At 10:15 he came upstairs scowling and pouting. "Do you remember 2004?" "Parts of it," I replied. I declined to commit in absolute until I determined why he inquired.
"What do you mean parts of it," he shot back.
Prior to him sending ripples of irritability through the formerly placid atmosphere, I sat up in bed reading the latest Fannie Flagg hardback. And sensing his inexplicable discontent, and not wishing to submit to engagement in a heated discussion at bedtime, I continued looking intently at my page.
I explained, "Some things I might choose to remember, some things I might not. What have you been doing downstairs anyway? Why is your face so red? What's wrong with you?"
"You do remember that Georgia played Tennessee in 2004, don't you," he groused.
"Of course. Honey, are you okay?" Although it's rare, I have heard of people losing their minds at my husband's age. Maybe he was experiencing late night sundowner's syndrome.
"Georgia just lost to Tennessee. Can you believe that," he asked, which sharpened my suspicions of early onset dementia.
I stared at him in disbelief and calmly, so as not to upset him, oriented him to reality. "Football season hasn't started yet. Georgia doesn't play until this Saturday, Labor Day weekend. And I don't think they play Tennessee until later in the season." I looked at him to gauge his reaction.
"What are you talking about," he exclaimed. "CSS replayed the 2004 Georgia-Tennessee game tonight."
"Through the entire game, Georgia trails Tennessee, but keeps the score close. You remember this, right? In the final seconds of the game, Georgia has an opportunity to steal it away from the Volunteers. David Green backs off the line of scrimmage and fires a pass to the receiver. I get off the sofa and start yelling for the Dawgs. And then . . . and then . . . you're not going to believe this."
"What?" I queried, in suspense.
"The pass is incomplete and we lose the game. Do you remember it happening that way?" His faced wrinkled with confusion.
"No, but that might be one of the things I chose to forget."
He ranted on. "And we beat Florida that year, according to CSS. Do you remember that?"
"What are you getting at? Do you think CSS and the UT athletic association have plotted together to change the history of SEC football by confusing one University of Georgia fan at a time?"
"With technology today," he replied, emphatically, "it wouldn't be hard to alter the game films. They could do that."
I got out of bed, walked over and felt his forehead. "Yep," I diagnosed, "you're burning up with football fever. I don't want you to watch those reruns anymore if you're just gon'na get sick all over again."
"Whatever." He shrugged me off, annoyed at my giggling. "I'm going to check the 2004 scores on the internet."
"Umm, hmm," I poked, "you better. But I bet those conspirators have already tainted the web, too. There's no telling how wide reaching this egregious act goes. I bet they've even found a way to infiltrate the official scorebooks."
"Man, this is serious," he agreed. "No one better mess with my boys like that. I'll send them on the field to kick some. . ."
At this point, I realized, summer as I knew it had drawn to a close. The time had come to put on my game face and ride the emotional roller coaster of SEC football and weekly AP rankings.
For the sanity of us all, Go Dawgs!