It is not difficult to describe the palpable excitement of a Gators game day here in Gainesville. Imagine the day you were born and the first time you looked into your mother's eyes. The true and immediate comfort. The sense of belonging. Game day is like that, but with more orange.
People who do not usually mix are at arms length to lend a helping hand, pick up a fallen comrade and lead a thousand-man cheer.
With such a massive celebration, Gators everywhere were partaking in the revelry with delightful abandon in myriads of ways. Where were you?
5 hours to kickoff - UF Bookstore
One could blissfully ignore the sorry state of the economy at the UF Bookstore. Gator gear was selling out faster than Private Butz sold out to Lt. Aldo Raine in "Inglourious Basterds." The No. 1 selling item in the store? According to employee Brett Estenoz, 20, it's the coveted No. 15 jersey.
4 hours to kickoff - The "Pool-bus" House
After some caffeine intake, I headed over to a place I know has some excitement. The infamous "pool-bus" crew are hanging out with, as usual, a harem of scantily-clad girls, and they're playing their own particular brand of beer pong called "beam to the face." These mid-20's, ex-frat boys are wild, but welcoming. Due to recent zoning complications, the bus is only back for a "daytime rendezvous," and they tell me adamantly and repeatedly they plan to move it tomorrow. The inside of the pool-bus house is carpeted with women's underwear and beer bottles. Inside, the living room is adorned with the classic deer head, a stripper pole and the obligatory flat screen. Picture "Animal House" with more tattoos and less clothes.
3 hours to kickoff - Norman Hall
The field in front of Norman has been transformed into a used car lot, and Brian Lott, 23, is its salesman. Clad in an orange jacket, blue tie and blue pants that he bought special-order from China, he's ready to party. Bleary-eyed, middle-aged couples sit next to their inflatable Gators and watch ESPN under the comfortable shade of their gazebos while sipping Coronas. These are professional tailgaters, but I want more.
2 hours 10 minutes to kickoff - Flavet field
After serious consideration, I decide to crash the Sigma Alpha Epsilon (lion frat) party. They have a live band that I can hear from the field, where families are roasting hot dogs and playing an impromptu pickup dodgeball game. A man I can only imagine as "Uncle Diego" has obviously had a few too many and is way too into the game. He's scaring the kids.
2 hours to kickoff - The Lion Frat
You would think it would be harder to sneak into a frat party, but I enter unnoticed. This place has a huge open courtyard with balconies dotting the walls like a fancy hotel. Moms and girls are everywhere, and everyone is largely ignoring the band and its sexy brunette singer. Two open bars and the quote of the century: "Don't shoot your meat man! It's Satur umm… I mean Game Day!" I could get used to this, but I duck out of there before someone notices me and I get beat up.
1 hour 30 minutes to kickoff - Student Ghetto
I'm looking for the craziest party in Gainesville. Two blocks behind St. Augustine Catholic Church, I find it.
There are six college-aged hooligans jumping up and down on the roof of a black Chevy Z-71. It has a keg in the back and more than 50 people are crowded around it chanting, "Orange! Blue! Orange! Blue!" My two companions do keg stands while we sing them happy birthday, and we all become blurry, fast friends.
30 minutes to kickoff - O'Connell Center
The O'Connell center is the Magic Kingdom of Gator Country. Urban Meyer is Walt Disney and Tebow is… you get the point. Crawling with activity on the outside, the inside has become a reprieve for weary travelers looking for respite from the heat.
15 minutes to kickoff - Sad Epilogue
Having personally felt the gripping excitement, but without a press pass or ticket, I pray for a miracle. After various failed attempts trying to buy tickets, I give up and decide to take a romantic ride home in the Gainesville equivalent of a horse and carriage, the bike trailer. As the sun sets and the breeze whispers at my neck, the sound of the roaring crowd fades into the dusk.
