The Life and Times of the Dawgvent, episode six

This is the sixth of nine chapters in the history of the Dawgvent, with all its twists and turns. From a handful of football-loving computer geeks to an SEC media giant, this is the story of the worldwide leader in Georgia Bulldog reporting. Adapted from the book Sax Attack

In time, the Internet began to change football itself. Seasons no longer observed the tight bookends of Fall Camp and bowl season. The conversations kept going, twelve months a year, seven days a week. Some online fans met “IRL” (in real life) and became true friends. Others made arrangements to meet behind the Kwik-E Mart off Route 6, roll up their sleeves, and pound out their differences. Your greatest friends and your sworn enemies: they were all there on the fabulous Dawgvent.

The Vent inevitably developed its own lingo (the sure sign of a cult). For instance, in the early days there were “Beans” and “Bashers.” Never was heard a discouraging word from the Beans, who were said to be as inoffensive as butterbeans. They loved the coach, whoever he was at the time, and would countenance no ill words about him.

Perhaps the most quoted Bean line, by an eternally sunny poster known as Bassndawg, was that 1999 defensive coordinator Kevin Ramsey, he of the backwards cap and the Auburn humiliation, was “the greatest defensive mind in college football.” Venters had long memories; a statement like that could become your digital epitaph, even in the days before archaeological digs of old posts that haven't aged well.

“Bashers,” on the other hand, never seemed to love the coach or much of anyone else. They preferred to be known, of course, as “Realists.” If you were steamin’ angry most of the time, and you were certain in the depths of your soul that next season would be just as much of an abomination as the present one—son, you were a realist. Football’s a bitch and then you die.

Astute poster Jedi Master devised a helpful diagnostic scale measuring Venters, ranging from 1 (full-on raging, teeth-gnashing Basher), to 10 (hopeless, homerific Bean). Jedi even established a matching poster for each number from one to ten. In later years, “Beans” became “Disney Dawgs,” with a nod to the land of happily-ever-after where every day is sunny and every girl a princess.

As the Vent community, like the Greeks and Etruscans before them, developed its own culture, new visitors to the Vent had to learn the lingo of the moment, figure out the resident characters, and assimilate the local ways, much like moving to Guam or certain sections of lower Alabama. But it was worth it for a rollicking, 365-day-per-year gabfest about the greatest of all life topics, the Georgia Gol’ Dang Bulldogs. It was like sitting over the checkerboard in front of Floyd’s barbershop, with Goober, Barney, Opie, and several thousand of your buddies, all with the last name of Dawg. Or let’s just call it the world’s most crowded tailgate, and you couldn't get hit by a flying football.

By 1999, it was happening again. The site traffic was outgrowing its latest britches. Jason had created a red-and-black Frankenstein, an electronic monster that just kept growing and ripping through its fresh togs from the Big and Tall Shop.

Jason had to admit the truth. This was no longer something he could do alone. But he had a Hewlett-Packard buddy named Steve Patterson, who was a super-nice guy and a Dawg fan, even if he was from Oregon. Steve was looking for business opportunities, and Jason now approached him as a potential partner.

At this point the site was visited by overlords of the AllianceSports network, a galactic confederation of fan sites that concentrated on the Southeast. It was all beginning to smell like money, and these forums were being snapped up by Internet-based media businesses.

But the dot-com era was boom-and-bust: Alliance, in turn, was acquired by Rivals.com in 2000. Rivals promptly went bankrupt, and the Alliance owners bought the remaining assets back for pennies on the dollar.

When Rivals was relaunched, so was the Dawgvent under the UGASports.com brand and domain. By now, the suits had it all figured out, and when Yahoo arrived from deep in cyberspace to acquire Rivals in 2007, the company paid a reported 100 million earth dollars for the digital sports network.

Steve Patterson, once known simply as Oregon Dawg, had been in the U. S. Infantry before earning a degree at Oregon State, so he was accustomed to being fired at from concealed locations. He was looking for some exciting way to grow professionally, and in the fan site business, he sensed the timing was ideal. It was a smart and timely move.

For nearly sixteen years, Steve was the Dawgvent for tens of thousands of users. Through his guidance, the site grew from a simple discussion forum to an emerging journalistic voice—and a steady business—in the world of sports. An accomplished photographer, he began publishing practice photos and even snippets of film. Bandwidth was becoming less of a problem. Dial-up modems were going the way of the horse and buggy. Steve even introduced a podcast, keeping up with the Internet fads of the moment.

Jason faded into the backdrop, to a certain extent. After a while, he might make a brief appearance in a conversation, and in short order, most users failed to realize DM was their cyber-grandaddy. Interestingly, Jason himself was never one for making thousands of posts. He's just the digital grandaddy of hundreds of thousands who have come after him. Jason summarizes his experience: “It was never about the money. In the end I have a good story, some memories, and a number of life-long friends.” Again: it’s a bloody shame there are no statues in cyberspace. His would stand tall and become a favorite of cyber-pigeons everywhere.

It was Steve who shepherded the site through that controversial period when pay-walls were introduced. The whole “everything’s free on the Net” idea was succumbing to capitalistic realities. Napster went down and admission prices went up, including on the once-free Vent.

This was an underrated task that Steve managed to pull off. He helped sell readers on the idea that a few bucks per month allowed them to have full-time reporters, advanced recruiting information, and various bells and whistles that simply couldn’t be provided without the users pitching in. Everyone would remember the “good old days” of casual Venting on a site that just might crash if the discussion became too popular.

But it’s also true that people enjoy paying for something that provides value, and it can even be fun to be thought of as an “insider.” For a small subscription fee, subscribers could hear the gossip on that running back from over in Whatsit. They could be insiders, everyone his own Joe Terranova.

But to get there, a certain amount of trauma was required.

Next: Show Me the Money