So there you are, in apparent gridlock on the sporting goods aisle, surrounded by a nameless and faceless mob of Black Friday shoppers that deep down you wish had stayed home or didn't event exist. From your vantage point, you can see the shelf where only seven something or others, which Jimmy and Jenny really want for Christmas, are left for the taking. Like Coach Ridings and his crew you have a plan, but progress is slow as you meander through the shopping mosh pit like a spawning salmon desperately struggling upstream. Your heart skips a beat and an involuntary gasp escapes your lips, as you watch helplessly the number quickly dwindle from seven to four something or others. Your pushing pace increases slightly, as you lean into and push past the horde of shopping zombies in your path. Then suddenly there were three on the shelf and there's still fifty feet between you and finally nabbing one of those something or others. The ugly human law of supply and demand plays out further as a coughing zombie barking into her cell phone grabs one of the something or others while asking the person on the other end of the call, "do we need one of these something or others..?" With the restraint of a Monk at a football pep rally, you subdue thoughts of slapping her cell phone high into the air like a majorette's baton or better yet up against her gaudy earring. Clutching your playlist like a cheerleader holding a pom-pom, you ponder why you chose this madness over watching the Bulldogs in the Brickyard. Then it hits you what a terrible waste it would be to have endured all of this and not come home with the hardware!
A rude line of five shoppers is all that's left between you and the last two something or others. In a nanosecond, you survey the field and weigh your options. Although you're no spring chicken, you've still got some old school jet fuel in the tank and an end run like Rashad Sturgiss or Tyrique Braswell is definitely open, but how much sweeter would it be to lower your shoulder and barrel right through the line like Billy Mance or Micheal Thomas! Like a Navy jet launched from an aircraft carrier's catapult, you jolt to the corner and take the edge and have open field now between you and those something or others. With outstretched hands like Christian Tutt, Trey Parker, Brian Smith, Patterson Hutto, or Jacorey Crawford you strive to land a something or other with only twelve minutes left to save $22. 43
In an instant, a shopping zombie walking by the items turns on a dime and while executing a beautiful spin move sweeps away the last two items and looks at you with all the Christmas warmth you could expect at a whipped up shopping free for all. It all went down in slow motion with Christmas music crammed down your ears like a toddler eating a hand fulls of spaghettios. Feeling utterly dejected, you pick-up a pair of cheesy Christmas socks and a pack of gum on your way out so you've got something to show for your incredible waste of time and energy. As you get back onto I-20 to head West to Thomson, you forgo the Christmas tunes and dial up 101.7 to catch the score of the Thomson game. It's still crackling as you pass Belair road and you can't make out much of the broadcast. As we all do when driving you think and your thoughts begin to wonder for a moment how things would have been different had the Thomson offensive line been clearing a path for you at the store. Ford Whatley, KT Woods, Myles David, Phillip Williams, Will Roberts, and Walker Tharpe would have rolled through that place like boulders down a mountain side hitting a cluster of cars at the Sprint in Thomson on a Friday afternoon and you could have easily scored that something or other. While waiting to hit the Grovetown exit and better reception from WTHO, you also entertain how satisfying it would have been to watch the Thomson defensive crew make short work of that crude hooligan that pulled those last few items off the shelf. You imagine him being stood up and taken rudely to the tile by Jaquez Hart, Daivon Randall, Nick Moss, Justin Bradshaw, Billy Youngblood, and Nick Becerra.
At last, the broadcast is coming in clearly now and you can tell by the excitement in their voices that the DOGS are either winning or on the jagged edge of doing something great. You beat the steering wheel as you holler, "What's the score what's the score!!" Desperate to salvage some meaning to the evening, you pick up speed in hopes of arriving in time to catch the last quarter or so. It turns out you've got time to make it back and catch about the last 10 minutes of the game and it's then that you just want to kick yourself like Dakota Gergen "Jer-jen" on a 52 yard game winner for even thinking about skipping this game to buy some stupid sale priced something or other.
Go Dogs!!
