We love our school. -we love our football team more.
Have you every heard 2001 under the lights of a night game? -I cry every single time.
Remember when you got that Christmas present you campaigned for all year long? -that's how loud we cheer when Cocky is revealed during the crescendo of 2001, just before the players run onto the field.
We appreciate that we went 0-21 once. -humility is a good thing.
We were crying like babies when we won that first game. -we stole the goal posts and bushes because we didn’t want the moment to end. (then we stole them a few more times)
We know Holtz changed it all for us- Spurrier made better. -and Beamer made us believe.
Fuck Muschamp. We genuinely HATE Muschamp. -don’t even mention that guy to a Gamecock.
We beat Ohio State. Twice. -they were National Champions the following year.
The HIT. -no other explanation necessary, other than OSU fans and players alike didn't give a fuck about those consecutive Outback Bowls when this occurred.
We are hopeless romantics. -how can we not be?
We are passionate and confidant. -some might say we are cocky.
Our passion annoys 99% of the people who don’t get it - we do not care.
We are grateful for every moment. - and understand more than anyone why George Rogers carries his Heisman around with him, every day.
We hate the color orange. -we really hate the color orange.
We don’t give an actual fuck how many “Nattys” Clemson has won. -we smile knowing Dabo fell for “may I take my pic of you,” and it was usually the little kid in the picture who held up 5 fingers.
We hate Georgia just as much as Clemson. -and never in my life have I heard a Williams-Brice Stadium ‘boo’ the opposing coaches, until Muschamp ran out on the field with them.
Cam Newton Broke every single one of our hearts in 2010. -we all know he played as one, while we played as a team.
We develop the kind of people you are proud to be around. "Second quarter, with about five minutes left, fate got me. It was dreadful. A lot of anger. A lot of disappointment. Lot of pain all wrapped into one. I was shouting in the x-ray room. I tore all four ligaments in my knee — ACL, LCL, PCL and MCL — my calf muscle and hamstring and my femoral artery had been hit, which is why I couldn't feel anything. … I was never mad at [Eric Gordon]. At the end of the day, it was a good play. It was a legal tackle." - Marcus Lattimore. -Lattimore was my favorite player to watch on the Gamecocks football team. He was so fucking good. And pure of heart. I will always respect that man.
Quick side note due to my obvious ADHD: Despite his abbreviated career, Lattimore ranks No. 6 on South Carolina's all-time rushing list with 2,677 yards and owns the school record for rushing touchdowns (38) and overall touchdowns (41). His best season came as a freshman in 2010 when he rushed for 1,197 yards on 249 carries. He earned SEC Freshman of the Year and unanimous Freshman All-America honors.
The NFL loves the players we give to them. -yet they treat us like a moped; it's okay to ride around the neighborhood, but you don’t want anyone to see you on it.
Dan Reeves, Bobby Bryant, George Rogers, Harold Green, Sterling Sharpe, Robert Brooks, Duce Staley, Sheldon Brown, John Abraham, Jonathan Joseph, Richard Seymour, Sidney Rice, Ryan Succop, D.J. Swearinger, Alshon Jeffery, CLOWNY, Melvin Ingram, LATTIMORE, Mike Davis, Stephon Gilmore, Damiere Byrd, Connor Shaw, DEEBO, Hayden Hurst, Javon Kinlaw, Nick Muse, and Xavier Legette. Phil Petty, Jonathan Martin, Ryan Brewer, Jason Corse, Trey Pennington, Travis Whitfield, Andrew Pinnock, Courtney Leavitt, Vic Penn, Anthony Wright, Jermale Kelly, Scott Browne, Rod Trafford, Reed Morton, Corey Jenkins, Eric Kimrey, Derek Watson, Steve Florio, Tyeler Dean, Cleveland Pinckney, and Corey Bridges. -each name on this list is a Gamecock. Sure, not all of these men made it to the NFL, but each name means something to us.
We truly believe that when we are yelling at the television during a game the team can hear our obvious expertise. -and truly believe the refs are perpetually against us.
We know that every season we could (and probably will) beat the best team in the USC. -and then lose to the worst.
We have one logo for the entire university- aside from the baseball team. -they get their own, and no one really knows why.
We show up. We have no issue learning 100 different chants- depending on the direction of The Might Sound of the Southeast. We understand that we could be up 1million points going into the 4th quarter- and lose. We understand that we could be down 1million points going into the 4th quarter- and win. We are fiercely loyal. We do not give up. We see the potential. We get frustrated. We fight.
We are the mighty Gamecocks and the REAL CAROLINA. We are the mighty Gamecocks and the REAL USC.
You’d grab my head, with your fingers intertwined with my hair and hold me so close- breathing me in like it was oxygen.
You ran down the street as I was coming to pick you up because you didn’t want to miss a moment waiting for me to drive to you.
You got on a plane- clear on the other side of the country, to fly all day, just to drive two hours into Maine after you landed at night to see me in a bowling alley with coworkers you didn’t know.
You’d give me a card, saying the most amazing things.
You’d make the ahi meal I love so much.
You’d try to be creative with my favorite team: rookie cards, car doors, mini helmet, wall banner, tickets to the Missouri game.
You used to stop and purr- just looking at me.
Then you stopped. Everything.
I saw, felt and remember- you didn’t see me:
You’d put your son first, even though he was wrong and abusive towards me.
You’d ignore that I went above and beyond to make every birthday special for him- making his favorite cake or sending him friends money so they could.
You’d ignore that when his clothing didn’t fit, I’d order online the sizes he needed knowing they didn’t sell them in the stores.
You’d ignore when I’d make his or his friends special meals, so he or they felt welcome.
You’d ignore my hurt at his constant entitlement, demeanor and attitude towards me – even when I helped him go to see his girlfriend at the mental hospital, paid for flights, paid for any and everything.
You ignored the fact I tried. Everything.
I saw, felt and remember- the YOU people don’t get to see, ever, aside from me:
You’d walk out of the police department, to take whatever meal, coffee, kiss, or cold drink I’d (sometimes hours coming from work or just waiting for you) out of my way to bring you- because I wanted to give you a kiss or see you- just to grab it and walk away as quickly as you could.
You’d get jealous on every vacation we ever went on.
You’d shush me. EVEN WHILE WATCHING MY GAMECOCKS.
You’d ignore the fact that the house was filled with food, new linens, cleaned, warm, with dinner cooking- and a cocktail waiting on the counter- even though I had a long day too.
You’d ignore every time I got up early to make you something to eat or pack your lunch- because you don’t eat until noon now.
You’d ignore when I was hurting the most, when I was silent for days or crying.
You’d yell at me. Knowing it was too much.
You ignored the fact you went through two academies and college- while I took care of our home, and made sure you were encouraged and supported. Did you ever notice that took place until now?
You’d judge me. Even when you knew it was hard for me to be honest and open up.
You’d ignore the fact I was lonely, even when you were here.
You’d take extra shifts, even after being gone for so many days.
You put me second and third. Every time.
You’d take from me, so many things- and then be frustrated with me for noticing it because I felt unappreciated, used, and unloved.
You’d be in a good mood on your terms, if you felt like it, when you wanted. But if I craved it, you’d refuse.
You didn’t see me, but blamed me for hiding myself- when I was right in front of you.
You ruined it. You ruined EVERYTHING.
I saw, felt and remember- when you refused to show up for me:
You always ignored if I was uncomfortable. I don’t get uncomfortable, so if I do- doesn’t that say something?
I can count on one hand the amount of times you danced with me in the living room when I would ask- for only a moment. It might be a little ironic that the last time you actually did, it was to Garth Brooks’ The Dance. (See Lyrics at bottom of post)
You took voluntary police details WHEN I WAS BEDRIDDEN and my body was so weak and lifeless for 3 months.
You told me you purposely ignored me FOR A MONTH when my animal died.
We’d make love- and all I wanted was for you to tell me how you felt, kiss my neck, and be in the moment, but YOU put YOU first. This wasn’t a result of a *disorder*, this was ignoring what turned me on. But it’s my fault I didn’t let you try? You had the answer and ignored it. EVERYTIME.
I saw, felt and remember- the conclusion:
I have felt like the maid, waiter, whore, cook, servant, assistant, child, bitch, complete asshole, gremlin, sugar momma, and provider- for years. Do you even see how much you took advantage of me? Had you ever stopped, put your ego aside, and considered it?
You’ve said, “this is not a two way street.” I very much agree.
Would YOU try after years of that? Would YOU try after years of seeing, feeling, and remembering all of that pain that hurt me enough to leave? Would you? You ignored the fact I tried, so many times, but my love wasn’t good enough for you.
I gave you me. You said you didn’t like me.
So, I left- because I LIKE ME.
obviously.
Fast Forward 1 year.
Thank you for publicly posting our private situation by changing your Facebook status for all to see throughout what has been the most awkward and unsettling year of my life.
Because grown men are supposed to care about a Facebook status…
(yes, that is 100% sarcasm)
I call this post my retaliation to that behavior.
oh, hey.
As a 53 year old man, the lack of grace, tact, taste, and couth you’ve shown is astounding, yet fascinates me- almost to a titillating degree.
Then again, it’s the first time you’ve given me any kind of stimulation in the past 12 years. I guess I should be thanking you.
Thanks!
In closing, I took your most condescending advice recently. You quipped that I should “open up to someone for once, cause it might make me feel better.”
You know what. It does!
Guess now I can focus on my poodle* (definition, see below) you so politely told me to go get. The beauty of it is, I never needed a poodle. I only need me.
But, you knew that already.
Bless your heart, Brad.
*poo·dle [ˈpo͞odl] noun
a type of man who fits all high standards of a perfect man according to katie. he is educated, preppy, pretty/handsome, tall, well dressed, funny, charming, challenges one to make them a better person, enjoys the finer things, successful, maybe has a little bit of an arrogance, enjoys college football, enjoys traveling, will drink chardonnay and eat oysters with me on the water- while completely skipping work, enjoys going out to dinner, enjoys traveling, is strong in both mind & body to an alpha degree, doesn’t mind throwing someone against a wall and kissing them deep and slow, isn’t afraid to use a little (or a lot of) dirty talk, and allows me to have orgasms.
Garth Brooks- The Dance (Lyrics)
Looking back on the memory of The dance we shared ‘neath the stars above For a moment all the world was right How could I have known that you’d ever say goodbye
And now I’m glad I didn’t know The way it all would end, the way it all would go Our lives are better left to chance I could have missed the pain But I’d have had to miss the dance
Holding you, I held everything For a moment wasn’t I the king If I’d only known how the king would fall Hey, who’s to say, you know I might have changed it all
And now I’m glad I didn’t know The way it all would end, the way it all would go Our lives are better left to chance I could have missed the pain But I’d have had to miss the dance
If our lives are better left to chance Oh, our lives are better left to chance Oh, our lives are better left to chance
I could have missed the pain But I’d have had to miss the dance
