Sometime in 1987, I tasted my first Dom Pérignon Champagne. Two bottles were sent to us, as was apparently the custom in the music business — one from our music publisher, CBS, and the other from our new record label, Arista Records. Suddenly, Dreams So Real was labelmates with Whitney Houston, the Kinks, Santana and Barry Manilow.
In March 1988, we packed our bags and headed out to Los Angeles for three months of recording at the Village Recorder in Santa Monica, where Steely Dan had made Aja and Fleetwood Mac had recorded Tusk. We had made it to Hollywood.
Or at least we thought we had.
Soon after our arrival, we discovered that our producer, Bill Drescher, had booked a week of pre-production at a rehearsal studio in the Valley. We arrived not quite knowing what to expect, but we quickly realized it was something like boot camp. Drescher took us through every song, tightening arrangements, doubling a chorus here, moving a bridge or rethinking a guitar solo there.
But he focused particularly on our drummer, working with Drew (Worsham) to refine the kick-drum patterns and decide where every beat should land. Barry (Marler) and I were happy the attention was on someone else and simply played as instructed while Drew memorized newly constructed drum patterns for every song.
Looking back, being signed to a major label naturally confirmed what we already suspected: we believed we had something. Then we got to L.A. and discovered that being chosen only proves you have talent. It doesn’t prove you’re ready.
That is probably familiar to every highly recruited player who arrives in Athens. He may have been the best athlete in his hometown, but so was nearly everyone else in the locker room. They arrive with rankings, confidence and probably an NIL deal. Then coaches start correcting footwork, assignments, timing and technique.
We were willing students. We had some skepticism, but we weren’t prima donnas. If this was how records were made in the big leagues, we were ready to put in the work. By the end of the week, the songs were tighter, the transitions cleaner and the band more confident. The work was tedious at times, but it gave us something we hadn’t arrived with—trust in the arrangements and in each other. We were ready to hit the studio.
That seems like the point of this part of Georgia’s season. Western Kentucky may not be the game everyone circled, but it’s the final tuneup before the schedule gets far less forgiving. This is where coaches find out which players can take instruction, absorb details and become dependable before the margin for error disappears. It’s the last week of pre-production before we hit the studio next week.
That brings us to a drink made for a 12:45 pm kickoff: the Bloody Mary. It has plenty of ingredients and almost unlimited room for improvisation, which—like a young team—is exactly why it needs discipline. You can buy premade mix, add vodka and technically call it a Bloody Mary. But that’s the cocktail equivalent of skipping pre-production.
The real work—and much of the fun—is creating the mix yourself. Make it the night before, because the ingredients improve after they’ve had time to settle in and become a team.
The Bloody Mary
Bloody Mix
With a nod to Justin Sajda of the Thirsty Whale for the recipe:
· 21 ounces of organic tomato juice
· 1 ounce of hot sauce
· 1 ounce of Worcestershire sauce
· 1 ounce of horseradish
· 1 ounce of freshly chopped dill, by weight
· 1 ounce of pickled pepper brine
· 2 teaspoon salt
· 2 teaspoons black pepper
· 1 teaspoons paprika
Combine the ingredients in a carafe and refrigerate overnight.
For the drink, fill a tall glass with ice. Add four ounces of homemade Bloody mix and two ounces of vodka—or bourbon, which may be even better. Stir well and garnish with a lemon wedge, pickled okra spear or whatever else you like, although an entire cheeseburger balanced on top suggests the coaching staff has lost control.
Talent gets you through the door. Preparation makes you ready when it matters.
