My Poor Wife

Sarah is a northern girl. There are things that she simply does not understand. She is stunningly beautiful, a terrific conversationalist, is well read, has done fascinating things and often draws a crowd. Last night at dinner, I tried to explain the wonderful things about being born and bred in the South. She stared at me with a blank expression on her face. Sometimes I feel sorry for her. A few things need to be said before I get started. She gloated last night when the highest paid team of thugs to play baseball, the Yankees, beat the Braves which proves that Satan does indeed exist. She has a dark side. Second, she is under some illusion that professional football is anywhere near same level of accomplishment, entertainment or devotion as college football. She did intern with the Buffalo Bills and dated several of the players. Let's be honest ... the mothers of the players of the Buffalo Bills don't even bother to watch them play. Now a confession ... "I don't hate Yankees," Lewis Grizzard once said. "I have a friend who hates them. His hobby is reading the obituary section of the New York Times." Having said all of that ... I adore my wife but ... She does not understand that college football is a religion that is far more significant than any church service which is why it has it's own day ... Saturday ... dedicated to it (Thursday nights too thanks to ESPN!). She does not comprehend why I have almost one hundred VHR tapes of Larry Munson's Greatest Calls that I refuse to part with because ... it's freaking Larry Munson. Munson talked God how to speak! Then there are the Beloved Dawgs of Georgia, God's chosen team. Sure God's making them wander around in the wilderness for a while but it's just a matter of time before they reclaim their appointed position on the heavenly throne. Sarah doesn't know that Philistines attend the University of Florida, heathens go to Tennessee, and Sodomites occupy South Carolina. I don't know why she doesn't know these things but ... she doesn't. She has no appreciation for Bar-B-Que. This left me speechless. She makes no distinction between Bar-B-Q beef and Pork ... knows that pigs are smarter than dogs ... that charcoal is the only thing you use on a grill or that Johnny Harris Bar-B-Que sauce is the nectar of the Gods. She has never been graced with a Bar-B-Que sandwich from the Georgia Pig in Brunswick or supper at Sprayberry's in Cowetta County. Seafood is not on her diet. This is completely foreign to me. How does one survive without fried shrimp, oysters, fish, hushpuppies, french fries and Cole Slaw? She has no idea that Mahi-Mahi is just a name that we made up to sell Dolphin fish to northerners because they though they were eating Flipper. I couldn't eat by the time I tried to explain all of these things. I'll give her this though ... she drinks sweet tea. As anyone who listens to good music knows ... on the eighth day, God made sweet tea. And she is stunningly beautiful. So ... I grabbed her hand and we walked outside into a Tybee night where the salt from the water stuck to our skin, the music from Doc's Bar called us in, and the moon danced above the clouds.