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Wednesdays with Ed My silly-ass website guy is really a pain, but he did have an interesting idea the other day.
He said "Coach O, at one school where I used to work, they had a neat
idea that they called 'Night of Champions.' They had a night where the
players did some weightlifting exhibitions and the fans would come and
people liked it." "Well, that sounds like some BY-GOD sissified
Starkville horse manure to me," I said. "Have you ever seen any
barbells on a BY-GOD football field? No. If they would let you pick up
a 30-pound free weight and whomp some damn Arkansas quarterback in the
head with it ,then that MIGHT make some sense." Still, Coach O
is nothing, if not fan-friendly. So I finally decided that I'd do
something in order to shut up the damn incessant whining about how they
want us to score a touchdown in SEC play this year, which I think is a
damn OVER-RATED achievement for a team. Anyway, I figured, might as
well give 'em something to cheer about. Instead of some lame-ass
weightlifting, though, I figured we would combine fan entertainment
with some drills that might hopefully mold some of these sumbitches
into actual OLE MISS MATERIAL. First, I had to think of
something for these useless damn 180-pound wide receivers and
cornerbacks and all that crap that are taking up VALUABLE SCHOLARSHIPS
in a day and age when the NCAA is talking about LIMITING a team to a
measly 350 scholarships, or so I hear from our compliance department.
So our first event was Live Chicken Chasing, which didn't prove much,
although it did get some blood and feathers flying in the old Tad Smith
Coliseum. Eventually, most of our damn NON-LINEMEN managed to catch and
kill one. Mico McSwain won the event -- he killed 43 and had to be
pulled off one of our old fans who looked like Colonel Sanders -- which
seemed to me to express a little HOTTY-TODDY attitude, By God.
Then we went outside for the Yanking a Volkswagen Out Of A Ditch
competition. Again, there was disappointment. Our first big ol' lineman
reached down and grabbed the bumper and pulled the VW up, so I walk
over there and I say "Boy, this damn VE-HICLE is in NEUTRAL. Do you
consider that a challenge, by God? That's weak-ass Hattiesburger
action. Do you think when Auburn puts a big-ass Chette Williams-bought
nose tackle in there, his ass is gonna be in NEUTRAL? HELL no. So you
roll that ve-hicle back down there, put it in BY-GOD Park, and jerk it
out of there." That took a while, but we finally got a winner,
some fat ol' boy whose name I don't remember and may never learn since
he apparently hot-wired the VW and drove it back to Itta Bena, saying
the previous staff "promised him" one. We went back inside and I
put on a little shirt-tearing exhibition. Then we had Ramming Your Head
Against the Wall, and showed poor form, so once again I had to
demonstrate the correct form to our players. I was double-damn
DISGUSTED at this point so I said "Holy Mother of Eli! This group makes
me want to THROW UP." So I beat hell out of 20 or 30. Finally, I
said "I'm going to find SOMETHING that you weak-ass sumbitches can do
that will not EMBARRASS this GREAT INSTITUTION." So I just brought out
some folding chairs and told them to sit down, then I had our
Rebelettes bring 'em all a cold Falstaff Beer. "Ain't this nice,
boys?" I said. "See, Coach O, can be your FRIEND and have a little pink
tea-party, which is APPARENTLY what you pansy-asses want. Hell, have
another." Well, we keep at that for about an hour. all of a sudden one of our damn quarterbacks makes a move to stand up.
"Where you think you a-going, son?" "I gotta pee, Coach O."
"Oh, no, son. This is the last event. The Test of Wills. So just get
your ass back in that folding chair and have another Falstaff."
Well, it built up slow. Our fans were sitting around talking about the
1962 team like they always do, but as some of those boys started crying
or passing out around the six-hour mark, they started to pick up on it.
So I gave a little speech. I said "How the HELL can you expect to stop
the mighty Crimson Tide of Alabama if you can't hold back a little ol'
tide in the bladder. Hell, some of you boys can't even hold back the
Tulane Green Wave, judging from the floor in this place!!" "You tell 'em, O!" the crowd yelled, and then they did a special Hotty Toddy. "HOTTY TODDY, GOD ALMIGHTY, WHO IN THE HELL ARE WE!!
"OLE MISS, BY DAMN, AND WE AIN'T GONNA PEE!!!"
Still, by the 12-hour mark, things were getting messy and at the
18-hour mark, there wasn't but three of us left -- me, BenJarvus
Green-Ellis and Vicente DeLoach. They were both crying pretty good,
though, so I said "Hell, let's settle this." So I stood up on the table
and said "I'm going to RIP THE LIVER outta the first boy that PEES A
DROP!" Unfortunately, that scared them both so bad that they
both let go at the same time. Thus, we had a Night of Co-Champions
instead. Mrs. O's Corner this week is about Brent Shaffer's work
with poor children and cripples and stuff and how he just didn't have
time to go to all those damn junior college classes. Be of good cheer.
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