SEC for Dummies: a southern Mom’s cliff notes version

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If you’re lookin’ for info about the Security and Exchanges commission, this article isn’t for you.

This Saturday, Georgia plays LSU in Hot-lanta for the SEC championship.  SEC means we’re talkin’ real, live football.  Football as religion, not sport.  Last weekend, there was the Iron Bowl.  Sound tough?  It is.  No wine and cheese crowd here; they get down.to.business.  And, as for tailgatin’– the Deeper South you go, the thicker the eyeliner, skimpier the sundresses, louder the voices and more likker in the hipflask.

Forget about game rules; we’re talkin’ pure pageantry here.  First, let’s talk about the ‘outfits.’  There’s a plethora of orange, red, purple, garnet, orange, white and black.  Why not wear aqua (pronounced ak-wa in these parts) uniforms for example?  You do love the mardi gras theme that LSU has goin’ on, but to complete the look, they need strands of beads thrown around their necks.

Mascots n’ such:  they got ’em–from hawgs to dawgs.  There are also a whole lotta wild tigers and wildcats, then you got your gamecocks, a bluetick dog named Smoky, some creature that looks like a mad armadillo or wild boar, some fiesty bulldawgs, some fierce snappin’ gators…and then you got your red elephant.   There’s also a Commodore and a Colonel who looks like Colonel Sanders’ son.    You hear tell that the Colonel is being retired and replaced with a Star Wars’ figure named Admiral Akbar… (shouldn’t mascots be at least a little intimidating?)

OK–back to the game.  There’s all manner of neck and spine wrenching, collisions and bodily harm.   You pure-tee cringe as players are thrown up into outer space like stuffed dolls, or trampled by a stampede.  Bulls running in Pamplona must be easier to watch. 

“Is that allowed?” you gasp.

“Mom, it’s football,” your son sighs for the zillonth time, “What do you expect?”

Well, you have absolutely no idea; you grew up in deep basketball country.

 “Can their mothers at least be allowed to run out screaming onto the field when their sons are laying crumpled in a heap?” you demand.

Your son shakes his head, “Mom, Mom, Mom.  Whatta we going to do with you?”

Your son played football for two years.  After his last game, held in–not east, but west jesus-– you stood up in the bleachers and declared, “Hallelujah!”  He was spared his life, limbs and spine, to boot.  That spring, he went back to his beloved soccer, scored header goals n’ such, and then, a player ‘headed’ your son’s skull, instead of the ball, and broke his nose.  Go frickin’ figure.

All told, ‘best dressed’ goes to…Vanderbilt (the gold is a nice touch).  Best live mascot?  Can’t beat the War eagle.  Best song?  Rocky Top.  And who doesn’t get teary when they hear, My Old Kentucky Home.  Best cheer?  Woof, woof, woof, woof.  Let’s go Dawgs.

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