They were waiting in line to buy train tickets, a cluster of genteel souls dressed in red, wrestling with the MARTA ticket machines in Buckhead as if performing some kind of advanced calculus. They wore halter tops and cocktail dresses and golf shirts and scarlet pants patterned with little English bulldogs, and they toted leaky Styrofoam coolers overflowing with domestic beer. They filed down the stairs in a long, sloppy line that just kept growing. Chants of “Go Dawgs” echoed through the station. “If this game had been in Boise instead of Atlanta, we would have bought out their whole stadium,” one of them said. “We could sell two-hundred thousand tickets a game if they’d let us.”

Posted at 5:42 PM