Josh Green, this essay’s author (second from right), with friend Matt Hendrix (left) and his sons Jasper (second from left) and Arlo (right).Photograph courtesy of Josh Green Before I was a contributor to this magazine for a decade and a half, before I chronicled the physical evolution of Atlanta as my day job, and before I wrote three books inspired by this crazy city, I was a Rust Belt kid growing up amidst the chair-tossing mythology of Bobby Knight and the mighty Indiana Hoosiers. The basketball team, of course. Meanwhile, the Hoosiers football team, for my entire youth, was the antithesis of excellence. They always seemed to suck. Infamously, they’d plunked down the most loses in college football history—until Northwestern stole that dubious crown this season. Growing up, my best friend’s dad, IU diehard and graduate Mike McCormick, would take us to games in a half-empty Memorial Stadium in Bloomington. I don’t recall if IU ever won. All I remember is the feeling of my butt on cold bleachers and thinking that college football is not only boring, but kind of sad. When I moved to Atlanta in 2007, this melting pot of glorious SEC and ACC history, my new Southern friends would invariably ask who I rooted for. And then they’d stare, with nauseated bewilderment, when I said I wasn’t really a college football fan, apart from pulling on occasion for northern Indiana’s Notre Dame. “How can you not love college football?” they would ask. “Because I grew up in Terre Haute, like an hour from IU,” I’d say. “And Hoosiers football has always been terrible.” Quarterback Fernando Mendoza celebrates during the second quarter of the Peach Bowl.Photograph by Jonathan Bachman/Getty Images To remedy this, one of my first newspaper colleagues here, Ryan Crawford, generously demanded I attend a Georgia Bulldogs home game with him that first autumn. His parents had season tickets they weren’t using. Amazingly, that game turned out to be the iconic first Blackout Game in Bulldogs history, a wild, “magical,” and chill-inducing affair against Auburn that basically made Matthew Stafford, A.J. Green, and Knowshon Moreno famous overnight. We celebrated afterwards in a little party bungalow—hoisting beers with Hairy Dawg, the actual mascot, himself. I described hilly, leafy, walkable Athens as “Bloomington South.” In me, that night, a lifelong fan of the Bulldogs, Athens, and Southern hospitality in the most tangible sense was born. So here’s where things got weird recently, and two worlds began to intersect: I was at a New Year’s Eve party on a frigid night in Indianapolis when somebody made this College Football Playoff calculation: “If Indiana can get past Alabama,” said the guy, “they’re going to the Peach Bowl.” Hearing this, I had an epiphany, regarding what should have been obvious. “Whoa,” I said, “if that happens, Atlanta’s gonna be overrun with Hoosiers!” Indiana fans cheer during the Peach BowlPhotograph by Kevin C. Cox/Getty Images At the time, it was a big IF. Sure, Indiana is a deserving No. 1 seed, having bulldozed its way to a Big Ten championship without a single loss. But that was Alabama—and the SEC almost always represents at the Peach Bowl. To think of Indiana hoisting roses in Pasadena—in what alternate, bizarre universe would that happen? Nonetheless, of course, the Hoosiers rolled the Tide. And down to the Big Peach thundered Cream and Crimson faithful in ecstatic droves. These ATL invaders—by all accounts courteous—hailed from the land of Jack and Diane, the home turf of classic underdog movies (however embellished) Rudy and Hoosiers. A place, like Georgia, that forges unpretentious, good people eager to celebrate tradition and cement some damn respect. I was lucky to be among them Friday. I’ve rarely seen this city more electric for a sporting event, and I’ve reveled in downtown masses for some of the biggest Falcons, Hawks, and United games of the past decade. From Krog Street Market to Castleberry Hill, the “Hoo-Hoo-Hoo Hoosiers” buzz was palpable. ESPN wild man (and former Indianapolis Colts punter) Pat McAfee dubbed the city “Indianta.” College football analyst and journalist Josh Pate, in describing “the nicest army on earth,” summarized the scene like this: “It looked like somebody kicked over an ant bed full of Indiana fans, and they just spilled out into Atlanta . . . there were like 50 Indiana fans for every Oregon fan. Just an unbelievable showing.” Mercedes-Benz Stadium was a sea of red.Photograph by Josh Green And then the game! My former editor in suburban Indianapolis, Matt Hendrix, had an extra ticket. This is the man, now a father of two Hoosier-fanatic young boys, who’d caught wind two decades ago I was working in a polyethylene factory to pay debts after my first newspaper job and a relationship fell into ruin. Hendrix recruited me, like some depressed and wayward wide receiver, to come write for his upstart publication. He wouldn’t take no for answer. Without him, you wouldn’t be reading this. Now how’s this for storybook: As we queued in line to enter Mercedes-Benz Stadium, Hendrix’s eyes burst open, and he gasped. Right next to us was Angelo Pizzo, the screenwriter of both Hoosiers and Rudy. Our crew of four snapped a photo with Pizzo, thanked him, and trudged inside, into a sports coliseum two Indiana friends described in text messages as “amazing.” Green and his friends with Angelo Pizzo (second from left)Photograph courtesy of Josh Green Media estimates put the sold-out Peach Bowl crowd of 75,600 as between 90 and 95 percent in Indiana’s favor—on a national stage. Oregon’s first play was a pick-six for Indiana, and the Benz erupted into a deep-red frenzy. McAfee, watching from the field, described it later on social media as “the LOUDEST stadium I’ve ever been in.” A lopsided 56-22 victory of precise gridiron execution was off and running. Cold bleachers and the hollow sadness of loss it was not. Fans rejoice after Indiana’s victoryPhotograph by Josh Green A January rainstorm did little to dampen the afterparty across downtown. We high-fived and hugged strangers and hollered under awnings all the way back to the Marriott Marquis, which the Hendrix clan and hundreds of likeminded IU faithful had staked as Hoosiers territory for the weekend. We ran into basically every IU celebrity alum (minus Mark Cuban, who eluded us) in that lobby, and they all glowed, like us, having been freshly exposed to the ecstasy of sport when it goes your way. A joyous throng packed the bar. Buckets of bottles swirled around. Periodically, someone would start the chant, and the towering ribcage atrium of that John Portman landmark echoed with “Hoo-Hoo-Hoo Hoosiers!” into the wee hours—the whoop of a starved legion on the verge, just maybe, of everlasting respect. Green with former IU basketball star Cody Zeller after the game at the Marriott MarquisPhotograph courtesy of Josh Green Josh Green is the editor of Urbanize Atlanta and a frequent Atlanta magazine contributor. He is the author of Dirtyville Rhapsodies, Secrets of Ash, and Goodbye, Sweetberry Park. The post For an Indiana native, Atlanta’s 2026 Peach Bowl was ‘Hoosiers’ in real life appeared first on Atlanta Magazine. ...read more read less