November 16, 2004

We Remember Them

GAINESVILLE, Fla. – Paper and cardboard debris rained down on the stands here Friday night from the fireworks. Gator Growl producers learned a lesson by having pyrotechnics placed on the walkways outside of the stadium, but the dumb luck of a light south wind treated everyone in the southern sections of Ben Hill Griffin Stadium to explosive drizzle, not to mention some Growl-goers coughing through the explosives’ smoke..

Growl before that was a scream. Dane Cook and Bill Engvall were just fucking hilarious. The couple to our left cringed every fucking time Cook used the word ‘fuck.’ It was somewhere between 17 and 30 fucking times Cook dropped the F-bomb in the first 10 fucking minutes of his fucking show. Unfuckingbelievalbe, but in the end, who the fuck really cares? He was, after all, funny as fuck.

Some of the skits were pretty funny, too. Never would’ve thunk it, but the Growl crew found a way to pick fun at just about everyone, from Georgia Bulldogs, Tennessee Volunteers, President Bush and even some Gators. My personal favorite of the videotaped skits was the Santa Fe Barbie. She will transfer. Really. Soon.

But I think one of the poignant moments was at the beginning of the show when the colors were presented by veterans of the Korean War to current members of the armed forces. During the transfer of the colors a video montage of military Gators deployed overseas was played over the scoreboard video display. It served to remind everyone that right then, during the offensive in Falluja called Operation Phantom Fury, soldiers, Marines and sailors were walking into the mouth of the dragon.

When the comedians finished, the final dig at Florida’s 2004 football season finished, the dawn of a new football era proclaimed and the silence of the end of the human entertainment portion of Gator Growl billowing in the air, the fireworks banged to a start.

People all around us complained through the fireworks finale. All the crap getting in their hair, the smoke clogging their lungs was just too much for these people to take. Bits of the shells’ remains were pretty small, but tangling in their hair and getting in their eyes.

But right then, right when we were sitting in the west stands, members of our armed forces were really getting shot at during Phantom Fury. They were ducking behind brick walls, kicking in doors, dodging sniper rounds, clearing houses, driving past boxes that might turn out to be roadside bombs. They were taking their lives in their hands in our names. They were the ones really under fire and all we had to do was sit and watch a fireworks display.

The noises were the same. The explosions, the blasts might look and sound the same as a chemical tank round hitting its target. But the debris falling on us was pretty harmless. It wasn’t hot and didn’t burn anyone. It didn’t leave a hole where bodily fluids could leak out. The destructive portions of the show exploded at a safe distance from the audience. All we had to do was sit and watch and enjoy…and think of them; the boys in the ditches taking cover and fighting building to building in Falluja. They fight for us, so our political leaders tell us, but they fight. They fight to accomplish their assigned mission, but after the first bullets fly they fight for each other, and for survival.

It’s our duty to always remember them regardless the missions they are assigned and whose political agenda they’re carrying out. Our memory of them is their survival. Drive down your safe road, in your safe community. Go to your safe grocer and shop. Leave your home in safety and go to your safe workplace. But remember them. Our memory of them is their survival.

- Rich