July 07, 2002
The Blogger Went Down to Georgia. The unpleasantness of the previous night behind me, I found myself happily cruising down Georgia's I-441, the radio blasting Baptist sermons (by the way, if the message boards outside of churches are to be taken as a guide, they ain't none too pleased about that whole Pledge of Allegiance Ruling) and gospel music, sacks of peaches and boiled peanuts in the passenger seat next to me. I stopped off in Athens for a quick lunch, and made regular stops for peach ice cream and gas, but nothing was keeping me from my destiny: East Dublin's 7th Annual Redneck Games.
Of course, my New Jersey plates got some looks as I pulled into the lot, and I avoiding talking to anybody, lest my Yankee accent be revealed (these folks are still really bitter about that whole Civil War thing, and might be up for a rematch on a moments notice, especially if they though that I represented the whole Union attacking force), but once I got over the fear of being attacked I had a ball. I ate fried crocodile and shark on sticks, homemade jerky, and drank me a beer. I heard a cover band follow a heartfelt, fist-pumping, sing-along rendition of Lee Greenwood's "God Bless the U.S.A" with a twangy version of Pink's "Get This Party Started" that rocked the house. I may have even danced a little.
As for the crowd, let's just say it was Grade-A, 99.99% pure redneck. It was beautiful. About two-thirds of the crowd were wearing Confederate flag, Civil War, or NASCAR-themed shirts, with the other third shirtless (unless a bodycast of red mud counts as a shirt). The King of the rednecks wore overalls with no shirt, and waved his Confederate flag for about two hours straight. There were dozens of those real skinny, as-seen-on-Cops guys, the hard, angry type that you try and keep about 50 yards away from, lessen you remind them of somebody who pissed them off ten years ago. While waiting on line for my crocodile I overheard a serious conversation among three of these guys which culminated with the reflection "Well, if I gotta do the time, I'm gonna do my 30 days like a man and get on with it." And all of these guys seemed to be dating women no less than twice their size, like there was some Redneck Combined Dating Weight Law. As I said, it was a beautiful sight to see.
As much as I was enjoying myself, the road soon called again, so I trekked back up the path to my car and headed east on 16. My journey to the heart of the American South was reaching its high-water mark, and I needed to begin the trip back north. "God bless you, East Berlin, and God bless your rednecks!" I yelled while driving off, as the tears began to well up.
Don't miss the arrival of the "PROPANE TORCH" carried by Middle Georgia's best known Redneck as he lights the ceremonial BBQ Grill that will kick-off this years incredible FIREWORKS SHOW on Saturday night!I know what you're all thinking: why the hell didn't anybody tell me about this! That sounds awesome! And you would be completely right to think that, because it COMPLETELY KICKED ASS! Words cannot describe the sheer BBQ-eating, beer-drinking, mudpit-diving, Confederate-flag-waving, skinny-ass-dancing, shit-kicking, NASCAR-loving, rising-again-real-soon-now FUN that was being had out there in that dirt patch.
You'll also enjoy the one and only REDNECK GAMES!!! Mudpit Belly Flop, Bobbing for Pigs Feet, Hubcap Hurl, Seed Spitting Contest, Armpit Serenade, Dumpster Dive and other outrageous games! Prizes awarded for each event!
Of course, my New Jersey plates got some looks as I pulled into the lot, and I avoiding talking to anybody, lest my Yankee accent be revealed (these folks are still really bitter about that whole Civil War thing, and might be up for a rematch on a moments notice, especially if they though that I represented the whole Union attacking force), but once I got over the fear of being attacked I had a ball. I ate fried crocodile and shark on sticks, homemade jerky, and drank me a beer. I heard a cover band follow a heartfelt, fist-pumping, sing-along rendition of Lee Greenwood's "God Bless the U.S.A" with a twangy version of Pink's "Get This Party Started" that rocked the house. I may have even danced a little.
As for the crowd, let's just say it was Grade-A, 99.99% pure redneck. It was beautiful. About two-thirds of the crowd were wearing Confederate flag, Civil War, or NASCAR-themed shirts, with the other third shirtless (unless a bodycast of red mud counts as a shirt). The King of the rednecks wore overalls with no shirt, and waved his Confederate flag for about two hours straight. There were dozens of those real skinny, as-seen-on-Cops guys, the hard, angry type that you try and keep about 50 yards away from, lessen you remind them of somebody who pissed them off ten years ago. While waiting on line for my crocodile I overheard a serious conversation among three of these guys which culminated with the reflection "Well, if I gotta do the time, I'm gonna do my 30 days like a man and get on with it." And all of these guys seemed to be dating women no less than twice their size, like there was some Redneck Combined Dating Weight Law. As I said, it was a beautiful sight to see.
As much as I was enjoying myself, the road soon called again, so I trekked back up the path to my car and headed east on 16. My journey to the heart of the American South was reaching its high-water mark, and I needed to begin the trip back north. "God bless you, East Berlin, and God bless your rednecks!" I yelled while driving off, as the tears began to well up.
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