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By B.J. Bennett
SouthernPigskin.com Senior Editor
SouthernPigskin.com Senior Editor B.J. Bennett continues his original series on college football in the south. Follow us on Twitter at Twitter.com/SouthernPigskin
Down Here VI is the sixth installment of Bennett's continuing series on southern college football. Click to read Down Here I, Down Here II, Down Here III, Down Here IV or Down Here V. Email Bennett your southern college football thoughts at .
Was visiting with my mother Monday night, a long-time southern football fanatic with roots as deep as a Savannah, Georgia oak tree. We were watching Monday Night Football, yes my mother and I, and talking about the weekend that was. My dad was asleep. A little background information on mom. As I have mentioned in previous columns, she grew up in Central Florida, a middle child tomboy that split a large family of Bulldogs, Gators, Seminoles and Yellow Jackets. In college, she dated an Auburn Tiger lineman (fear not Alabama fans, he is not my father). In elementary school she broke her kneecap in a game of tackle football. The culprit was a future Florida Gator linebacker. She grew up in the same neighborhood as the people who invented Gatorade. She stood on dumpsters as a small child watching the Gator Bowl over an eight-foot fence. She was high school buddies with All-SEC talent Willie McClendon, the great Georgia Bulldog.
Mom is at the center of any football argument in the family. It's gotten to the point where I won't watch games with her. Don't let the 5'2'' frame and sniffle fool you. Her last name might be Bennett, but her first name might as well be Cornelius. Think Patrick Willis with glasses and a fanny pack.
She really does have a growing reputation. Already known, feared and respected within the family, it's gotten to the point where coaches ask me how she is when they call. Florida State running backs coach and former NFL star Dexter Carter calls her mom. Seriously.
She makes fun of my dad, a 6'2'' military officer for not being intense enough when watching games. She argues with grown men in sports bars. Dad once had to get between her and another fan when she almost started an upper deck brawl in the Orange Bowl. Seriously again.
Mom loves football and, as the family linebacker, loves to engage any daring fullback in the open field. Around the house, we don't dare challenge her stature. At work and in her social circles, she's viewed as the expert, ironic considering her son owns a football website (wink, wink). She gets her passion for college football from her mother. It's a family tradition of sorts, like Hank, Jr. minus the bottles and flasks. Sometimes you can see my grandmother in my mother, not when she talks, not when she smiles; rather when she cheers. Their styles? Hilariously similar. Their fervror? As deep as their bond.
My grandmother, who currently resides in a nursing home in West Georgia, is one of the most fun, quirky people in the history of civilization. A few years ago, she would watch the family young'uns and wear them out. My brother and I wouldn't want to spend the night with our friends. We wanted to stay with grandma. Dealing with a debilitating injury that has left her as a shell of her former self, she was someone everyone fell in love with. Mee-maw as we call her (how southern is that?), was Lewis Grizzard, Bear Bryant and Jimmy Buffett molded into a Mel Brooks movie character with egregious earrings and a gaudy purse.
An overzealous Florida Gator fan, Meemaw loved Steve Spurrier and Danny Wuerfful. I mean loved. She called Wuerfful "Danny Boy" and literally called him "our cousin" when talking about him at family functions. As for Spurrier, she called him "Stevie Boy". An active socialite, Jenny Lee was well-known in the community. She volunteered at the hosptial, was invovlved in every non-profit organization listed in the phone book and was a fixture at Chamber of Commerce events. When you asked people if they knew her, they responded by saying her name with a rising pitch in their voice.
"Who, Jee--NNYYY?" they would ask with a smile.
That type of person.
I'll literally never forget her Saturday gameday attire. Meemaw had orange reebok's she cut the toes out of and made into flipflops. She had white capri pants with Gator emblems patterned all over them. She would wear an orange Florida shirt, a beaded necklace with a huge Gator fixture hanging at the bottom and bright UF earrings. She was as tan as a leather couch as she spent 3-4 hours a day laying out by the pool in the hot South Georgia sun. Oddly enough, she made the getup look good. She lived with us while I was in high school, and she would strut out of her room shaking orange pom-poms singing "Go Gators...Woo...Woo...Woo." Then she had this very distinct giggle that would always follow.
It was the type of sequence that would make you laugh, shake your head in disbelief and want to give her a huge hug all at once.
Meemaw was the perfect fan. She loved her Gators so much. She would wince when there was an injury on the field and hold her hands together out of concern. At the same time, however, she would openly root for injuries, minor mind you, for Florida's opponents. It was funny because she would sheepishly, quietly admit she wanted the opposing star player to get hurt, all while slowly looking around while she said it as if she was committing a huge sin and didn't want God to hear.
But she supported the Gators. Win, lose or draw, she proudly wore her Florida gear and she never talked bad about the players or coaches. Blasphemy. She talked of them like family and used phrases like, "I'm so proud of them...", "Well, they are trying their hardest..." and "Those poor boys...". Never criticism. Never harsh commentary. Just support and concern. True, honest support and concern.
Mom is exactly the same in her enthusiasm, a little different in her style. Maybe Meemaw mellowed with age and I never saw her aggressive phase, but mom is a more, um, active fan. More rational than my father, but also more intense, she is strong in her football opinions. Mom has broken one bone as an adult, it came after slamming her wrist on a table while watching a game.
My mother and my grandmother are both great people and awesome football fans. They are the epitome of all of the southern football stereotypes; my grandmother in her Gator garb and lipstick, my mother in her backwards cap and shoulder pads. It's funny, but my pigskin development can be credited directly to the women in my family. As I have said before, mom let me miss school after our favorite team lost the weekend prior, let me skip class on National Signing Day and would stand for hours, arguing with dad about the significance of the interaction, while we chased down football stars for autographs after games.
Recently married, my wife is getting the indoctrination into the family. She was a football fan growing up, but she just got thrown into the mix like a true freshman quarterback on the road in the SEC. Needless to say, she's learning on the go, but is coming along. Already, she's been to three different bowl games, a conference championship game, and probably two dozen regular season games. Earlier this season, she made a penalty observation during a game and I about choked on my nachos.
She and mom are good friends. In the weeks leading up to the wedding, my brother and I actually made fun of mom because we had never seen her act girly, for lack of a better phrase, before in our lives. Even linebackers need an off-season, I guess.
I like writing about things that are true. Commentary that comes from the heart is always the most poignant and most insightful. What prompted this story, actually, was the fact that mom switched the TV to a sitcom during Monday Night Football. I about choked on my nachos, part II. I told her when it happened how stunned I was and that a column was needed. Luckily, it was a professional game. Had it been a college game, I would have called the doctor. Anyway mom, here you go.
It's funny to think about, but I'm a product of two unique women absolutely obsessed college football and all the history, tradition and pageantry that comes with it. In my family, one where football brings us all together, it's two loving women who have shown me, at least in terms of knowing my priorities and fortifying my passions, how to be a man.
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Comments
Nice story, thank you for sharing it. I’ve really enjoyed these Down Here stories.
Good stuff. This is going to make a great book one day....do you need a publicist? Seriously? 
Great story!!!!!!!
Is that some of the Bennett Family in the picture above ?????
Make Yourself Heard
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