Every August, college football feels like a homecoming for me. The familiar sounds, the traditions, the anticipation of another season in Athens -- they have a way of making life feel normal again. This year, though, "normal" doesn't exist for me anymore. And maybe that's exactly why I need Georgia football so badly.
This season carries a different weight. For the first time in 23 years, the start of college football will arrive without my wife, Michele, who passed away in January.
College football was always part of our story
Michele and I met in September of 2002, and one of the first topics we discussed was college sports fandoms. I was a Georgia fan, she was an Auburn fan. We chuckled at the immediate "house divided" dynamic, but it was far from a dealbreaker.
What we did quickly discover was that Saturdays revolved around two things -- college football, and food. Right away traditions took root in our relationship. The game became a part of our marriage without having to be forced. It was as natural as breathing for us.
Even though I was working during the long day of football every Saturday, it was something we shared. She sat next to me when I worked from home or came with me to the games when I traveled. She even cheered for the Dawgs when they weren't playing Auburn.
Looking back, every opening Saturday felt a little like renewing our vows. We promised to love each other through sickness and health. We never actually promised to spend every Saturday from College GameDay until Pac-12 After Dark together, but somehow, we did anyway.
College football was there even in the most difficult times
Last season was like any other until December. When the college football postseason began ramping up, Michele was placed in the hosptial. But despite the discomfort of her being relegated to a hospital bed, we refused to let one of the things we loved most together disappear just because life had become unimaginably hard.
Hospital rooms aren't where anyone imagines spending bowl season. But there we were, her in the bed, me in one of the most uncomfortable chairs ever built, watching football the same way we always had.
There was pizza, there were sandwiches, there were Little Debbie Christmas Tree cakes. Nothing changed other than where we shared our time together.
Want to see a nurse run an NFL-level 40-yard dash? Celebrate a big play loudly enough to send every monitor in the room into panic mode. Michele never let her circumstances dictate her joy, much to the chagrin of the nursing staff.
As hard as that six weeks of hospital football viewing was for me, this coming season may be even harder, yet more cathartic.
This college football season will hurt, and that's okay
I've been through what seems like an endless string of "firsts" since Michele died. Of all of them, the first college football season is a marker I've been both dreading and excitedly anticipating.
Things at my house will be wildly different when the season finally gets underway. There wil be an empty chair to my left. I'll wait in silence for a cheer or comment that will never come during a game. I'll have to check myself every time I want to share a moment with her.
Those little moments will hurt because they mattered. They were us. They were 23 years in the making. All the Saturday rituals will now become harsh reminders that she's not here. The games will go on, and so will my love for college football and for her, but missing her will underscore everything.
But moving forward is part of grief, and I can think of no better way to help me do that than diving deep into something we both loved so much. The season won't bring Michele back. But it will bring me back to a part of our life that I never want to lose.
With my heart and soul, I'm ready for Saturdays in Athens again
In a few weeks, Sanford Stadium will fill again. The Redcoats will march. "Glory, Glory" will echo through Athens, and for the first time in more than two decades, I'll experience all of it without the person who shared every season with me.
It won't feel normal.
I don't expect it to.
But I also know this: college football has been woven into some of the happiest memories of my life. Walking away from it would feel like walking away from a piece of those memories, too. I'm ready to carry it forward.
I'm ready for the traditions, the sounds, the routines, and the hope that comes with each new season.
I'm ready for smaller pizzas with more toppings, wings with bones (she refused to eat anything but boneless), and stacks of baked goodies.
I'm ready for the chants, the cheers, the Redcoat Band, the thunder of Sanford Stadium, and the rolling vistas of Athens, Georgia.
I'm ready to carry all the memories of seasons past forward with me. I never want to leave them behind. I'll remember. I'll relive. And I'm certain I'll cry. I'll see her face wrinkle with anger every time Auburn does something dumb, and I'll hear her ever-present "Go! Go! Go! Go! Go! Go!" in my head during the most exciting moments.
The Georgia football team won't know my story when the Bulldogs take the field this fall. The crowd will roar just like it always has. The Redcoats will play. "Glory, Glory" will echo through Sanford Stadium. And somewhere in all of that, I'll miss the person I always shared it with.
But I'll also smile.
Because for 23 years, college football was part of our life together. This season, it becomes part of how I keep moving forward.
Add us as a preferred source on Google