When Cameron Goode fell into the endzone, our little piece of Section R devolved into an uncontrolled collection of limbs and loud, joyful noises. I briefly lost my glasses in the impromptu mosh pit. If somebody had stepped on them I’d have considered it an acceptable loss.
When the clock hit zero, Reef and Nam exchanged cathartic shouting that ended with vaguely coherent references to ‘12-0’ and ‘Pasadena.’
After clearing the Bancroft steps, we happened upon the Ole Miss equipment truck, which made for a perfect chance at celebratory photos, posing in front of a vanquished enemy.