This Saturday, South Carolina was home to several baptismal rites; for both the Cavaliers and for me. Granted, they took it so far as to use fire, but I can admit that sometimes that is the most effective method.
In fact, the Gamecocks got their proof of its potency in the play of Dondrial Pinkins. After booing their quarterback last weekend, South Carolina fans had few complaints Saturday. Not that Pinkins will get anywhere as close to the Heisman as I did (more on that later), but after hitting Troy Williamson with a pass that resulted in a record-breaking 99-yard touchdown play, Pinkins threw in a five-yard touchdown run to help lock down the win for South Carolina. The crowd -- that amassed to a reported 80,150 -- had nothing to boo about.
Hopefully Virginia will heed Pinkins' example and pick things up after their thrashing at Williams-Brice Stadium. Certainly the lessons of Pinkins' improvements are most applicable to Anthony Martinez. The redshirt freshman is in the position that Pinkins grew out of: Unexpectedly left to fill the quarterback role for a program with great expectations.
After taking the reins from Matt Schaub to finish in the Cavaliers' trampling of Duke, Martinez may have even felt mildly prepared for the job. He had been aware that he would be getting the start Saturday, and Groh had adapted the playbook to accommodate Martinez's glaring lack of experience.
Perhaps the first start for the redshirt freshman would have gone smoother had this weekend's game been played at Scott Stadium, full of Cavalier fans.
But nope, this was a weekend of heat. So Martinez faced the flames in Columbia, as the Gamecocks came after the Cavaliers with a vengeance. Not only did Martinez get knocked around, but the whole Virginia lineup seemed to be continually waiting for someone else to set the tone. At the end of the day, not a single Cavalier managed to make something happen, an inability that South Carolina fans made sure to recognize with an "overrated" chant that wound down the last minute of a brutal loss.
However, I can't really say that I blame the Cavaliers for faltering. Or at least I must admit that I understand how someone could get shaken up at Williams-Brice Stadium. It's an intense place.
For a girl that grew up in Northern Vermont and -- understandably -- felt a greater draw to New England's hockey rinks than to the New England Patriots, football was never a big thing. So Saturday was a day that did more for my appreciation of America's obsession with football more than "Varsity Blues" and "Rudy" combined.
When I came to Virginia as a first year, my dad had had the foresight to grill the names of all the ACC football coaches into my head and took it upon himself to make sure I had a decent appreciation of a game that, where I'm from, is seen as a substitute for kids who didn't make the soccer team. From there, I have continually found my way to Scott Stadium where a sea of sundresses and sport coats seemed counterintuitive, but who was I to question -- I was still learning.
So going to South Carolina, I -- like the Cavaliers -- felt somewhat prepared. However -- again, like Virginia -- I wasn't. I was bowled over. There was a sea of tailgaters so vast that, even from the press box at least seven stories above the field, it was practically all I could see. I stood in awe as the USC marching band practiced formations that drove home just how rag-tag Virginia's pep band must have looked. Women in their sixties sported 'Carolina Girl' shirts and black hair ribbons with as much pride as the little boys covered in maroon and black body paint.
It was a lot to take in. Had I seen nothing more of this spectacle I would have been impressed, watched the Cavaliers take a beating, and come back to Charlottesville with long weekend of football under my belt.
But there was one more thing. As we walked around before the game, there was one more thing that nudged me over the edge from "impressed" to "overwhelmed." And when I say that South Carolina is full of fire and that they don't take things lightly, I mean that it wasn't an NFL player or acclaimed Gamecock coach Lou Holtz that I saw.
It was the Heisman trophy.
Just outside the stadium, Heisman winner George Rogers -- a former Carolina standout who played for the Saints from 1981-84 -- comes to every game to raise money for his foundation that sends kids to college. He brings his trophy and wears his commemorative pin as enticement.
So there I was. My fingers sporting rings so large I could have worn them as tiaras, George Rogers' enormous arm over my shoulder, holding onto the storied Heisman trophy and thinking: I could really get into this whole football thing.
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