, self-rightous, culturless, loud, obnoxious country?
*Interesting that the auther relies so heavily on Cash. If he had written "The Mind of India" rather than the "Southern Mind," Cash would already and rightly have been thrown on the trash heap of Orientilists but, because he wrote it for the U.S. Empire...he's still lauded.
If you doubt me read the contemporary critique of his work by Donald Davidson...where he rips Cash a brand new, two story, brick, two-car garage, asshole....decades before Edward Said picked up his first rock for the cameras.
Being the dedicated employee that I am...I'm back on the road*. So, we just gonna do something different.
I assume y'all will have heard this classic rock....classic. Ballsy riffs and a squealing lead, hollered lyrics...classic. You should hear it on the gigantic speakers at Davis-Wade. It really comes to full throat on those arena sized speakers.
Of course, none of this changes the fact that the song is nonsense. These fella's were from New York or someplace. One of 'em might even have been a Canadian. It's painfully obvious that they looked at map and picked a town on the river...for the setting.
It's the tale of a Cajun lady that lives in Louisiana, across the Mississippi River from Vicksburg. I'm not saying a Coonass has never stopped for gas in Waterproof or Delta but, at that point on the river, you're a lot closer to Arkansas than you are Lafayette (Laugh-a-et). That's on the map. In spirit...you are in Arkansas.
She might as well have been living at the rest stop in Cleveland, Ohio where they sell Boudin.
"Boudin?"
"Yeah..it's a sausage they make in Louisiana."
"Yes ma'am," I couldn't help but chuckle, "I've ate a lot of Boudin. I just can't believe I'm seeing it here."
I was as polite about as I could be but, I immediately felt bad when I realized how disappointed she was that I had stole her thunder. I guarantee she had plenty more opportunities to wow the yokels round there. Besides, I was flabbergasted.
It weren't real Boudin anyway...you can't sell blood.
Anyway, I'll tell you what they do have in north Louisiana...the Robertsons.
A family of good'uns that have made a pile a money with handmade duck calls.
Sorry about the commercials..if the embeds even work...but, it's worth it. They play it up and clown but, between the lines you'll find the best representation of Southerners that's ever been on television.
If you live over here you've seen Duck Dynasty..or at least heard of it. I don't know how our British readers get American TV but, if you get the chance check it out.
Disclaimer for C...they hunt. They eat what they hunt though and don't eat meat if they didn't kill it themselves. I can't help but see that as a moral step up...they are off the grid and the meat Industry would go broke if it was up to these folks.
I was in Glen Allen yesterday..we been there before.
We made a call in a country store and bait shop. There was an older white lady workin' the counter. She got around just fine but she weren't in no hurry. Mostly she sat on a stool, leanin' on the counter..drinkin' [iced] tea. It was a rounded but sprawled appearance...like a snowman made out of bean bags. She was sweet as she could be.
A real contrast with the noise and energy that was coming from the kitchen...where two voices mingled into a pleasant but indecipherable stream of sound occasionally punctuated by jabs of racket or an "O-Kaaaaaay?"
"Connie!" the old lady hollered back into the kitchen. Well, she tried to holler. I don't think she's got a holler in her. "Y'all, Mrs. P**** here with food." Them girls couldn't hear her no more than they could hear me now if I yelled out the window.
Not one to wait around, Mrs. P just got up and went into the kitchen, through the noise, to fetch Mrs. Connie.
"They carryin' on back there ain't they?" I said to beanbag.
"They're sisters. They go on like that all day long" she drew a slow smile, "I love to listen to em."
There was a pleasing cadence to "conversation"....not that you could pick out a word except for the Oks and the "NO...No she din' " that made it clear they were communicating with one another. It was like a secret language.
"I'm Connie...good to meet you." she held her hand out.
I shook it..."I'm Erik and I'm glad to meet you Mrs. Connie."
She could be in early 30's or late 40's, 50's. Hell, I don't know...it's hard to tell with Black women sometimes. They seem to skip through middle age with the same smooth complexion they had in their 20's. It's not til they get really older that the wrinkles start.
Then her sister came out. She did seem younger. Her hair was longer and she was wearing a wool cap that was stretched up as tall as she could get it. They were fun and complained about how the last time I brought chicken wings one of the customers had eaten them all before they could sample 'em. I promised to leave extra this time and they went back to the kitchen...back to their private chatter.
I listened to them and browsed around the store. Somebody had figured out how to stuff wine bottles with Christmas lights...there was a wall full of neon yellow and blue rubber worms...spam...then I came across this...
That's Ms. Connie...and a fish she caught, not far from Glen Allen, in Steele Bayou around Mayersville. Curious. It's a good sized fish but not a record breaker. Then there's the look on her face. Not exactly the expresson of triumph one would expect when you've caught a fish that's made the local paper....or the Jackson paper for that matter. In fact, she looks like she's tryin' to get somebody to take it from her.
Maybe it has something to do with these...
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!
It's just not safe 'round here y'all...not in the wood, not in the fields and certainly not in the water.
Being the selfless employee that I am...I was out late last night. I didn't get home from the Coast 'til around 8 o'clock. Always thinking of the company. Rarely thinking of myself. I did that knowing that I would probably end up having to eat a meal from Mack Donald's...and so I did. That's dedication.
It did afford me the opportunity to drive in the dark. For all the time I spend in the car, most of it is done in sunshine. During the day, Magee is two miles of irritating stop lights and dingy strip malls...at night it's like driving up the trunk of a Christmas tree.
The Radio's different too. It's second string, non-league radio. Among other things, this means they'll take any caller they can get. It can be highly entertaining...or, it can be extremely irritating. Callers that are nervous all the really get out is a lot of heavy breathing. Some don't call for a conversation but to state, and stick to, their point no matter what. The worst of all is when the host misreads what the caller has said. I get so frustrated listening to failed communication...it causes a kind of physical irritation in me.
Of course, sometimes it would be better if I didn't understand what was being said. Last night it was the Schnit show...Schhhyt. Some school up north has decided that along with the U.S. National Anthem and the Pledge of Allegiance, to start the day, the children will also stand for the Black (or African-American) National Anthem. That's dumb...I think the U.S. National Anthem's dumb and they can take that fascists-one-nation-indivisible-my-ass Pledge of Allegiance and shove it where the sun don't shine but, adding the BNA to the mix is just begging for trouble.
For one thing, it sets the "colour-blind" into a tizzy. First it was the host...Schhhnyt, "I worrrk with alat of Ayficayn-Amyricayns...and they are Amyricayns just like me." Then the caller...distraught caller, will call her Bayrb, "I'm ah teaycher and thowse kids I teaych are mostly Ayyfican-Amyricayns but, I don't see a color. Thyyre just Amyricayns to me. Weyyre awwwlll Amyricayns."
No! Schhhhnyt and Bayrb...we are not all Amyyyyyricans. Certainly not in the all consuming glazed over sense that you two mean it. Black folks have had their own history and challenges that have shaped them, as a group, into something distinct. It's called an identity. A concept that is extremely confusing and frustrating for the Amyrricayn.
"Why wouldn't sambody wanna by an Amyricayn Walley?"
"Gosh Beave, I duh know. It's the best darn country that's ever been."
"Gee Walley...do haveta swear? Now I gatta tell Mom."
Then, there seemed to be some hope. An older Black lady called and tried to explain the significance of the Song...Lift Every Voice and Sing...and why it matters so much to Black Folks.
"Well that's fyyne...if people want to be entertaaayyyned by the sang but..." At that point I turned the radio down so I could rant uninterrupted.
"Entertainment??? You stupid...it has nothing to do with entertainment you dumb...it is a part of who they are. It says something profound about their own history...about who they are as Black folks. It's not up to you, and your dumb as... to decide...blahaha bblaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah."
Those that know me, and careful readers of the blog, will know that I am not merely jumping to the defense of Black identity. That this issue is a sensitive one because, I too, have an identity that separates me from the Amyyyricayns. One that I expect to be respected.
Right on cue....I cut the radio back up and there's an older Black gentlemen complaining that he had to sing Dixie as a kid in the South. It must have been Mississippi because he was making thinly veiled complaints about what's left of Confederate symbology at a major state university.
"Oh gayd...OH GAYD...No I can't believe that...OH GAYD...you had to sing Dixie..OH GAYD. That's wrang...that wrang. I wouldn't staynd for that eitha. OH GAYD Dixie? OH GAYD."
Then even worse..."The Sowthh has chaynged alat since those dayys."
Stop right there moron....listen carefully, write it down, take a picture and hide it in a hole, our reverence for our ancestors and the sacrifices they made defending our home from the likes of you and Bayrb has not ceased or diminished one iota. Don't think for one second that because people like you and Bayrb have managed to stop the Ole Miss band playing From Dixie With Love or, that because some other Amyyricayn has gotten Confederate Battle flags removed from the stadium, that we have budged an inch on the issue of our identity. You and Bayrb can go pound sand then ride of on a tandem bike.
As for the caller....I don't think you or anybody else should have to sing or stand for anything...not Dixie, not God Bless Amyyrica, or Happy Birthday but, NOT everything is about your skin colour! Ole Miss, for instance, has a profound connection to the Confederacy...100%, that's everybody, casualty rate for the Mississippi GrEys from Ole Miss during the war. The town of Oxford was burnt to the ground by Yankees. The importance of the Confederacy at Ole Miss, and throughout The South, is not something that was invented just to spite you.
RRRRRRRRRRRRGHHHHHH Calgon take me away for the love of kittens...TAKE ME AWAY!!!!
Besides, the most serious, and yet stupid, differences that separate black and white Southerners have their roots in the Occupation...euphemistically called Reconstruction by the Amyricayns.
Everybody was pissin' me off last night :)...and it was with great relief that I pulled into the drive.
Listen to the Song...it's gorgeous. If you're gonna stand for something it might as well be Ray Charles.
Last night, Martha bought tickets to see B.B. King in January. We're takin' the Big Man and I can't wait. He's still chapped about not being able to go in the clubs when we were on Beale St.. Every time I go to work in Memphis...I have to explain to him that I am not going to Beale. I'm going to the boring part of Memphis. He never looks very satisfied with that answer.
I was maybe ten before I had a stereo of my own. Before that I carried a tape recorder around. The only cassette I had was a collection of B.B. King's Hits. I just kinda took possession of it. Daddy didn't seem to mind too much.
He was up all last week.
Recently, Martha actually took some time to read the blog. "No wonder you love your job so much," she laughed..."your out there every day with your people." They're my Daddy's people too...and that's never lost on me.
As a kid, nothing tickled me more than his stories from the road. The seafood market owner that ran numbers...the murderous wives..."When you see that nigga you tell him I'm comin' to kill him"...collecting money in Jukes on a Friday nights...clearing out of a house with the owner because a snake had slithered into the kitchen. Nothing much has changed.
(Daddy was born in a house...probably deeper in the woods than Otis)
Macon, Georgia was the scene for a lot of these stories. The place has a kinda hold on him and he loves it but, I don't think it was always a happy time. He seems to have been kinda in between. He lived in efficiency and didn't own any more than could be thrown in an MGB...at short notice. Some clothes and a hi-fi.
He jokes about having pheasant under glass for Thanksgiving at Ocmulgee. Translation: sitting on the side of an Indian mound, drinking Wild Turkey...watching the river.
He laughs...a kinda squeezed cackle that I've inherited.
The only other person that reads these is Allan....three days after they've been posted.
It's Florida - Georgia! What more do you need to know?
2:24 We start with the usual problem...I can't remember the last time on of the Mississippi teams weren't playing in the JP game ahead of Florida - Georgia. The game is supposed to start in 7 minutes and Ole Miss - Arkansas just entered the fourth quarter.
I'll have to find the game online. They have got to move those JP games to another network.
2:36 Got it on CBS Online.
Nice recovery though.
Settle down pooch...that ball hit the ground.
STONED!
Gator Chomp by Girly....you'll pay for that b****!
Florida 0 - Georgia 7
Still watching online...it'll be second quarter before the Ole Miss game and post-game is over.
Geez..get it together.
FIRST DOWN...REED!
You can't grab the facemask...or the collar of the shoulder pads...but you can tackle somebody by the neck.
Typical Georgia runnin' their mouths....non stop.
Keep backin' em up.
They've got to get settled down.
Georgia's not really alble to run the ball so far.
YESYESYESYES.....YES!!!!!!!
Do something with it for the love of cupcakes.
Is it really OK to drag people down by the neck like that?
One of the sloppiest quarters of football I've ever seen.
Florida 0 - Georgia 7
YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEES!!!!! Now do something!
Hammer 'em with Reed and Burton.
Now we're movin.
Let 'em keep comin'...just bust 'em open with screens.
This was my view yesterday as I waited on the fella I was workin' with. We'd already been at one account for an hour. After the third or fourth false departure...I had to make it official. I'm professional sitter...a hall-of-famer but, we weren't sittin'. We kept gettin' up to leave...only to end up in a different part of the restaurant. A call would come in...an email. It just kept draggin' on. So, I told the rep I'd meet him at the next stop and said my goodbyes to the owner.
The next stop was a curb store...a block over from Church St. Curb stores in places like Indianola aren't just convenience stores. They are designated loitering spots. The dealer stands in front of the store. In this case, a big framed, solid brother, sauntering in front of the ice chests...casually swingin' his arms around his around his belly...hitting a fist against an open palm. Occasionally he'd step off the curb into the parking to meet a walk in customer...or lean into the passenger window of a car. Dirty drive through.
There's always a couple of old fellas holdin' up the wall...drinking from paper bags, lookin' for a dolla to hold. They hungry. A car swerves into the parking so the driver can holler at a friend...maybe one of the people that just seem to appear from nowhere, with no discernible purpose, other than to make a racket before disappearing. Just a lot of browsin'.
I'd sat there for thirty minutes. The dealer eye balled me a couple of times and then moved to the other side of the parking lot. He didn't offer...and nobody had bugged me for a dolla. I was beginning to think something was wrong when this kid came down the alley on a bicycle. He was barely pushin' the peddles fast enough to stay upright. It was comical. He was wearin' shorts, ashy legs, black socks and shower shoes...topped off with a sweatshirt. The hood pulled up over a big flat billed cap...it all came to a point about two feet above his eyes. This kid was teetering like he had a road cone on his head.
Then he saw the cigarette hangin' out of my window, pushed a little harder, straightened up and made a bee line for the truck.
"You gotta another cigarette bra...you got one for me?"
"Sure thing man...here."
"You...you gotta light."
"Brother...you ain't got nothin' but a habit do you?" I handed him a lighter.
He was obviously high...his speech was slow and deliberate but, his body was fightin' the control. there was a subtle jerk to his movements. He stared down the cigarette at the lighter...he was focused but, it took a couple of tries to get the square into the fire.
"A habit...oh yeah...people say I gotta habit..you gotta watch people around here. They try to lace you. They got me one time...put some crack in my cigarette."
"Tryin' to get you hooked huh?"
"Yeah...yeah...you gotta watch these folks. They'll lace you. They all know me 'round...I be hangin' around he-uh all the time. You...you need some weed or some crack."
"Naw...man. I'm here to work. I'm just waitin' on my partner to show up."
"You cool bra...you cool."..he thrust his fist through the window for a bump. "Not like these people 'round he-uh...they lace you man."
"Have another one man"...I handed him another cigarette and the fist came back through the window.
He straightened up best he could and went wobblin' back down the alley.
I was still gigglin' when my buddy showed up. We went in and got down to business. The stores run by and Indian fella that always seems a little frazzled and worn out with it...but, the cook, who must do more than just cook around there, is a real sharp brother who really gets engaged with the business of food. Then there was Forealla. I don't know exactly what this dood's role is in the store but, he got all up in our business...when he was inside.
"You gotta Guy-roo? Oh damn...God is good. We wus juss talkin' bout this last night. Forealla. We was talkin' about the Guy-Roo...We need the Guy-Roo...and here you is. Damn...God is good."
This cat buzzed like a bumble bee on somethin'...he was enthused. He was wearin' a flat billed cap too..shoved over a bale of tight dreads. Ear buds hangin around his neck. He kept goin' outside...to smoke. Then he'd jump right back in it...
"The Guy-Roo...we gotta get this foreallla. DAMN!"...and back out he went.
That's when it occurred to me that I'd forgotten something in the truck...before I could get to the door Forealla comes bustin' back in. I kinda shot on out to the sidewalk. There, filling the passenger window of a car, was the caramel coloured face of a maaaaaaaaad black woman.
"Wha' you need to do Motha ***** is Shut the **** Up!" She yells almost right into my face.
I have no idea what transpired between Forealla and this woman but, she was pissed.
Forealla couldn't let that go...so he comes back out and starts hollerin' at her...all the while the cars movin' through the parking lot until it gets parallel to my truck...where I'm laughing so hard I can't remember what I came out for.
Then the car stopped. I didn't here but, evidently Forealla had called this woman a Bitch.
This woman has been shouting the whole time and her voice is starting to strain a little bit but, it's not cracking. She wasn't gettin' hysterical...there was no fear of Forealla. No fear at all when she through the door open and let him know...
"I'mma show you who the Bitch is."
She went back to the trunk of the car. Her friend, who had been cackling through it all, calmly stood by the trunk bobbin' her head...eatin' pork rinds...while the lady flung it open and started diggin' around. The possibility of her comin' out of that trunk with a shotgun...was feasible. Still, me and one those people that just appear in these parking lots, were bent over laughing...what are you gonna do?
It wa'n't a gun...it was stick. A head crackin' stick
She was bent on dentin' that boy's skull. He knew it...and disappeared back into the store.
I love The Delta...the most Southern place on Earth.
Those buildings you see there are on Church St....that's where B.B. King (and whole host of others) first plied his trade.
The Third Saturday in October has always meant one thing... Alabama - Tennessee .
Below, is a classic scene from the series.
It's a great illustration of how the stoppages, the clock and the crowd work in football. This is it. The clock is down to 4 seconds...there won't be another play. If Tennessee makes it they win. If they don't they lose.
Not only is this one of the more bitter rivalries in the SEC but, at this point Alabama was undefeated and ranked number one in the country. Because of the way college football is structured one loss puts your entire season in serious jepordy...if, that is, you intend to play for a National Championship. Alabama plays for National Championships and in 2009 they hadn't won one since 1992.
Everything was on the line as Lincoln lined up for the kick.*
There's that damn cheer again.
Gary Danielson references the 2006 Florida - South Carolina game. Same situation, except the Gators had already lost one game and their National title hopes were barely alive.
We were there...in the clip below, we're sitting in the far upper left hand side of the field.
Warning: The clip below is loud...and then ear shattering.
Greatest game I've ever been to and like Alabama in 2009 the Gators went on to demolish Ohio State in the 2006 National Championship game.
Today, South Carolina comes to The Swamp. Against every pre-season prediction the Gators are undefeated and two games away from securing a spot in the SEC Championship...and beyond. South Carolina is also undefeated in the SEC East (they lost a heart breaker at LSU last week).
Of course, the The Greatest Gator of Them All will be coaching the Gamecocks....never easy to see. Never easy to root against The Ole Ball Coach but, he's gotta go down today.
*Apologies to Mrs. Ronnie who is a Tennessee fan.
ON YOUR A$$$$$$$$!!!!! Gator ball on the 3 yard line.
TOUUUUUUUUUUUUCHDOWN GATORS! Four plays into the game...
Gators 7 - Gamecocks 0
Dadgummit.
That's right...uncatchable.
That is the most ridiculous call I've ever seen.
Won't matter because Shaw is running for his life and the Gamecocks are gettin' stoned at the line.
Is this football or soccer???? He barely touched him...if at all. WT...
That was just a good call...freakin' Ball Coach.
They'd be better off tryin' to teleport into the endzone than trying to get the edge on this defense.
Kick your field goal...Cocks.
Gators 7 - Gamecocks 3...half the necessary yards due to unnecessary, ridiculous even, penalties.
Alright! Alright...short field. Do something with it.
Have mercy!!!
Christy is working on another MVP.
Yo turn to punt...from your own endzone!
One of the greatest catches I've seen all year erased by an idiotic call...another one.
This is the absolute worst officiating I've seen all season. End of 1st quarter..
Gators 7 - Gamecocks 3
Another pure SEC defensive struggle.
There goes Lattimore.
Artful coverage from Saunders.
BLOCKED...HAHAHAHHAHAHAHH!!!!!
YES. As long as Burton is anywhere on the field you are not safe Gamecocks.
ROCK N ROLL...ROCKNROLL.
Gators 14 - Gamecocks 3
About six inches from making it 21.
Gators 21 - Gamecocks 3! How 'Bout Them Gators!
They got these boys on the run right now.
Don't let 'em drag this out y'all.
Another terrible call wipes out a big play.
Great kick but, it's another gift from the refs.
Halftime...
Gators 21 - Gamecocks 6
Back at it.
Slow but steady.
Not so slow on that one...get 'em Patton.
Clowney is a beast.
Burton...Burton....he's too big for arm tackles Cocks. First DOWN!
Gators...GATORS...TOUCHDOWN GATORS!!!!
Way to stink that up.
Gators 27 - Gamecocks 8 (two points on the blocked extra point).
Still that was a great drive and a gorgeous play for the touchdown.
Have y'all noticed something...or the predictable absence of something...someone.
HAHSHAHAHAHAHH...they clowin on you now Cocks.
Gators 30 - Gamecocks 8.
Fowler...a true freshman just embarassed your tackle and...smoked yo a****!
Shank.
Another short field for the Gators.
ANOTHER TOUCHDOWN. They are hammering South Carolina!!!
Gators 37 - Gamecocks 8
Everybody from Muschamp to the Cokecola vendors is saying the Gators aren't back til they win a championship and there is something to that but, let's not be coy....the team is a Monster!
Start of the 4th...
Gators 37 - Gamecocks 8. One more quarter to go.
Gators with the ball again...main thing now is to keep Carolina from scoring. The Gators have only given up 10 points in the fourth quarter all year.
Tuesday I was in New Orleans. As usual I was driving around trying to find a place that I'd already been to a million different times. Freaking Mid City.
It did give me the opportunity to hear this exchange between a radio host and a real live, pure bread coonass...
Host..."Where?"
Budreaxbeaux Tibbadeaux..."I kayn...I kayn...you know whey dey tawk like dey English bu dey nah English,,You know..
Host: Uhh
B.T....You know...whey dey Cadolics and dey Padastans done get along too well.
Host..Ireland?
B.T....Yeeee AWLand...AWLAND...AWLAND...dem people was so nice to me.
Harmless, even charming, on a Tuesday morning, Deebeaux Budreaux...is a differnt creature all together on Saturday nights in the Fall when the Byooo Bangles...his Tigahs...take the field. Higher than Cooter Brown...and meaner than a cat box.
Big game today. LSU was picked to win The Conference at the begining of they year and they are undefeated. The Gators have surprised everybody with how they've been able to wear teams down. They too are undefeated and both teams are ranked in the top 10.
In short, IT'S ON!
I'm ready(not pictured Mexcian Cokecolas, Mallow Cups and pint cans of Boddingtons).
Trivia: Our own Ronnie is a graduate of the Louisiana State University. We might have a thought for Ronnie Jr but, we will be ruthlessly wishing the worst for senior.
Of course, we can't let this pass without playing the most outrageously over-the-top intro video ever made...
Never ever gets old.
Thankfully the game's in Gainesville this year.
GO GATAHS!
Gators are in all Blue...haven't seen that in a while.
Already got a fight.
You got Knocked the.....OUT!
Field Goal?
Gators 0 - LSU 3.
If the Gators keep beatin' on 'em like that...it'll be a good day.
They are scrapin' after every play.
What a catch...great through to the OUTSIDE.
Great hit but not nearly as hard as the celebration...settle down clowns.
Put that in your crawfish boil beeot....!!!!!
All defense.
...and field position. Pure football.
Another 3 and out for LSU. If this keeps up a blocked kick or a punt return will put the Gators up.
CAAAAAAAAAAAARAP!
That's what we been waitin' for....interception Watkins!!!!
Good grief. There are teams in the NFL that don't have defenses this good.
Go Punter.
Shut 'em down.
What was that?
Look out now...the Gators are on the move.
FIRST DOWN!!!
Really?........................REALLY??????
Those were points they just fumbled away.
CHOMP! CHOMP! CHOMP!
Punt that ball!
Gillisllee is chimpping away at it...he'll break eventually.
Why Driskle Why???
Great stop at the end. This game should at least be tied.
Gators 0 LSU 6
There you go baby...North and South...North and South.
Right back where we were...field position and defense.
Reed.
Here comes Gillisillee baby...he's sneaky like that.
There's not gonna be anybody left on LSU's team if this keeps up.
Tack another 15 on it.
Finally using their speed against 'em...come on y'all.
The Gators are droppin' the hammer like a blacksmith right now.
One quarter to go...the Gators haven't given up a point in the 4th quarter all year.
Gators 7 - LSU 6
Half the distance to the goal.
YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEES!!! YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSS!!! YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSS!!!! THat is LSU y'all that the Gators are pushing around...EEEEEEEEEELLLL ESSSSSSSS UUUUUUUUU. THe Gators are BACK!!!! Back!!!! BACK!!!!!!!
GATORS 14 - LSU 6
The Gators are a steamroller right now.
Just one play...one play. They're back on 'em again now.
Nine minutes....which in football times is like an hour.
Gillissillee down hill....that's the headline.
Burn that clock....burn it down.
D####! 5:43 til victory.
In com pleeeetion. Punt y'all...Punt.
Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrghhhhhh!
4th and 15....4th DOWN and 15!
Beautiful Punt LSU...beautiful punt.
1:42 y'all....1 minute and 42 seconds. First down Gators.
1:08.
:20...LSU has 20 seconds to score and pick up two point conversion.
:09...9 seconds
TURN OUT THE LIGHTS THE PARTY'S OVER!!!!!
HOW BOUT THEM GATORS!!!!!!!
A couple of quotes
Florida Gator Head Coach Will Muschamp:
''That was typical 1980 SEC right there today,'' Muschamp said. ''It was a physical, physical match. ... That's the difference between playing in this league and these other leagues you watch on TV. I know you guys like all these points being scored, but the quarterback won't make it through the season in our league.''
Defensive End Dominique Easley:
''Them boys was huffing and puffing,'' Easley said. ''I was looking in people's eyes and they were scared. That's what we wanted. We wanted to take somebody's will. We like to take people's will, not just win the game. Make them remember this night.''
Look to the South and you who went with us through that land can best say if they have not been fearfully punished. Mourning is in every household, desolation written in broad characters across the whole face of their country, cities in ashes and fields laid waste, their commerce gone, their system of labor annihilated and destroyed. Ruin and poverty and distress everywhere, and now pestilence adding to the very cap sheaf of their stack of misery.
