If you ever wondered where the "Cocktail Party" nickname came from, this article explains it.
I've been to the game--I think I saw it in one of those books called "100 Things Every Guy Must Do Before He Dies". I rarely think about going again...in '92, after a buddy of mine got stabbed in the abdomen down at the Landing by a tank-topped mullet after trading such vicious,poisoned barbs as "Go Dawgs" and "Go Gators", I might need a club level seat and a helicopter to get me in and out. Except for the potential for getting cut, it really is a hell of a good time. While the UF students lately have gotten the attention for unfortunate incidents while down there (more on that later), for the adults, it really has the feel of 1980's Spring Break in Panama City, with fewer whippets, more V&T. ( Of course, I refer to the PC before MTV showed up and every pasty Yankee from Maine to Minnesota invaded the Redneck Riviera).
Here are some of my favorite memories of the Cocktail Party:
I assume you know the rest of the story...in 1980, I listened to the game on my grandparents' radio. I had no idea how important it was until my best friend and NFL teammate(Neighborhood Football League) Diamond Dave recited the "Run Lindsey" Munson call every time he ran for a long touchdown in backyard games. For the next two years.
In 1992, my one standout memory of the old Gator Bowl was how the fans were seated in the stadium. It was really cool, quartered around with a definite line between Red & Black and Orange & Blue at the 50's and the midpoint of each end zone. Even cooler--you could see fights breaking out all along the skirmish lines towards the top of some sections.
Later, after GA succumbed to the quarterback draw on 4th and long, I learned an important lesson first hand. The Florida Gators have no class. News flash, you say? I grew up hating Auburn and Tech, but Florida was still the team we had steamrolled for oh so many years. This was early in the Spurrier era, and we weren't used to the beatings yet. After their 24-22 win, the UF players came over to the GA student section and danced, shot birds, and taunted the crowd. It's the only time I've ever been in an angry mob. I mean, we were pissed. There was a chain link fence separating the crowd from the players and there were students climbing up to vent their anger. Cups full of bourbon and the occasional liquor bottle were hurtled onto the field. It was a cross between the Blues Brothers playing at the country-western bar and the Alabama student section celebrating a TD. Fortunately, some assistant coaches came over and got their players away before it got really ugly.
Later, after easing the sting of defeat down at the Landing, we watched The Nature Boy (and Chief Cheeseball Gator Fan) Ric Flair scream out, "If you wanna be The Man, you gotta beat The Man...Whoooooooo!" about forty times at Hooters. --Fast forward about five hours. We spent the night somewhere in the greater Jacksonville area in a hotel room that nominally sleeps four. I counted twelve bodies the next morning, all fully clothed and still ineligible to operate a vehicle...they just crashed wherever an open spot was. I knew only one other person in the room. I still have no idea where this hotel was, or how we got there. But it was free to the wallet and free of Florida fans, two very important factors to consider.
In 2001, another loss; but nevertheless a special Cocktail Party seeing as yours truly had proposed to the future Mrs. Lunch (aka Miss Sensible Dinner) the day before on St. Simons. Brad, Paulson and Richie treated us to a bottle of champagne and dinner the night before. I got the feeling that it was the complete opposite of what would've happened had we been Florida alumni (where they would've eaten all the food, drank all the beer, teased each other's mullets, hit on my fiance', etc.) Georgia folks just have so much more class.
Feeling giddy, having engaged in a few cocktails, the newly engaged Heavy Lunch told his intended that he had a heavy bladder. But it was a long, long way to the Porta-Potties...and there was a TV station with nice tall shrubbery right behind our tailgate! I put my political science degree to use: Washington, D.C. has nothing on me when it comes to leaking to the media.
Little did I know that I was being watched...when I looked into the eyes of the local Pee Police. A short, swarthy man who was visibly upset, he took my driver's license, copied something down in a little notebook, and asked me if I wanted to go to jail. "No, sir," I said. I promised not to do that again, and promptly told my fiance' that I almost got arrested for peeing in the bushes. Feigning embarassment, she responded, "It's a good thing you gave me this ring yesterday". This would be a recurring theme the rest of the season; indeed, the rest of the engagement.
I waited a few minutes and began to warn everybody within earshot about the "pervert in the bushes getting his jollies watching people pee". Needless to say, privacy was restored to the privy hedge at WKRP in Jax...I have yet to hear from either the State of Florida or the rental security company about this incident.
One of my favorite Grizzard stories: Lewis Grizzard once wrote about watching the old Gator Bowl security carry out a Georgia fan who was desperately sucking as much liquor as he could from the surgical tubing he had wrapped around his body. He was discovered when the tubing snaked out of the bottom of his britches leg. Little known factoid: This event may have inspired the guy who later invented the CamelBak. Of course, a Ziploc, some duct tape, and a hot date in a sundress is much less risky.
Here's my point: My little stories are pretty benign when it comes to Cocktail Party legend-making. I'm sure most of you know someone who imbibed a little too much and took a holiday from history during GA/FLA week. It's really no different than any other college football rivalry game...just that the nickname is true to what actually goes on.
As we've seen throughout the country recently, effeminate elite liberal types who went to lacrosse schools and think Dodgeball, Musical Chairs or Tag lower the self-esteem of kids at recess have resorted to their catch-all solution: Thought policing. If you can control the words, maybe you can control what happens eventually. In his never-ending quest to turn Georgia into the "UVA of the Deep South" (read: Better school, sucky football atmosphere) Mikey has tried to sanitize the tailgating at home by stomping on longstanding traditions. He and his comrade at UF have now pressured the gutless wonders at ESPN and CBS Sports to totally refrain from the phrase "Cocktail Party" during broadcasts...or even the reporting of the game.
At this rate, North Campus on gameday will resemble Red Square, soul-less and gray. Wait, that's already happened! To paraphrase Sting, I hope the Florida fans love their children, too.
Does anyone think this will change the behavior? Simply not using the nickname? Puh-leeze.
What is the solution? Just don't let Florida fans drink, for the love of Pete. The UF fan lives all year in a state with mandated watered-down beer. His measly half-Yankee, half-trailer-trash body has built up a tolerance for the Natch Light while auditioning for episodes of "Cops" and "Jerry Springer". He hears someone say, "The World's Largest Outdoor Cocktail Party" at his cousin's UF Alumni party (aka Happy Hour at Tweezer's Bait Shop and Bar) and he shows up at Alltel Stadium with the hard stuff. Next thing you know, UF fans are swinging by their mullets from ceiling fans. Even worse, they're catching their weenies in the zippers of their jean shorts (oddly enough, this happens in Porta-Potties--they call it "indoor plumbing". Generally, the weekend becomes a race to see who can get to That Big Ol' Student Section in the Sky.
Bartender, please cut these people off.
It might not seem like it right now, but I still hate Tech more. Another lesson learned the hard way.
Go Dawgs!
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