You ever have that one tailgate that just sticks with you forever? Not because of the game, not because of the score. I am thinking about it right now because we are in this dead period and all anybody wants to talk. Please. Kirby is playing chess while everybody else is playing checkers. But that is not what I came here to say. I came here to tell you about the time we rolled into the lot at 6 AM and the generator. My buddy brought a brand new smoker he had never used before and we spent the first hour trying to. Somebody forgot the charcoal. Somebody else forgot the ice. We had a cooler full of nothing but warm beer and hope. And you know what? That tailgate produced the best pulled pork I have ever eaten in my life because we MacGyvered that smoker with a welder and a prayer. The neighbors in the RV next to us saw us struggling and brought over a backup generator and a case of water. By noon we had a whole block of strangers eating off our table and trading stories about the 2017 Rose. That is what people do not understand about being a Georgia fan. It was never about the wins. It was never about the five-star recruits or the ESPN top 25 portal classes or the national media respecting us. It was about showing up at 6 AM on a Saturday with people who would give you their last bratwurst. It was about burning your hand on a hot grate and not caring becasue the Dawgs were about to run through that tunnel. It was about the old concrete steps outside the stadium where my dad taught me to call the Dawgs when I was six years old. Jaxon Dollar committing to us is great. I love that kid. Swiss Army Knife, five-star tight end, all of it. But that kid is going to learn what this place really means the first time he walks through a tailgate lot on a September afternoon. It is not about t...