Foreign undergrads at universities in the American South will detect cultural differences: ask for a rubber in a crowded lecture hall and chances are an eraser will not be forthcoming; despite an agricultural appearance three country boys in a pickup truck asking where the hoes are will not be referring to farming implements; and members of the law enforcement community generally do not appreciate the benefits of healthy debate.

But learn about clipping, pass interference and pre-game tailgating and all is forgiven. Well, most.

Such are the ties that bind some to listen to a college football game until 03h30 Western European time. Course, when it’s a win between the hedges over previously condescending Georgia fans defending a ranking of 11 it is worth the trouble; and it is misfortune for the scribe that so few Georgia alumni are available locally for abuse. Still, they’ll probably recognise the Spurdawg as their Daddy without further reminding of his long dominance of them.

Post-game retirement to Group for celebrations as in previous years was not an option. But a recent photo of the establishment from a friendly native reassures that its decor is as inviting as ever. No doubt the broken bottles underfoot, the stench of well-stale bodily processed beer defending a 10 metre perimeter around the offending toilets and the diplomatically-challenged bouncers still complete the same charming debauched formula.

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