A “Rocking” Clemson Homecoming

Howard’s Rock is a longstanding tradition at Clemson: our players rub the rock before running down the hill to enter the stadium for each home game. Coach Howard was famous for saying, “If you're not going to give 110 percent, then keep your filthy hands off my rock.”

We were lucky enough to be in Clemson this past weekend for homecoming. I do my best never to take it for granted—that we live close enough to visit my favorite of all places, the one that makes my heart so happy. I love all the tradition and pomp and circumstance of college football on a regular weekend, so homecoming really adds something special into the mix. After fighting the battle of interstate I-85 on Friday for what felt like weeks but in reality was four and a half hours, we unfolded ourselves from the car, realigned our spines, and walked through bustling downtown Clemson to the center of the action: Bowman field, where the homecoming floats are all on display. We made our way around each one, admiring how professional and impressive they have all become, and snapping more than a fair share of pictures.

This year’s homecoming theme was “Beyond the Paw,” which was interpreted by pretty much everyone as an outer space theme.

The Clemson ring at the top of this display rotated—so impressive!

We thought this moon man was a particularly good photo op.

Here we are, Clemson homecoming 2000 and 2023. There have been a few changes over the years, both to dear old Clemson and to both of us!

Saturday was a perfect, crisp, sunny fall day with a 3:30 kickoff against Wake Forest. Our tailgate menu was fit for a feast and featured pulled pork barbecue, crockpots filled with sides like macaroni and cheese, green bean casserole and squash casserole, plus slaw, deviled eggs, cucumber and tomato salad, and pigs in a blanket. We had lots of of snacks and dips, and desserts for days. Tailgate food is my favorite way to eat.

As an aside, I would also like you to know that our sweet friend Linda, who was part of our tailgate group a few years ago, came by to visit on Saturday. She said she was not exactly sure where our new tailgate spot was located and was worried she wouldn’t find us, but she (and I am not making this up one bit) saw my hair and knew she had found us. That just goes to show: big hair is a beacon for the lost, y’all. It will guide you to where you need to be. I’m so glad my anti-humidity hairspray and teasing comb led us to a Linda reunion, because she gives the best hugs!

Now, let’s talk a little more about the tailgate.

I wanted to set the scene with a festive centerpiece for the occasion. Footballs, martini glasses, and Mardi Gras beads should do the trick.

Pimento cheese and pumpkin dip, for your snacking pleasure. Don’t mind if I do….

I decided to go as Southern as I knew how and made some jalapeno bacon deviled eggs for homecoming, too. They did not last long.

Perhaps you would like a lucky orange hurricane shot and a”C-L-E-M in cadence count” cheer before the game? Stephen, the mayor of our tailgate, has you covered, complete with his orange Tiger paw waiter tray. The man has it down to a science.

Game day ready! (Clint, my Georgia Tech alum, is such a good sport dressed in his orange). GO Tigers!

Lot 21 Ladies pic (small but mighty that day).

My precious friend Holly’s birthday was Saturday and she had a birthday tailgate party. She always brings the fun, so leave it to her to make a game day even better! Happy birthday, Holly!

Love these sweet girls. Smile and say, Holly gets better by the year! WOW!

The Esso Club was a gas station in the 1920s that has evolved into a “world famous” sports bar. For me, there’s no place like it on a game day.

It started to get chilly post game when the sun went down. Imagine how happy I was when I saw I was twinning with little Clara! She is my tailgate spirit mate—we both love sparkly things, good food, and being the center of attention, so we enjoy each other’s company a lot. I told her dad (a college friend of mine since 1996) that I intend to teach little Clara everything I know. He is terrified.

We managed to enjoy some tailgate leftovers (mmm, jalapeno popper dip) and some more of our friends’ company while we waited on game day traffic to die down a bit, and then we headed back to our hotel just in time to watch the last of the Georgia Tech/Miami game. Clint had very low expectations, and he was beyond ecstatic when his Yellow Jackets got a victory! What a way to end the day!

We were able to sleep in Sunday morning and even do a little shopping—you can always use more orange and more Tiger paw in your life—before it was time to head home. We always stop at my favorite sandwich shop, which has also become Clint’s favorite, too, for a bite of lunch before we leave town. The line is usually out the door and around the building, but oh-so-worth the wait.

It’s more than a sandwich, it’s art. This beauty is the Darkhorse sandwich at the Pot Belly Deli in Clemson, South Carolina, and it is what dreams are made of. I get to eat it approximately four times a year and I think about all the other days in between. (It’s actually turkey provolone, and coleslaw on grilled pumpernickel, for those who have yet to experience it).

I did not grow up going to Clemson for game weekends. Those traditions were not part of my family’s traditions, and Clemson University was not even a blip on my radar until my best-laid plans for college were suddenly upended. Midway through my senior year of high school, I visited my home state university which I had always planned to attend and discovered it was simply not the right fit for me (a wonderful surprise with a few months of high school left, when all of these things were supposedly already decided, celebrated, and finalized).

For a person who is admittedly indecisive, and who can also be a bit of skeptic, it shocked everyone including myself when I proclaimed about fifteen minutes into my campus tour of Clemson that this is where I was going to college! It was love at first sight. I can’t accurately describe the sort of magic I felt when I stepped into that place, except to say that feeling returns to me whenever I am lucky enough to get back there.

Clemson folks are very familiar with an essay by alumnus Joe Sherman from the class of 1934 called “Something In These Hills.” I will spare you non-Clemson fans a recitation of the full essay, but he does write that “There’s something in these hills that you and I can’t define and others can’t understand….Yes, there’s something in these hills where the Blue Ridge yawns its greatness.”

That is true for me, each and every time I get to go “home.”

I’m already counting down until the next time.