I am doing something different, and talking about the sad experiences I feel here at Georgia Southern.

In order to tell this story about me clearly, I need to take us back to almost a year ago where I was a senior in high school thinking about what college I wanted to go to. It might be hard to believe, but there was a time I wasn’t going to go to this school. Now I had just started dating my boyfriend, Ty, and when it was time to get serious about where I wanted to go, we were only dating for two months. And even though we were best friends for a year or so before we dated, it was still all new. I applied and got accepted to Georgia Southern University. And he already decided on a college – thanks to a football scholarship to Valdosta State University. At this point, I was still debating whether to follow him with just a beginner relationship in hand or go to Georgia Southern University to be safe. A few months later as we got more serious, he convinced me to follow through the application to Valdosta State University. I was 99% done with it, I just needed to submit it. I even told my parents that’s what I wanted, and they supported me.

But I just couldn’t do it – not with my logical reasonable thinking. So I left it, and declared myself to be a future Georgia Southern student. And I didn’t really know how to feel. At the time, I thought I was doing what was right for us or maybe it was right for me. And in a relationship, doing something for yourself is probably one of the hardest things to do.

As more and more time went by, our time together was running out. We were going to go from being with each other everyday to hopefully seeing each other one weekend a month. Even talking about it was tough so how were we meant to even experience it? This was our first relationship that we had to do long distance, and we had no clue what to expect. There was no manual on this stuff, and if there was, well I probably should’ve read it.

I knew my boyfriend was secretly hoping that I would change my mind last minute, and present him with the email that I got accepted into Valdosta State University, and pack my bags and start our college life together. And there was a possibility of that happening, it wasn’t too late, and I was contemplating it. But in the end, life isn’t a fantasy, but a reality.

Now, I am on my third month as a freshman college student, specifically as a Georgia Southern student. I decided to stick with my decision to come to Statesboro while he is 162 miles away at Valdosta. It was a tough decision that I made for the both of us that he was highly saddened about (in the manliest way though.)

How am I? Well honestly, I’m not too sure. Some days, I feel at home. Other days, I feel so disconnected with the world.

It isn’t easy, it’s rather difficult. It isn’t fun, it gets boring. It’s not full of happiness, I get sad a lot. It isn’t anything great to be away from the person I love. But each day I am doing what I can to make it bearable. A piece of my heart is away playing his heart out in football. And I am here writing my heart out about us.  I dream of days where we would be experiencing the college life together, where if we wanted to see each other, we would be five-ten minutes away from each other not 185 minutes away.

Georgia Southern is great: the campus is beautiful, the people are great, the professors are amazing.

My boyfriend is great: he’s incontestably sweet, undeniably handsome and overall an amazing human being that I was blessed with.

So what am I supposed to do when my mind wants one thing and my heart wants another? It’s a constant battle that gets tiring, but I manage. Regardless, I don’t regret my decision of being at Georgia Southern because I fell in love with everything here. It’s just a matter on what to do about my future now.

We are taught from an early age that we have to do our best to understand others, to put aside our anger and disagreements and to love one another despite our differences. Learning to see all sides is an essential skill to life and is a healthy way to maintain relationships whether they are romantic or platonic.

That being said, sometimes it’s healthy to acknowledge those differences and break things off with the people who disagree with you. Being open-minded and respectful of other people’s opinions is always an important policy, but learning when to leave a situation for your own health can be worth it, even if it’s very hard.

Getting in fights with friends or loved ones is never easy. You love them, and you don’t want to fight for the sake of your relationship. It’s good to try as hard as you can to keep that relationship because working through hardships can be more than worth it. However, there comes a point when holding on too tightly can be damaging and toxic.

I recently got into a fight with a friend of mine. This was the first time I had ever been involved in something so intense, and for the sake of the friendship that we had developed since meeting each other early in our college career, I tried to accept our differences and move on.

We disagreed on what my friend calls “politics,” and while it could certainly be called that, it was more personal to me and came closer to a discussion about my life. The entire argument, which lasted weeks, felt like a personal attack and was very exhausting for me. My “friend” lived in the same building as me and also hung out in the same friend group, so I would see him almost every day. Having that exposure brought up a lot of negative feelings for me, and I began to actively avoid him and my friends to avoid talking about it. When we did manage to talk again on several occasions, our conversations were strained and left me emotionally raw.

This is what I would describe as an unhealthy relationship: one that hurts you either physically or emotionally. If being with someone drains you or leaves you constantly feeling hurt, then you may want to reconsider your relationship with that person.

After talking things over with my friends, who were watching this happen, they advised me to break things off if he was bothering me so much. Maintaining such a toxic relationship was unhealthy, and it would be better for me to remove myself from it entirely.

That’s what I ended up doing. After a heated phone call, I told my friend how I felt. I also told him that if he was going to continue to attack me, then I couldn’t be his friend anymore. Things had gotten a bit better at that point, but I still felt the best thing to do would be to cut things off. I don’t hang out with him anymore and have small talk with him in the hallway to be civil, but I had officially broken things off with him. It ended up being one of the greatest decisions I’ve ever made. My life drastically improved afterward, and the people around me said they noticed I was happier.

Communication in any relationship is important, especially if someone does or says something that hurts you. In this case, I learned to share my feelings with people who were important to me and work out what was best for my health. Trying to understand others’ feelings is important, but so is trying to understand your own and setting up boundaries to protect yourself. If this is something you have trouble with, seek out a support system. Find other people who you love and trust and ask for advice. Do what makes you comfortable.

Learning to coexist is something I have always advocated. It is important to living peacefully and without too much stress. But sometimes, trying too hard to coexist can have the opposite effect. There is a threshold between healthy and toxic coexistence, and it’s important that we learn where that line is for ourselves.

This Monday just so happens to double as Dictionary Day and the birth date of Noah Webster. He accomplished a great deal in his lifetime, but most notably founded the uber-successful Merriam-Webster dictionary. It was first titled An American Dictionary of the English Language to help differentiate American language and spelling from the British.  

Fortunately, the contents of the dictionary are not set in stone; it is continually changing and updating. The millennial generation has made quite the impact on Webster’s brainchild and I’ve listed a few terms we’ve paved the way for. They have officially been slated in the dictionary as a true, dignified, Scrabble-worthy word.

hive mind

noun

the collective thoughts, ideas, and opinions of a group of people (such as Internet users) regarded as functioning together as a single mind

woke

adjective

aware of and actively attentive to important facts and issues (especially issues of racial and social justice)

humblebrag

verb, transitive + intransitive

to make a seemingly modest, self-critical, or casual statement or reference that is meant to draw attention to one’s admirable or impressive qualities or achievements

• Fun Fact: It is believed by many that the late Harris Wittles, modern day comedian and writer for Parks and Recreation, coined this phrase.

side-eye

noun

a sidelong glance or gaze especially when expressing scorn, suspicion, disapproval, or veiled curiosity

throw shade

US slang

to express contempt or disrespect for someone publicly especially by subtle or indirect insults or criticisms

Dwight Sneathen, associate professor of accounting at Georgia Southern University, was approaching 300 pounds in the summer of 2012, when a seed was planted during his daughter’s high school graduation trip to Orlando. As of September 2017, he has competed in 18 triathlons, the majority of which ended with a spot on the podium.

During the ride home from Orlando, Sneathen said he listened to his wife and two children rave about how awesome the ride was. “He was his normal, jovial self,” said Dwight’s wife, Susan Sneathen. He didn’t let on that missing the ride bothered him at all.

“I spent the whole time standing on the side because I was too fat to get on the ride,” Dwight Sneathen said. “That drove me nuts.” Despite this humiliation, Sneathen continued to gain weight. “When you’re 300 pounds, you deal on a daily basis, weekly basis, monthly basis, with all kinds of little things that just drive you crazy,” Sneathen said.

More than a year had passed since the trip to Harry Potter World when Dwight Sneathen heard an advertisement for a health program on a radio show.

“For 20 years, I watched him try different programs and continue to gain weight,” Susan Sneathen said. That was until Dwight Sneathen came home to tell his wife about the new health program. “I was standing with my back to him and something in me said, ‘but what if this is the thing, and you shoot him down’?” Susan Sneathen said.

“Two weeks in, I was blown away,” she said. After five months, in May of 2014, he had lost 70 pounds.

Dwight Sneathen on his bike. (Photo Courtesy of Don Borowski)

Around the same time as his weight loss, Sneathen said Bradley Odum, former owner of Swim.Bike.Run. in Statesboro, wanted to train a group of people for a triathlon. In August 2014, Sneathen competed in his first sprint triathlon, which consists of a 250-meter pool swim, an 11-mile bike ride and a 3.1-mile run.

“I’ve never been an athletic guy,” Sneathen said. A combination of being a self-proclaimed “obsessive compulsive” and the fellowship in the triathlon community fostered a love for the sport, Sneathen said. Since 2014, he has participated in a number of triathlons; four in 2015, five in 2016 and eight in 2017.

“Having the target, for me, there’s always that impetus,” Sneathen said.

“He never complains,” said Don Borowski, current owner of Swim.Bike.Run. “He just embraces the ‘suck’.” Borowski and Sneathen, who both share a love for triathlons, quickly became best friends. “They always say when you die, if you’ve got five good friends you’ve done well,” Borowski said. “Dwight’s at the top of that food chain.”

Sneathen (left) and Borowski (right) relax after covering 70.3 miles. (Photo Courtesy of Don Borowski)

Borowski and Sneathen train together regularly and recently competed in the IRONMAN 70.3 Augusta triathlon on Sept. 24. It was Sneathen’s first time competing in a race of that distance: a 1.2-mile swim, 56-mile bike ride, and a 13.1-mile run. “He jogged right in with a smile on his face,” Susan Sneathen said.

Dwight Sneathen is quick to respond to any praise of his accomplishments.

“I’m just a fat boy in recovery.”

The score was no different when Berrett squeezed his 5’10 180-pound muscular frame through the doors of Gnats Landing and sat down at an unbalanced table on the patio. Each time the seventh year Georgia Southern senior opens his mouth to speak through his two chipped front teeth, revealed to be a misguided beer bottle injury, you’d be remiss not to tune in. It is these stories that separate his running and gunning past from the charitable, reasonably upstanding, young father and business man he is today.

“When I first walked into Statesboro I was a fucking madman dude. I was killing it,” Berrett reminisced, “This was back when the Boro was the Boro. The drinks were cold and my game was colder. That’s when I really started networking with all these people. I wasn’t doing it consciously either, I was just having a good time.”

What followed were years blurred by a lengthy series of arrests and cash-grab schemes that saw him on the wrong side of the law, but growing increasingly more notorious in the community. Berrett claims his arrest record was only eclipsed by his body count as he womanized his way through various circles.

“I’d been loved back then, sure, but I never let it get to my head,” said Berrett with a laugh, “I never let these chicks get too close because I was too far into the hunt at that point. I was happier while I wasn’t confined.”

That was until he met his long-time partner Brianne*, a full-blooded local from Effingham. After meeting at The Plaza, like the start of every great one-night romance, he said something changed. He was ready to try something different with the soft spoken southern belle.

“When I first met Chuck, we were both young and wild and he’s driven me crazy along the way, but I always knew he would be the man he should be,” Brianne said thoughtfully, “He has a real heart in him. I saw that even back then.”

Three years later, this past June, he would find himself sleepless in a hospital room at East Georgia Medical Center. With Brianne draped in a customary blue hospital gown, he held his firstborn son.

“We didn’t even find out until she was six months along, six months man,” Berrett recounted with disbelief, “So I had three months to buckle down. I walked [graduated] in May. He came a month early in June, healthy as an oxen, and that’s when I really pumped the breaks.”

He’d tried giving up the bottle the year previous, only to have it creep back into his life, but since the first day he found out about the pregnancy he dawned the mask of a teetotaler. It was the same booze that landed him in lockup time and time again and claimed more of his being than just his front teeth.

Berrett claims to have 10 arrests, all misdemeanors, ranging from the trivial to the more ludicrous. The North Georgia native claims a bar fight here, a DUI there, a couple of punched through car windows, and more than a few MIPs, Statesboro’s keepsake. But if track records are to be believed, and they are in fact criminal convictions, then Berrett has an obstructed history of violence that he isn’t letting on.

“I never liked fighting, but motherfuckers are going to just get up sometimes. They see me walk in, and I’m a big dude okay, and they’re going to get some pretty stupid ideas,” said Berrett, now staunchly serious in tone.

Berrett himself is hard pressed to describe his violent tendencies aside from the natural male instinct to assert their dominance. He equates it to a combination of drunken gusto and doing a service for those who cannot defend themselves. While not described as an inherently violent person by his close friends, it seems that all the nights on the town presented ample opportunities to either defend himself or a weaker counterpart.

Things weren’t always this way for him, the crooning and the excesses, however, they started at a young age. One of his earliest memories was on his first day of school in the third grade. A teacher asked the class to quiet down so she could call roll and instead of complying, Berrett said he stood up and pterodactyl screeched as loud as he could. Then, when the dust had settled and the laughter tapered off, he relished the attention he had received as he was shipped off to the principal’s office.

“Will never knew when to quit, he never has really,” said his intrepid mother Rebecca*, “It’s caused us a whole lotta’ grief bringing him up, but we wouldn’t have him any other way. He’s our wild child and led his brothers by example I suppose.”

The first-born son to his mother Rebecca and father Chuckie*, his namesake, it seemed that he was groomed from an early age to be the man he would later become. After losing his high-paying job with Bell South, Chuckie spent nearly three years in the mid-2000s pushing a broom at Lowes for $12 an hour. The fall from grace was hard on the family. The lake house was the first to go, then the financial problems worsened to the point that he remembers his mom pulling him aside to tell him they may have to move to a local trailer park soon.

Luckily, that day never came and the family has since rebounded from the tougher times. But the memory has never fleeted for Chuck.

“What we went through when the housing market sort of fell apart back then, that put the drive in me to never end up like that again,” said Berrett, “Back then I used to watch this Disney movie all the time, Blank Check, and this kid gets this blank check from this criminal and has all the money in the world to buy whatever he wants. Kid has houses and cars and a water slide. That’s what I’ve always wanted: To be independent and tax free.”

The drive to be self-sufficient bled into his teenage years. He soon began working multiple jobs along with wrestling and playing football for West Forsyth High School. That’s also when he picked up partying and putting as many notches on his bedpost as he could. The thrill of sneaking out and the reoccurring theme of conquering something, in this case women, gave him a profound sense of self-worth.

Of all the things he dreamed of in his teenage state of grandeur, being older than his years made its way to the pinnacle.  With that, he started working at his first bar as soon as he turned 18. The problem was that being surrounded by temptation didn’t stop after he got off work.

Later that year he completed his freshmen tenure at Georgia Southern before being forced to take a year off. Instead of taking a gap year like the well-to-do higher class, Berrett took the time off to spend 30 days in a Clark County jail for multiple probation violations. From his time behind bars, the self-described sufferer of “police-TSD” said that he began to think about the strain he was putting on his relationships.

“I remember I got locked up for fighting one time and got transferred to Pelham County, real country place, because of overcrowding,” Berrett said, “The guards didn’t have guns. They said if I wanted to go I could go, but the locals would kill a nice white boy like me before I made it to the bus stop. That’s when I really thought for the first time, “Man what the fuck am I doing? How did I end up in this place?””

In fact, his behavior had reached such a breaking point that he cut his arm so deeply on a car window during that fight that he nearly bled out on the way to the hospital. Not to be deterred altogether, he decided it may just be time to tune down his partying instead of quitting wholesale.

That’s when Berrett, at this point in his early 20s, decided to try his hand at a number of entrepreneurial ventures. From buying and stocking gumballs machines, to selling scrap metal, to flipping junk cars for profit, his name started making the rounds around town.

At any number of businesses in the Statesboro area, especially the saloons, you’ll hear the same thing. Berrett, ever-moving, had just been there. Like some physical memory, he had been around just the other day. While in actuality it may have been months or even years since his last visit. With each mention of his name, some mutual experience is to be expected.

The 25-year-old can’t claim to have Blank Check riches to his name just yet, but what he has managed to build these past few years is nothing to sneeze at. Along with a friend and sepsis survivor, Berrett started a charity to help raise money to combat the world’s leading killer by infection. The newly accredited charity also serves as a platform for the organization to teach CPR and speak to regional grade schools about preventing the affliction.

After the recent birth of his son, Berrett has settled into a role as a stay-at-home dad while he searches for new opportunities to curb his capitalist leanings. He probably won’t have to look far, as he claims to have several lucrative offers for six-figure salary positions in sales in various cities around the south.

After graduating from Georgia Southern in May, after seven years of service to the school and community, Berrett says he wouldn’t have his life be any other way.

The fall from the top doesn’t have to be all the way to the bottom, but if you do reach the deepest part of the pit, you can find other valleys to climb.

“There were some casualties along the way [of his life], but I’m doing what I can to make up lost time,” Berrett said, pausing for effect, “Humans aren’t that different. You and me and her. We can run and jump, but what separates us is the work you do to better yourself. The Disney movie life doesn’t come overnight.”

*Names have been changed at the request of the subject, all other details remain factual as stated.

Marrying Your Sweetheart

Legend has it that if you and your significant other walk around Sweetheart Circle three times, you will get married. With Sweetheart Circle being the site for many marriage proposals and weddings, our campus’s gorgeous circle is bound to attract at least a few lovebirds.

Tyson Neurath and Jackson Corbin, who both come from a long line of Eagles, have proven this legend as true. The engaged couple are former high school sweethearts and they always knew they were meant to come to Georgia Southern.

Corbin said, “I think we both always knew that we were going to go to Georgia Southern eventually.” He had heard about the legend in a walking class and on a hot day in the winter (the usual for South Georgia), the two decided to sweat out their walk around Sweetheart.

Neurath said, “We always heard you had to do it with a willing heart, so I was trying so hard to be like my heart is willing to do this.” The two completed the three laps around Sweetheart Circle and offered some advice for relationships in college. Neurath said, “Be patient with one another and support one another… support each other no matter what the other wants to do.”

Corbin says communication is also key in a relationship especially since college is a time where schedules can be different and rumors can get started. The two are getting married in October so it shines true that Eagles can turn into lovebirds.

Freedom’s Flight

One of Georgia Southern’s symbols is our eagle, specifically Freedom. Kicking off a football game with Freedom is a crucial part of our game day experience. While an eagle first appeared at a GS football game in 1998, Freedom has been flying high with us since 2007.

Samantha Shultz, a sophomore multimedia film production major, has been watching Freedom’s flight since she was a child. She said, “As a student, it fills me with pride, not every university has [this].” Students of GS look forward to seeing Freedom, and the roar of the crowd, when he flies is like not other. Freedom is not just a symbol for our school, but he is a symbol for the students as well.

GEORGIA! SOUTHERN!

When someone yells “Georgia” in a crowded place, it’s a given that some soul will yell “Southern” back. It is a testament of a true fan and school spirit. This phrase is not just yelled in public, but it is also chanted at football games.

Lane Dasher, freshman exercise science major and cheerleader, said, “There is no greater thrill than the Georgia Southern fans showing school spirit by chanting our university’s creed, Georgia Southern!” Dasher knows first hand how the crowd reacts when the signs are brought out, and it is time for the crowd to show they are True Blue fans.

Our traditions at Georgia Southern are what make us unique. You just can’t get this kind of history and atmosphere anywhere else!  

A winning combination of luck and curiosity answered that question rather quickly. The car consistently parks in the back lot near the Center for Wildlife Education, and fills a faculty and staff parking spot. A trip inside the Wildlife Center, and an admittedly odd request from the woman at the front desk produced the name of the owner, Wildlife Center Director, Steve Hein.

Hein, in every essence, fits this car to a T. One does not simply own an International Scout II. Hein hunts with the car six months out of the year and most notably, travels with our dear eagle, Freedom The Eagle, in the back. As it stands, Hein has been the proud owner of the car for 32 years.

“It doesn’t particularly move as smoothly as it use to move. It’s certainly not flashy. It’s better viewed from afar, but it’s been with me for a long time,” Hein said.

I had the privilege of taking the Scout for a test drive around Sweetheart Circle and can attest to the not-so-smooth movement. Turning the wheel requires some muscle, and the car pulls back and forth on the road with a mind of it’s own.

In a way, the car is exactly what one would think a Wildlife Center Director would drive. However, Hein attributes his job, his Master Falconer background, his business degree from Georgia Southern, being a wildlife artist, and his vehicle to one word: consilience.

Hein explained, “It’s the coming together of seemingly unrelated things. I’m very fortunate, but any notion that it was thought-out would be giving me far too much credit.”

A lot of love has gone into keeping the car up and running. The International Scout II has undergone a motor rebuild, two new transmissions, and two paint jobs, Hein said. He has become accustomed to the stares, questions, and compliments from passerby. However, to Hein, it is simply a car, a necessity, and a part of his life.

“I never envision it to become iconic, to be so identifiable; It’s a yellow, 40-year-old vehicle with an eagle in the back. It’s hard to go unnoticed,” Hein admitted.

Next time you’re trudging through lot 42, give the car a glance, if you haven’t already. Those strings of consilience are coming together in each of our lives and the car is a testament to one aspect of a life well lived, and now it makes sense.

“I see you girl” – Riley Curry

An interesting enough tidbit, “I” named hurricanes have a history of making a lasting impression. On the long list of historical hurricane names, more “I” named hurricanes have been retired than any other letter. 

When it arrived, Irma sent the southeastern U.S. into a innate state of panic and confusion. Over 6 million people were ordered to evacuate Florida, potentially making this the largest evacuation in U.S history. The process doubled the largest recorded evacuation in the U.S., with about 3 million fleeing in anticipation of Hurricane Rita in 2005.

But as for Georgia Southern, it really only brought out the best in us.

I decided to stay in Statesboro and ride out the storm. As the NOAA updates consistently shifted Irma’s track in a more western direction, I gradually felt better about my decision and chose to catalog Irma’s encroaching nearness.

When the school’s extended cancellation was finally announced on Thursday, it was an eerily beautiful day. Friday was more the same, with crystal clear blue skies. By mid-day Saturday, I could see bands of clouds taking over and by the evening the cloud coverage was significant.

A #nofilter warning has been issued.

Sunday 9/10

12:11 p.m. 

As Irma is ripping past the Florida Keys as a Category 4 hurricane, we still only have overcast skies covering our area.  

7:14 p.m.

At this point, it’s been raining for several hours and there is no end in sight! Irma is currently a Category 2, 494 miles away in Fort Myers, Florida. The temperature remains in the low 60s, causing me to turn the heater on in my car for the first time in months. Tis’ the season?

Monday 9/11

When I woke up around 9 a.m. I had no power. My biggest concern at that point was how to make a cup of coffee. A luxury problem, I know. Long story short, this did not work. A car plug-in adapter is not strong enough to power a coffee pot, just in case you were wondering.

12:37 p.m.

Strong winds and a heavy downpour from the remnants of hurricane Irma unfold, which has now been downgraded to a tropical storm.

5:08 p.m.

I still have no power, but the rain has subsided and the sun is trying her best to make an appearance.

6:20 p.m.

I get in the car to assess the damage at GS. The Bulloch County curfew is still in effect, but at this point I’m getting stir-crazy from being cooped up in a powerless house.

Sweetheart Circle had certainly seen much better days.

After scoping out the scene, the hunt for food began, which is quite literally what it sounds like: A hunt. The town was almost completely shut down. We circled what I’m sure to be the entire perimeter of Statesboro and found five restaurants open. Seasons of Japan had a line out the door and along the sidewalk, while Olive Garden had much of the same. Hardee’s had a line of cars that wrapped around the drive thru twice, and Longhorn’s parking lot resembled that of graduation day. My crew finally landed at Little Italy out of desperation and the restaurant was nearly standing-room only. When I arrived home about 9:30 p.m., the power was restored.

Thus, the Irma Statesboro experience came to a close. The loss of power, struggle for coffee, and hunt for food when I had plenty to eat in my own kitchen are such small aggravations in the light of the sheer devastation Irma brought to Florida. My heart, thoughts, and prayers are with those who were truly affected by this catastrophic storm.

“Later, Mitzy!” he quips, using the last bit of corporate structured happiness he can muster.

Mitzy, a temp from Boise, smiles a toothy smile, “Bye Gus! See you on Monday!”

Climbing into his Nissan Sentra, Gus lights a Marlboro Southern Cut and presses shuffle on the Talking Heads Spotify page. Another work week was over, another week older, closer to Valhalla and some semblance of peace.

By the time he weasels through traffic and reaches the front door of his one-bedroom apartment it’s dusk. Shouldering the door open, he’s greeted by Blue, his English Cocker Spaniel.

“Hey Blue-boy! Ahhh-pup-pup-pup. What’s for dinner pal-o? The usual?” Gus says with gusto.

Blue stares blankly, panting.

—–

Despite the clutter in the kitchen, Gus, wearing his patented “Kiss the Eagle” apron, skillfully maneuvers his way around. He drops a pinch of pepper, a squirt of soy sauce, and some blackening seasoning into the boiling pot of rabbit soup. After a while, the timer pops off and he fills his bowl with a few hearty scoops and grabs an O’Doul’s from the fridge.

The old Eagle sets his meal down by his easy chair and peers through his extensive collection of taped Georgia Southern games. After a short deliberation, he decides on the 1990 national championship game against Nevada and tries to blow off the dust, only for a sharp whistle to come through his beak instead.

Blue sits up alarmed from the shrill sound and yelps in agnst.

“Sorry buddy! I… I forgot,” Gus says sheepishly. Instead, he uses the sleeve from his pajama top to wipe down the seams of the tape and pops it in. That’s when his eyes flash. He’s washed in nostalgia.

From the street, you can hear the synchronized chants from Gus aligned with the cadence of the cheerleaders coming through his surround-sound speakers.

“Ohhhhhh-oh! ONE MORE TIME!”, he yells with a crowd of 23,000 brothers in arms. Gus waves his arms wildy as he mimics his movements on the sidelines of that field nearly 30 years ago.

Three decades before the turmoil of another losing season. Three decades before he had to take on a second job after a series of pay cuts. Three decades before he had to talk down Freedom The Eagle from jumping from the water tower after the loss against New Hampshire.

But as the light from the screen reflects against his framed posters of heroes of Georgia Southern lore and shadows cast across a bust of Erk Russell’s face, Gus never takes his attention from the game. His silent problems stay muted. He is patient with the bad calls and sits checked in his chair because in this old dance, he knows the next move.

With every first down he comes alive, his unwavering focus broken only for a moment, and he acts out another bit from that day. With every touchdown he leaps up and into a chicken walk as he claps his hands over his head, looking like a young Mick Jagger at the Hollywood Bowl.

Scanning the crowd as the camera pans, he calls out the names of friends lost to time.

“Jack Wittles, you salty dog! Wonder where that guy is..” he tapers off.

“Sarah Rosen. Ha! Best SGA president this school has ever seen,” he rattles, fearless of any nighttime jogger or passerby that may be listening.

And as the score goes up for the good guys and he knows the taped memory is fading, he only grows more emphatic. Even still, he never once complains about the bad throws or the cheap hits, knowing it was all part of the cosmic process to win the title.

When the final buzzer sounds and he squawks with ecstasy, he lets the moment stay in the air for a while. He sits patiently with his beak ajar in a smile and the insects outside hum the GSU fight song when the audio from the tape cuts out from years of dust erosion.

The screen turns black, and yet he continues to sit with only the chorus of bugs as company.

Five or ten minutes pass before he finally stands to take his bowl to the sink and get Blue another blanket as he rests in the corner.

Hums of the outside continue to ring out soundly as creature-darkness takes over the halls as he turns the lights off behind him. Before long, Gus is sitting on the edge of his bed and picks a piece of lint off his pant leg, staring at it keenly, almost mournfully, before walking it over to the trash can. Relenting, he finally crawls into bed, but not before kissing his six title rings and hitting the last light.

The alarm sounds early Saturday morning, a college students dawn, around 8:30 A.M. You press snooze once, maybe twice, but the excitement for what’s to come on this glorious day in Statesboro is enough to lift you up and out of bed. If it’s not, a game day breakfast-in-bed mimosa will sure do the trick.

Will you put on a blue flowy dress, a white jersey, or possibly a yellow button down and khakis? Whatever the attire, male or female, southern style and trendy flare is sure to power through and have fans dressed in their game day best.

Ladies grab their game day buttons, men snag a 12-pack from the Fast & Easy, and everyone will be on their way to the pregame for actual game, aka, the tailgate.

When you attend a university that has coined the phrase, “We pregame harder than you play,” you know Saturday’s are no joke for True-Blue Georgia Southern fans. We wake up early, we start early, and we end late (if we’re lucky).

The Recreational Activity Center (RAC) and the Performing Arts Center (PAC) always open their lots for families, alum, students, and friends to set up tents and fire up the grills. You can also find fans in the grassy areas around the stadium, alongside the streets, and really wherever there’s room to stand.

Greek Row is a lively spot for members and friends of the Greek community. You’ll find the left side of Olympic Boulevard swarmed with people pouring in and out of each house, loud music occasionally accompanied by live bands, and an energy unlike any other Greek atmosphere in Georgia.

The homes on Robin Hood Trail, directly across from the stadium, are equally as packed with students tailgating the big game, who can conveniently cross the street and take a seat in the stands.

Before you know it, your senses will be overwhelmed.

The aroma of grilled hotdogs and hamburgers filling your nostrils;

The sea of blue and gold taking over every inch of the streets.

The chants of the famous Eagle Shout-Out, “Georgia…Southern!” heard from every corner, simply because there’s just nothing quite like tailgating at Georgia Southern.

Visitors from out of town come just to experience it, alumni make their way back to reminisce on the good ole’ days, and we get to live it every single home-game Saturday. We are blessed with the prettiest little stadium in America, rich traditions unlike anywhere else, and school spirit that’ll continue long after our days here are over.

Are you ready yet? Our first home game (and tailgate) of the season will be this Saturday, September 9, against the New Hampshire Wildcats! Kickoff is at 6:00 P.M. and the game will be aired on ESPN3.