"How about that fighting Clemson Tiger Football Team?" That's technically a question but my dad never presented it to me as such and never expected an answer. It was rhetorical, there was a short pause between "tiger" and "football" and it was delivered with something between an unemotional monotone and resigned exasperation right after any Clemson football loss. After they lost their opener to Virginia Tech in 1986, after they didn't show up against Georgia Tech in 1989, after they suffered letdowns and head-scratchers in the '90s and 2000s that made “Clemsoning” a dumb pejorative for a time… "How about that fighting Clemson Tiger Football Team?" Now, the Tigers have nearly always won more than they've lost and when I was young, losses were actually few and far between. When they came, though, they made for terribly grim Saturdays and sometimes Sundays if it was a particularly bad loss or came at the hands of a hated rival like South Carolina or Georgia Tech. Dad went to Clemson, loved Clemson and losses by the boys in orange hurt. They hurt and lingered and wrecked him (and by extension, me) for days. When I was a kid, on fall Saturday mornings we frequently got up early, packed up some ham biscuits and fried chicken and made the drive to Tiger Town. With "The Tiger Tailgate Show" blaring from the radios of nearly every parked car, we'd toss a football around in the parking lot until it was time to head inside with 80,000 or so other orange-clad fans. The cannon would fire, the band would strike up "Tiger Rag" and the Tigers would rub the rock and run down the hill. It was often so loud you couldn't hear yourself yell. All that overwhelms the senses of a 10-year-old kid and makes quite an impression. So does seeing your dad hanging on every play, erupting with excitement at every touchdown, cussing referees for every bad call and just kind of sighing painfully and sitting on his hands when things weren't going so well. Whether I realized it or not at the time, it was also a full-family bonding experience. The experience was different, though just as enjoyable as I got older. Like the time a friend and I tried to nonchalantly walk through the entrance gate carrying a duffle bag full of beer and ice. Needless to say, the duffle bag had to stay outside, but with Clemson fans being a genteel, southern lot, our bag of beer was still waiting on us when we left the game…a game where I screamed and cussed and left 50 shades of pissed off after the Tigers lost one to Georgia Tech they shouldn’t have on a Thursday night. That beer came in mighty handy. You also have to understand that when I was growing up, there weren't multiple all-sports channels that allowed you to watch every game in the country every weekend. If you wanted to see your team play, you often HAD to do so in-person because it wasn't going to be televised. So it was like a pilgrimage you made six or seven times a year. For faraway road games that weren't going to be aired, you had to sit and listen to the game on the radio. When that was the case, whatever we were doing, we stopped at game time, cut on the radio and often listened as we sat in the kitchen or played ping-pong once we got a table. Longtime voice of the Tigers Jim Phillips was the soundtrack for many a Saturday afternoon for me. There were times, again when I got a bit older, where I didn’t necessarily want to talk to my dad about the things you’d normally talk to a parent about, like school or your job or personal life because those might have been veering into dumpster fire territory at the time. I could always use Clemson football as a conversation topic, however. Football is just a game, but to us it was an important one. It was one that bonded us. I give you that backstory to explain why, when it came time to walk in Pickens County, there was no doubt we’d be doing so in Clemson. We arrived early on a Saturday morning, not unlike my family would’ve done on game day long ago and parked in downtown. As I got the dogs out and started the walk, I was reminded of something I already knew. Clemson, in the truest sense, is a college town. This has nothing to do with rivalry, but Columbia is not one. If you could pick up the University of South Carolina and move it to another city, Columbia would still exist. It would still be centrally located, it would still be accessible from almost everywhere in the state via interstate, it would still be a hub for lots of businesses and residential development and the state government would still be there. If you moved Clemson University out of Clemson it would basically be, to borrow a quote from my dad, Whitmire with a less exciting nightlife. Most everything that’s there, is so because the school is there. It’s somewhat isolated up in the corner of the state and you don’t go through there headed to much of anywhere. As such, with it being early July (dead in the middle of summer break for students), there weren’t many people about at all. We walked around what qualifies as the business district for a bit, but with not much happening, I didn’t see any reason not to go ahead and make our way toward the football stadium. When we got there, I went around to the side to look down the famous hill. We were standing about where the football team exits the bus to rub the rock and run down the hill to enter the field. I could see Howard’s Rock on a small pedestal under protective glass, I could see the field and stands and the oculus in the distance. We weren’t alone, though. There was a family there, two young parents and a kid who was probably seven or eight. I didn’t actually see the kid’s face at first, but he was pressed against the bars, peering into the stadium. It’s hard to describe the wide eyes and giant smile present on that kid’s face when he turned around. Maybe he’d only viewed the exploits of Dabo, Deshaun Watson and Hunter Renfrow on TV and actually getting to see it in person was the equivalent of me having gotten to drive the General Lee when I was his age. Maybe his dad, who was almost glowing as he watched his son’s excitement, went to Clemson and this was the first time he’d gotten to bring him to see Death Valley in person. A father and son bonding over Clemson football is pretty cool. It’s something that lasts a lifetime, I’ve learned. “That is a future Clemson Tiger right there,” the dad said to me, motioning to his son. The family had taken note of Tucker and Gracie by this time and were fairly enthralled. “Are those both Goldendoodles?” the mother asked. I explained I had one Labradoodle and one Goldendoodle. They told me they actually had a Goldendoodle at home. I then got a reply that is fairly common when I encounter other doodle owners. “But ours isn’t nearly that big,” the dad said. The son seemed a little shy (or scared) at first, but by the time we parted company, he was just sort of marveling at how fluffy Tucker was. Another family, this one with a daughter of toddler age pulled up, got out of their car and came over to take some pictures. It’s funny, it’s almost like Death Valley is a tourist destination now because of all the recent success the team has had. It’s the kind of place you stop and take pictures of because it’s sort of famous and kind of a big deal. It’s hard to think of a place that’s been a regular part of your life since you were a child in those terms, but there it was on display in front of me. They too found Tucker and Gracie irresistible. “DOG!” the little girl said as she petted them both (after her parents were reassured they didn’t bite). As we started to walk back, Gracie had to poop. That was no big deal, except she’d already gone once as we walked toward the stadium. Then came a third one, which is never good news. Gracie has some digestive problems and while putting her on special, stomach sensitive food has helped, issues still arise occasionally. If she goes for a third time, it’s probably going to be unpleasant. I’ll spare you specific details, but it was, um, messy back there. When this happens, we actually have to use little doggie wipes, so I called Ashley (who was in the car) and asked if we had brought those. We had not, so I instructed her to find a drug store and buy some baby wipes. So, what had been a lovely walk down memory lane in a place I love was not going to end in especially inspiring fashion. I was sitting in the downtown area of Clemson, with my dogs, one of whom had poop all over her hind end and back legs. It was getting close to lunchtime, so there were more people starting to mill around. One guy, an older gentleman, came up to ask what kind of dogs I had. “Looks like that one had a little accident,” he said. “Kind of a blowout. Yeah,” I said. He managed to overlook that, though. He was obviously impressed with them. “Pretty dogs,” he said. “Are those good water dogs? I’m thinking about getting a new dog myself.” I told him that, yes, Tucker craves time in the water more than a fish flopping on a shoreline. Gracie, not so much. “I wonder if that’s because she doesn’t have a tail,” he wondered. “That tail is a big part of their ability to swim.” I’d honestly never thought about that. I always thought Gracie was skittish around water because of some bad experience she had before we got her (she was a rescue dog shifted around to multiple homes before we got her). Maybe standing on a street corner waiting for a baby wipe delivery had been a worthwhile experience after all. Ashley finally came back, having found a CVS or something, I cleaned Gracie up and put both dogs back in the car. As we headed out of Clemson, we passed a sign denoting the 2016 and 2018 national football championships the Tigers had won. I was glad I got to be there that day with my wife and dogs. The family spending Saturdays in Clemson is a tradition, of course. My dad, unfortunately, didn’t live to see those two championships, events that would have thrilled him to no end. If he had, he wouldn’t have to ask "How about that fighting Clemson Tiger Football Team?” I actually could answer that question now, though. “Pretty good, dad. Pretty, pretty good.”
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TravisI am Travis, the king 0f SC 1A Football Archives
November 2021
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