...he'd go frisk our left guard at game time. We're talkin' king size snickers, man!
/seriously.. we let in fifths of Johnny Walker black up there but the mini kit kat is over the line? Way to go State... atta way to create life-long fans out of 13 year olds.
Two years ago at Oxford-Unviersity Stadium a security guard tried to confiscate my 5 yr old daughters tiny cowbell necklace. And when I mean tiny, it was smaller than your thumbnail. He stopped her at the gate and said the only way we could pass was if she took it off. She starts crying and the line is backed up behind us. I pick her up and get out of line, walk back to the vehicle and she leaves it there. We went back in but the mood was really soured.
She's never forgotten it. Two years later and she still mentions it every time the subject of a cowbell comes up. Her hatred for all things Bear related is really unhealthy because of it.
Since you brought up Oxford, I have to share the story of my dad's one and only trip to Oxford, to the 2000 Egg Bowl.
First of all, let me paint a picture of my dad. My dad is 6'-5", at the time probably 220 lb or so. My dad taught graphic design at Hinds and later at MC for a total of about 45 years, so he can roll the teacher authority voice with the best of them. He also has been a reserve police officer since about 1975, originally with Jackson then later with Raymond PD, so he can really throw the cop authority voice as well. His father was also a career cop. Point of this, my father can be a very imposing figure and is not easily intimidated at all.
So, we roll up to Oxford on Thanksgiving Day 2000. Park at the mall and hike about a mile to the stadium. It's cold, it's raining. I of course have my cowbell tucked in my britches to sneak into the game. My father has no contraband whatsoever on his person. We go to the gate at the north endzone of Vaught-Hemingway, and the Cobra security thug frisks me, and of course fails to find my cowbell. I keep going and he turns and looks to pat down my dad, who rises to his full height, throws on the cop voice, and says "No sir."
We walked into Vaught-Hemingway Stadium immediately thereafter. My father was not frisked.
Side note: my father quite enjoyed the end of that game, where he got to watch an overenthusiastic Ole Miss student spear a MS Highway Patrolman in an attempt to get to the goalposts, after which the MHP officer commenced to beat the student senseless with a confiscated cowbell.
