An autumnSaturday is not only a day for college football fans to see their teams inaction, it is also a time to bend an elbow and share the day's joys—or drownits sorrows—with like-minded friends. As Artist Bernard Fuchs found on anationwide pub crawl—and depicts on the following pages—there are taverns inevery college town where unabashed rooters can hoist a few and raise therafters without fear of contradiction. These aren't places where the atmospherehas been created by tacking up pennants and installing seats in school colors.Instead, their game-day (and night) hospitality has come about as naturally asthe patina on the bar, and if the person next to you is a Lit. major or neverreads anything other than a parlay card, who cares? Here only footballcounts.
After a win overAlabama, the two-story Alumni Club in South Bend overflowed with Notre Dame'shappy followers.
Tennessee's 1976season was fine for the pinball-machine business in Knoxville's Last Lap. Thisyear, expect a Majors change.
With theGeorgia-Florida game on TV, partisans of both teams sit quietly absorbed atManuel's in Atlanta. The Bulldog rooters were hollering at the final gun.
September 4, 1977
Owner Jim England(foreground) and the Last Lap bartenders take five before a Tennesseekickoff.
Football frenzyand Halloween go together at Larry Blake's Rathskeller in Berkeley, Calif.
The interior ofthe Alpine Beer Garden near Stanford is packed and noisy, but in the dappledshade out back there's room to savor a satisfying brew or two.