TAMPA – In Busch Gardens to participate in UGA Alumni Day on the eve of the Outbowl Game, it was exciting to see the thousands of Georgia fans wandering around the gigantic botanical Garden.
Needing a brief rest, I sent the grandchildren, their mother and my wife on their way and found a quiet, beautiful place between one of the large theaters and the main throughfare.
As I sat down on my comfortable bench placed before a lush, colorful tropical planting away from the teeming throngs, I noticed I was adjacent to a special smoking area. An old man I judged to be in his eighties sat there in a wheelchair puffing away. His care giver or at least his wheel chair pusher stood patiently behind him waiting.
I looked over at him, smiled and nodded. He saw my red shirt with Bulldog logo and says “You for the bulldogs?’ “That’s right,” I reply. “Good,” he affirms, and takes another long draw on his cigarette. I wonder what in the world he is doing in this place. He is very thin, his skin has a yellowish pallor, his eyes are sunk deep in his narrow face and his breathing seems labored.
His companion is old, pudgy with hair of that Florida blond variety – lots of peroxide and sun that sorta resembles straw. She is wearing a simple shapeless gingham dress and seems completely bored – except now and then she offers a feeble smile. The old man then took several puffs and with his yellowed fingers reached over to a standing ash tray and stuffed out what is left of his cigarette. He then signals her to push him toward me.
“I want to show you something,” he says, and when he is near enough, he lifted his right leg with considerable effort and placed it on the bench beside me and began to lift his pants leg. My first thought was “He is going to show me his scars or some terrible wound or something. But he gets his pants up and to my amazement there is a large tatoo on his shin – a five inch head of a bulldog wearing a red and black cap – the old traditional Bulldog symbol.
“My word”, I said, “It’s beautiful” which seemed appropriate. He was beaming. His companion looked disgusted. You could tell she had seen it before and was not impressed. “I love the dogs,” he said. “I flunked out of the University in the forties and came down here to work. Been here ever since, but I still love Georgia. It’s good to see so many of you down here.”
I explained that it was UGA Alumni Day and that was why there were so many Dog fans around. He said, “Well, they gave us passes at the nursing home to come out here this month and this is the last day we could come. I didn’t know about Alumni Day, but I’m glad I came. Makes me feel good to see them.” He nodded at his bored chauffeur and she started to wheel him away.”
“Good to see you,” I said. “Glad I ran into you,” he replied, “Now yaw’l go out there and win that game tomorrow.” He was smiling when she rolled him down the wide sidewalk. He had gotten about ten yards away when he turned in his chair and yelled at me with his fist up in the air, “Go Dogs.”
The next afternoon walking from the stadium after a great Georgia victory, I said to my companion, “I feel good.” And I thought: “Somewhere in a nursing home out there in the Tampa Bay area, someone else who has been sitting in his wheelchair watching the game also feels good right now.
