The Screwed Tape Letters: We Came, We Saw, We Left
Dear Frogs,
I am happy to say that since dying last Wednesday, when you lost against Oklahoma State, I have been resurrected. Barely. Turns out the Barry Lewis knew which strings to pull on my behalf. And while I am thankful for the dear man's intercession to reunite effectively my mind with my body, I'm not at all certain I agree with the terms of my restoration, considering our monumental loss to the second worst team ever conceived by the diabolical mind of man: Texas--oh yeah, more on them later.
Let's just say life is sweet, as are memories, but losing isn't, especially to Texas.
As the entire student section knows only too well. Gentlemen, members of the TCU men's basketball team, you should have seen them, three thousand college kids decked in purple, like royalty, unanimous in their love of the Frogs and their contempt for UT.
I was in attendance for my first basketball sporting event in twenty-five years, sitting to the right of the one and only Barry Lewis. Before the game began, before the final note of the National Anthem had been sung, the Barry Lewis turned to me and said: "I've never heard so much enthusiasm for the Star Spangled Banner before."
Then, like the soldiers at Normandy, or the Patriots at Yorktown, you, favored Frogs, stormed the court, and if God has ears, the divine auricular nerves may still be ringing. A giant cardboard cutout of Eddie Lampkin's face crossed the stands like a teenager at a mosh pit, fourteen thousand fingers were raised and clenched, and were there any Longhorns in attendance, their presence was as noticeable as a microbe tripping on an atom. And when Texas lumbered onto the court, the response of our dear students was an unanimous, univocal command to mind one's dental hygiene: "Fork your teeth"--any reader requiring clarification of that imperative needs to take a spoon to his/her brain.
It was beautiful.
For ten minutes.
Then something happened. Despite thirty minutes of ecstatic support from their fans, the TCU men's basketball team left the building. What remained was something else entirely. The bodies were there, going through the motions, but the spirit had evaporated. What could account for such demoralization, I wonder.
We were down at the half, but that did not prevent the crowd's stubborn enthusiasm. With 9 minutes left, down by twenty-one, the Barry Lewis remained optimistic: "We're only down by seven possessions."
"Only seven?" I asked.
"Only seven."
"But that assumes we hit nothing but three-pointers!"
"It's possible."
The clock continued. And I began to notice something. A profound silence coming from my left, which had been so deafening before. Had I gone deaf?
No, I hadn't gone deaf.
The student section had left the building. Almost all of them. Granted, there were one or two stubborn holdouts waving their purple flags--aside from the Barry Lewis and I. But the rest were suddenly gone. Perhaps, to be optimistic, they were raptured. Perhaps, to be less so, they are now imbibing their spirits at Ye Olde Bull and Bush on Montgomery 76107--at least those who are of age. The rest can snack at the Vending Nut Company.
Anyway, dear Frogs, please do not allow such a thing to happen again. I speak on behalf of the wellness and welfare of the 8,000 some Frogs in attendance tonight.
With love,
T.
P.S., Fork your teeth!
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