Once in 1996 I traveled to Atlanta, home of the BRAVES. I went on a roadtrip there with two of my best pals to watch the Summer Olympics. I went to three days of track competition. During that time I saw Michael Johnson, Jackie Joyner Kersee, and Carl Lewis either win medals or advance to other rounds. It pretty much rocked.
After the track champs were over, the fans were singing an original song in the streets that went like this: "Carl LEEEWIS! CAAARL Lewis! CARLLL Lewis! LEWIS Lewis!" Everyone was just singing it spontaneously. I loved it.
In addition to having a once-in-a-lifetime experience in Atlanta, I also discovered that I don't speak or understand Southern.
I'd go to restaurants and order stuff, and then the servers would ask follow up questions, and I had to stare at them like an idiot while my friends answered for me. I had no idea what they were saying. Also, once I asked a guy in the street for directions to the train. "Do you know where the North-South MARTA is?" I asked.
"Noph Sopf Mah," the guy nodded.
"No," I interrupted. "The NORTH-SOUTH MARTA."
"Yuh. Noph Sopf Mah," he repeated.
"NO!" I said again. "NOOORTH-SOOUUTH MAAARTA!"
It was at this point that I noticed that my friend Sheila was doubled over in laughter beside me.
"WHAT?!" I demanded.
"He's saying that," she choked. "He's trying to tell you about the North-South MARTA."
So, GO, BRAVES! I can't understand what you're saying, but I'm pretty sure we're actually speaking the same language.