I Wish I Was in Dixie

There are exactly four cities in the United States that my heart aches for on rotation: New York, Atlanta, Nashville and Athens. Don't get me wrong, I love to travel to other cities, love to vacation and visit, love to experience their cultures, their restaurants, their beaches, their monuments, their streets, their music. But these four are the ones I love. Some days, I'm in New York and am dying to be in Nashville. Others, I'm homesick for Atlanta. And Lord knows there were plenty of Georgia days when I ached for the Manhattan skyline.

But today, my heart is longing for Athens.

Athens. There are all kinds of T-shirt sayings that are spinning around in my head right now... things about living a good life and going to Athens when you die... things about Athens getting in your blood and never being the same... things about the best five or six years of your life. Athens. The classic city. The promised land. The best college town in America. Home of Sanford Stadium, The Grit and R.E.M. Athens, with her green North Campus, rows of sorority houses, and Arch that stands tall. Mexicali, Son's, Jittery Joe's, The Grill, Snelling. Georgia Theatre and the 40 Watt.

I spent four glorious years in Athens, living everywhere from a tiny dorm room in Brumby to a Southern mansion on Milledge Ave to a little yellow house with glass doorknobs, hardwood floors and a washing machine on the back porch. I walked to class. I went to date nights and sang "Dixieland Delight." I stayed up all night studying at Waffle House. I developed the richest friendships, grew exponentially in my faith, made the happiest memories, and, somewhere in there, even got a degree.

And I went to football games.

I am quite certain that there is nothing like a fall Saturday in Athens. (That's probably on the back of a T-shirt somewhere, too.) Crisp fall air...or blazing heat or freezing rain, depending on who we're playing. Seas of fans in red and black, with the girls in Sunday best and the boys in red pants and bow ties. Tents, grills, big screen TVs, sweet tea. Pick-up trucks blasting country music and old recordings of Larry Munson.

The action between the hedges. Uga trotting around and laying on his bag of ice. Players fighting through blood, sweat and tears in silver britches. The trumpet blasting the Battle Hymn. Munson's iconic voice reading, "Glory, glory to ole Georgia." Clips playing of Dooley winning the National Championship and Richt winning the SEC title. Even spelling "Georgia" at halftime. The Redcoat band playing, with the tuba section bomping to "Tara's Theme." The excitement of the first touchdown. The devastation of losing to your biggest rival. The hopes that this year will finally be the year.

There is nothing like it on the whole planet.

So, with 18 days left until the first game of the season - which I will be watching from a bar in New York with a sea of Georgia fans-turned-New Yorkers - I am aching, yearning, wishing, longing to be in Athens. Home of my alma mater. Best college town in America. Classic city. Promised land.