What your view of sports and life would be if you had too many concussions
No, the Right Reverend Houston Dale Nutt is not fisting Jim Rome…yet. Rather, these are just the themes from the latest examples of the completely bi-polar nature of the Nutt, and by extension, any institution affiliated with the Rt. Rev.
Houston Nutt is just a head-scratching, what-the-hell-happened-there type enigma. I can’t decide whether the man is geniunely bat-shit crazy, or just a cunning master of deception. In the last 24 hours, the following pieces appeared on the interwebz, each painting a picture as different as Grant Wood vs. Salvador Dali on acid after a month-long tequila bender.
1) The Germ-o-phobe:
In an effort to ward off the aggressive and debilitating advances of Outbreak Monkey (the H1N1 virus), Ole Miss is considering having its football team wear surgical gloves during its stroll down the Walk of Champions before Saturday’s game against SE Louisiana, CBS College Sports Radio reports. Typically the team walks through the Grove, glad handing the fanbase on its way to the stadium, but the fear of disease, namely the flu, which has swept through the team in recent days, may prompt the move to a more sterile interaction.
Didn’t Howard Hughes go through something like this? Sure, it starts with the gloves; but the next thing you know, you are cloistered away insane-monk style on the top floor of your Vegas hotel with your feet stuffed in Kleenex boxes and saving your own urine.
2) Full-On Caligula:
Ole Miss, in just a year and a half of sustained football excellence, have bypassed the stable, prosperous stage of football glory and skipped ahead to the decadent, endstages of Caligula-esque imperium. They don’t want the steady, stable period where fans behave semi-normally, coaches don’t hand out hundreds for good play, and orgies don’t break out with shocking regularity. They prefer to skip right to the part where they enjoy the Senators’ wives, thank you very much. Proof of this: the hiring of dwarves, a sure harbinger you’ve entered the decadent phase of a civilization’s lifespan.
“I am looking to hire a professional Dwarf Actor for frat house party entertainment at the University of Mississippi in Oxford Mississippi.”
Now that’s the I-don’t-give-a-fuck-about-germs-I’m-sticking-it-into-that side of Vegas that should stay there. For those times when a Buick full of tanked-up quasi-skanky sorority girls just isn’t enough, there’s only one answer: “professional” midgets.
Frankly, I’m not sure just how one’s professional status is determined for such a thing, let alone exactly at which skill did they reach the professional ranks. It matters little; the diametrically-opposed nature of one hand with a rubber glove with the other ostensibly on some very-low-to-the-floor naughty bits is the heart of the duality of the Nutt.
Either way, until further notice whenever at Ole Miss, you should be wearing rubber on something.