Memorial Day weekend marks the beginning of summer for most Americans, and for college football fans, it has added significance. Memorial Day marks the horse latitudes of the calendar, when football disappears from the landscape and all is very, very still. During this time of year you can only pray for September, and amuse yourself by counting the number of times Mike and Mike in the Morning mention Hank Steinbrenner (educated guess: 5.8 times per show x 63 shows before kickoff = 365.4).
And the coaches of the SEC feel your pain. Believe me, these guys are among the most driven of the workaholics. Kyle and I got a tip that, like the twins from Ocean's Eleven "they are having trouble filling the hours".
So we've brokered a mutually agreeable solution, we think. During the offseason, we'll occasionally accept reader mail and submit your questions to our crack panel of SEC football coaches. They in turn will answer using the proven life lessons that help them earn millions of dollars, win football games and (in some cases) force 300 pound men to weep softly into their pillowsat night. Because sometimes the truth hurts, Shirley.
So lets get started. Our first emailed question comes from Bill in Augusta:
Guys, my daughter's dance recital is this Saturday. I love my little girl to death, and when she's on stage I am the prototypical beaming father. But the other seven hours and fifty five minutes of this annual affair make me want to gouge my eyes out with a melonballer. There's the jerk next to me who can't put down his Blackberry. The kid in the row behind me who hasn't yet discovered the wonders of deoderant. And the Dana Lohan wannabe in the front row telling her seven year old to "work it" for the crowd while doing the dance along with little Lindsey and obscuring my view. Not to mention Jenkins from accounting, who will inevitably find me and want to talk about the latest company gossip. Jenkins is an Auburn fan, by the way. I hate Auburn. That's why I love this blog.
But I'm rambling. My question is, how do I handle this situation? Do I bring my iPod with every Munson mix Paul Westerdawg ever created and block it all out? My wife would surely not speak to me for weeks. Do I fake illness? I don't want to miss little Lenora's solo, but I hear it's ebola season in the Congo, so the excuse is seasonably tenable. I'm overwhelmed, and the melonballer is looking more and more appealing. Help!!!!!
Urban Meyer: Bill, I think the first question you have to ask yourself is, "why am I not out recruiting the top one percent of the top one percent instead of considering wasting time at some dance recital?" Oh yeah, you're not a world reknown motivational speaker and resurrector of downtrodden football programs. So there's that. But my advice would be to go to the recital. It shows your commitment to that young man. I mean your daughter. Whatevs, as the kids say. Speaking of kids, do you have a son? What's his 40 time? Is his girlfriend into gymnastics ? The point is, I once spent 3 weeks camped in the bushes outside Percy Harvin's bedroom, trying to convince him that mine was the voice of God, and that God was telling him to come to Gainesville. The least you can do is suck it up for one afternoon.
Houston Nutt: Bill, you gotta nurture your kids' talents. Hell, look at my little girl . She's like Kellie Pickler, only without the charming hardscrabble backstory . You go to that dance recital, partner. And lay off the guy texting on his Blackberry. Ain't nothing wrong with a healthy text messaging life .
Bobby Petrino: Just go to the dang dance recital and leave at intermission. That's what I usually do.
Les Miles: Are you kidding me? You'll be at that recital. And make sure everybody knows it. Because if you don't comment on it, or equivocate in the least , you end up having to have a press conference about it , and that distracts your daughter and the rest of her damn strong dance class. And you don't want that, especially on the eave of the biggest performance of their young lives. Unless that little shrew Hayley LaFontaine is in your daughter's dance class. In which case you can both go to hell. There will be no more questions for me.
And there you have it, Bill. We seem to have a consensus. The SEC's greatest football minds agree you need to be there for your daughter's dance recital. It's the right thing to do, ebola or no. Until later . . .