The game needs to stay in Jacksonville, period.

Not because of fairness to one side or another. Not because it’s in one state or another. And not because some jughead in Atlanta wants to leverage a deal.

Tony Barnhart recently wrote that what’s important about Jacksonville as a venue is the familiarity of not just the geography, but the faces. It was about reconnecting with friends Tom McMillen and Carl Brantley.

“Carl and Tom are my best two friends in the world. We were fraternity brothers in college and have stayed very close for more years than I will admit in this space. College brought us together but college football—specifically the Georgia-Florida game—has helped to keep us together. Carl lives in Colorado Springs. Tom is in Ringgold near Chattanooga. All three of us have pretty busy lives. But since 1981, with only one exception, we have gathered together in Jacksonville on the Georgia-Florida weekend to play golf, enjoy an adult beverage or two, and tell lies about our youth.”

Bingo.

Think about it. We all have connections that bloom during the Fla-Ga weekend.

We stay at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Frank Watson every year — not just because they have a beautiful place on Ponte Vedra Beach (well, that, too). They’re Auburn graduates, but they also have parties or attend parties of mixed allegiance — Bulldogs, Gators, Tigers, etc. I’ve come to enjoy meeting up with fans from other schools because it’s a rare example of civility that exists today in college football. And, I might add, a much needed one.

It’s also a time when, on occasion, I get to see my best friend from childhood, Ed Monarchik of Atlanta, although not so much lately. There have even been a few years when Ed attended with his son, Ed Jr., my godson when I am able to score tickets. Ed is a lifelong Gator fan, Ed Jr. (I still call him Edward) is a Georgia graduate. Ed Jr. got tired of sitting in the Gator section, especially in recent years.

It took the words of a UGA grad, however, to finally make sense out of this same old, tired argument that because of fairness — yada, yada, yada — the game should be moved out of Jacksonville.

I guess that’s they call my friend Tony Barnhart Mr. College Football.

Earlier over the weekend they were scheduled for the annual visit to King Gator’s (Sid Rice) place at Pass-A-Grille near St. Petersburg, then some of them were planning to drop in at the John and Olga Alvarez Memorial Day Picnic in Ocala. Among the guests in Ocala were Mel Tillis and his band, who performed some of Mel’s hit songs, including the monster one that e wrote, “Ruby, Don’t Take Your Love to Town.” Tillis is a long-time Gator fans who was a close friend of the Charley Pell regime.

Alvarez is a Bull Gator with a big heart who is putting his effort and his money behind building Project Hope, a center for the homeless north of Ocala. Alvarez has been raising money for several years and hopes to begin construction soon. The center will be for women and children only at first.

“We have over 1,000 homeless children in this country,” said Alvarez, “and some of them are living in the woods.”

He said he is proud that every dime collected goes straight to the project.

Project Hope is just the kind of mission Urban Meyer could get behind, officially or unofficially. I’m going to predict that that he will become a big proponent of it soon.

Besides, it has a nice ring to it for Gator fans, doesn’t it?

Mark Richt says he thinks the game should be moved to Atlanta, or maybe Charlotte.

Funny how Richt complains about the game being played on Florida soil, but doesn’t mind playing it in the state of Georgia. But Charlotte?

Yeah, that makes a lot of sense. Move this SEC classic to ACC country.

Why not play it in the Bahamas or maybe Seattle. Hey, why not just take it on the road to a different spot every year?

It may have something to do with the fact that the Bulldogs have lost 14 of the last 17 games played in Jacksonville.

Seems like it hasn’t been that many years ago, back before Steve Spurrier arrived to stem the tide of Vince Dooley’s onslaught, that those Georgia folks loved Jacksonville. It was Spurrier, armed with a plan to reverse those fortunes, who always bragged that the game was a big convenience for his Gators because they only had to take a short busride to play in — at that time — what was known as the “Gator” Bowl.

I can’t blame Richt, though. This could start a whole new trend. Auburn ought to ask the Iron Bowl to be moved out of Birmingham — maybe to Cleveland — in order to break the stronghold that Nick Saban is going to have on the Tigers. The Texas-Oklahoma game could be switched from Dallas and played in Branson, Missouri. Bobby Stoops would get it off Texas soil that way.

Yeah, those Georgia Bulldogs need a change of venue. Although I didn’t hear much of that two years ago when Richt’s team created havoc with “The Incident,” storming on the field after their first touchdown and going on to beat the Gators.

I think I know why Richt doesn’t want to come back to Jax, however. He just never wants to see that scoreboard that Urban Meyer kept showing him last season when the Florida coach kept calling time out in the final moments, just so the Georgia coach could burn the image in his head: “Florida 49, Georgia 10.”

Yeah, I think he’d like the view better in Charlotte.

Odd feeling, after living and breathing orange and blue for months and forgetting there is a world outside Gatorville, to reconnect to Life Its Ownself.

Only sporting event I watched all week at my daughter Rebecca’s house, live or on TV, was my granddaughter’s tee-ball game. At age 6, I think she looks like the upcoming female version of Mickey Mantle, or Ted Williams, or Stan Musial. (Sorry, I can’t bring myself to mention any baseball Icons before 1970 for fear that they’ll be following A-Rod and Mannywood into steroid oblivion).

Right now, Gracie is a threat to go deep at the plate any time and, if we can ever get her to stop talking to her girlfriend Emerson while they are both in the field, I figure she’ll be the next superstar and first female to play in the major leagues. So watch out for her in the 2020 draft.

Meanwhile, it’s back to Urbanville where I am just completing my interviews with Coach Meyer for the revision of Urban’s Way, a paperback due out this fall, and gearing up for the Gator Country Caravans.

We want go to some places on the Caravan this year that we didn’t last year — like Lakeland and Pensacola and Flagler County and Atlanta. The Caravan cranks up later this month, so check out the Caravan thread on the forums for details and let us know if you are interested in being a part of it.

And by the way, I have pictures of Gracie if you’d like some 8×12s suitable for framing. No autographs, please.

There’s no off-season anymore — for coaches, players or writers.

Anything Urban Meyer says anywhere seems to make news, whether it’s at a Gator Club meeting or at his son’s baseball games. In the world of cell phone cameras, blogs and tweets, Meyer and Tim Tebow are always on stage. And I look for them to withdraw more and more from the real world. As if keeping away from Swine Flu wasn’t enough of a task.

So we watch and wait, just in case something pops up on the Internet. Voyeurism never sleeps, so we can’t either. Sometimes I grow weary. I say this today because it seems that what was once leisure time for me has dwindled away somewhere. I don’t even have time to follow other sporting events that I covered religiously as a journalist.

One of those events will unfold on Saturday. And I barely remembered that on this first Saturday in May — as it is on every first Saturday of the fifth month — the Kentucky Derby will be run.

Time was when a sports columnist in the South made a living covering college football and basketball, the Masters, the Daytona 500, some of the choice high school sports and the Kentucky Derby.

I’ve always loved the Derby — covered about 10 of them — and look forward every year to studying up on the field, rooting out a horse and cheering for my pick at a local Derby party. Or, better yet, being there at Churchill Downs. My fondest memory at Churchill Downs was watching the big chesnut colt Secretariat make the final turn and whoosh down the backstretch on his way the Triple Crown.

Somehow this year’s Derby sneaked up on me. Part of the reason was my failure to balance leisure time and work … taking care of Gator Country business, updating a book and assisting in the editing of another magazine.

This business of work getting in the way of things I enjoy in life has got to stop.

I don’t play golf anymore — gave it up eight years ago after I moved on a golf course in SW Florida. I don’t watch golf on TV anymore.

I don’t read books anymore because I read all day on the Internet.

And now the Kentucky Derby has almost slipped off my radar.

But not so fast my friend. I’m back! I’ll be turning on NBC Saturday and rooting for my two favorites, Dunkirk and Chocolate Candy.

Why? Well, Chocolate Candy wears No. 11, Steve Spurrier’s old number. Dunkirk wears 15, Tim Tebow’s number.

Can you think of a better way to handicap the Kentucky Derby?

The “Plan to Win” is working. Most of the pieces are in place and they appear to meet, or exceed, his standard of excellence.

After Saturday’s Orange and Blue For No. 2s game, it is apparent that King Check for Gator opponents could be just around the corner. Even though Saturday’s game proved out to be just the Backup Bowl where all but a few starters stayed out of the action, you could almost see the roster growing deeper before your very eyes.

Bad news for the SEC: This team could be scary good.

Starting with the day that the 2009 squad hit the practice field for spring ball, I said this was the best-looking team I’d seen at Florida “on the hoof” — and that was with only a few of the incoming freshman on the ground.

Of course, teams on paper and on the hoof often don’t translate to what’s needed on the field. But I’d be very surprised if this one didn’t.

When they all get in school in late summer, all on the same page and all on the same field, heaven knows what they’ll do if they ever get in lock step.

Even beyond that, the missing parts on the coaching staff have been replaced and all seems to be working in good order. Quarterback coach Scott Loeffler and tight end coach Brian White have blended into the decor nicely.

Now their eyes must be kept upon the prize. Urban knows this, which is why he has sounded the warning that the Gator players should strap it on and prepare for “the most difficult offseason” and “the most difficult camp” ever.

Meyer also believes that talent alone with not suffice — that without discipline, the ultimate performance is not possible. He has the talent and now he’s adding an even bigger measure of discipline and toughness.

Let the checking begin.

Good thing, perhaps, that ESPN didn’t wind up coming to “The Swamp.”

Spring is not always for keeping, score, however.

Spring is for finding out if freshmen early bird freshmen offensive linemen like Nick Alajajian and Jonotthan Harrison know how to line up and if they can learn to play their positions. And how Matt Patchan looks at left tackle. And whether Dee Finley is the real deal at safety, or if Dorian Munroe still has it.

Spring is for discovering the Chris Scotts and Sam Robeys and Adrian Bushells. And rediscovering Wondy Pierre-Louis.

Spring is for putting Deonte Thompson and Carl Moore and Frankie Hammonds to the test at wide receiver in hopes they will answer the bell this fall.

And Spring is for working on the throwing mechanics of Johnny Brantley and, yes, even Tim Tebow.

Most of all, spring is for hope.

As we get closer to football season, you’ll be hearing more about a special anniversary coming up in 2009.

Longtime Gators fans hold a special place in their hearts for the “Super-Sophs” of 1969. And those younger members of The Gator Nation should learn an appreciation for them as well when the 40th anniversary of that team of prodigies rolls around.

When John Reaves let fly with a bomb for a 74-yard touchdown on the third play of the game against highly rated Houston, it opened a new era of football excellence under Ray Graves with a 59-34 win over the Cougars.

And it turned out to be a Camelot season with the best record in school history, a 9-1-1 with a Gator Bowl victory over SEC Champion Tennessee.

The Gator Nation was still a Commonwealth in those days, but the glory and honor brought to the University of Florida by this sophomore-laden team was breathtaking.

Carlos Alvarez, John Reaves, Andy Cheney, Tommy Durrance — those were just some of the second-year players who were actually playing in their first season because freshmen weren’t eligible then.

Part of the sweetness of those Camelot days came from the surprise element in a season that wasn’t supposed to be. It had been a long time between celebratory toasts. Football fortunes were down a bit and because of it, Graves had made a secret deal to step down as coach after that season and assume the athletic director duties.

That he would end up playing Doug Dickey’s Vols and defeating them, then handing off the reins to Dickey was incredible irony.

Unfortunately, Camelot ended in a thud with Dickey’s arrival and Graves’ banishment. But it could never completely erase the memories of such a splendid season, one that will forevermore be etched in the minds of those grateful Gator fans who were treated to the unexpected pleasures of the Super-Sophs.

They didn’t win a championship — that wouldn’t come until 32 years later — but what the Super-Sophs did bring was hope that things could be better one day for Florida football. No one could have ever dreamed that it would be this much better.

On Wednesday when the Gators sprung into spring football, I listened for a change.

The sound of a whistle blowing is commonplace, but if you listen closely you can hear different versions of the whistle played by different coaches — almost like each instrument in the orchestra has its own sound.

This came to mind because of what a former Bowling Green player told me about Urban Meyer’s first real practice, which was something akin to The Junction Boys experience conducted by the late Paul “Bear” Bryant. Meyer blew his whistle a lot that day, and often — and it was shrill.

“We realized pretty quick,” said the former Falcon player, ” that coach Meyer was training us to his whistle.”

I got the impression the whistle to the football player was like the whip of the lion tamer.

Not every coach uses a whistle. Steve Spurrier didn’t. Meyer does on occasion. But the most commanding whistle in practice is that of strength and conditioning coach Mickey Marotti when he calls the team together for stretching exercises.

As they move from exercise to exercise, Marotti gives four crisp blast in stacatto fashion and the players respond like Pavlo’s dog. Perhaps it is because he put them through rigorous mat drils and strenuous off-season, so the has their attention.

By all appearances, Coach Mick is in total command and he has them dancing on the head of a pin.

Defensive back coach Chuck Heater uses his voice more and is more of a one-burst guy who doesn’t need the whistle as his cattle prod.

Defensive line coach Dan McCarney yells a bit, but rips off a rat-tat-tat three-bagger now and then.

They all know the sound of Urban’s whistle at the end of the day when he rounds them up for the final session, but Urban’s sound can vary depending on how he feels about the day’s practice.

In Urban’s case it’s not the sound or the style of the whistle — it’s the man blowing it.