This is my favorite time of year. Fall. College football. Dove hunts. Pig roasts with blue grass bands in the country. My favorite experience of the year, better than Christmas, is my first trip to Charlottesville to watch a football game. Driving up from Richmond, I start to see the Blue Ridge about 7 miles from town. My anticipation grows. I park the car and swing by my old fraternity house, St. Anthony Hall, and see nice looking boys with their hot dates. Short skirts and cowboy boots. “Hello, Mr. Smith,” they say. I love how things haven’t changed a bit and how polite these young people are. I then walk across the storied Grounds, down the Lawn and through the portals of the timeless Palladian architecture designed by “Mr. Jefferson.” Every step brings back a memory. With a prideful heart, I am absolutely giddy. I run into scores of people I know, but don’t see very often. With all of them, there is a story or two of something we did years ago, and we just laugh when we see each other. I round the corner, past the Range and the old Law School, Clark Hall, which encloses a giant mural of “nekid” Romans having a good time. I am in a “nekid Roman” mood, and only a few steps from Scott Stadium. I take a left by the Engineering School. All of a sudden the Blue Ridge are in their full hue, vivid, and an embracing aesthetic. Now, I can hear the crowd. I can feel the excitement. I am so jacked I want to rush on the field and tackle an opponent, especially if he is from a Commie school, like Duke. And then it happens. It always happens. I smell bourbon. Everywhere. I have reached absolute Nirvana and couldn’t be happier.
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