Dear Opponent: BYE
This work of epistolary comedy is dedicated to the KillerFrog Fan Forum Literary Review Board.
With love,
T.
DISCLAIMER: THIS ARTICLE HAS BEEN WRITTEN FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY; ANY ATHLETIC WISDOM OR INSIGHT OR KNOWLEDGEABILITY THEREIN, NOT DIRECTLY QUOTED BY MY COLLEAGUES, IS NOT ONLY PURELY ACCIDENTAL BUT UNFORTUNATE.
"I have come here to chew bubblegum and talk trash. And I'm all out of bubblegum."
--"Rowdy" Roddy Piper (slightly amended)
Dear Birdies,
I've a bone to pick with you. You see, last season, when the Barry Lewis told me TCU was to play BYE, in the third week of play, and I had the unenviable task of writing these missives designed for no other purpose than to make fun of every opponent we meet (which, I assure you, is much easier to do when we're winning) I had the darnedest time of it. I couldn't learn a thing about your team, where you hail from, what your colors were. No mascot, no stadium, no town. Who were your coaches? Did you have a cheerleading squad? Was there a marching band? Alas. Nothing. I Googled BYE, and the only things that came up were BYU, and a 1963 movie starring Dick Van Dyke (1.5 stars according to The Ratigan). We beat BYU. And evidently, BYU beats that movie.
TCU students cheer at a game earlier this season.
Brian McLean, On Assignment Photo/KillerFrogs
Then, the following day, I was tasked with writing a How To Watch article. These are simple. I tell TCU fans all over the world where TCU will playing, at what time, and against whom. Like I say, simple. Any more simple and it would be transcribing a Taylor Swift song. Only I couldn't find a time. Nothing in TCU's schedule. Nothing in the Big 12 schedule. Nothing anywhere. Now, there are plenty of private schools in the Big 12 that purport to be "Christian"--TCU (if Disciples of Christ count), Baylor (if Baptists count), BYU (if Mormons count). But yours, it would seem, was the most successful in its religious fervor, as it would seem you had been thoroughly raptured, leaving us all behind, and not so much as an insignia as a trace of your design.
So I called the Lewis.
"Lewis!"
"What now?"
"When are we playing BYE?"
At this point, I heard the sound of him slapping his head--never a good thing--which somewhat resembles a hatchet squashing a pumpkin.
"Lewis!"
"I heard you."
"Any idea?"
"When hell freezes over."
"Who said that? Was it Don Henley? It was Don Henley wasn't it?"
Another smack.
"Anyway, Lewis, I've got an article to write, and if you want that article, I'm going to need your help."
"I'm going to bed, you ignorant . . . "
"Now there's no reason to get personal, Lewis."
Click.
Out of ideas, I wrote the article, soliciting our fans for whatever information they could provide as to when and where we would meet your no-doubt-illustrious team.
The only problem is that none of our fans agreed. They gave me more times and places than I could count as if I had put the Tower of Babel in my GPS.
I assumed the game would be on Saturday, as almost all of our games are on Saturday. The only question was the time. The game would have to begin between 11 and 7.
So I showed up at 11. And I stayed till 9. In the heat. In Fort Worth in September. Well, all I can say to that experience is the field at the Amon Carter has at least 5,839,920 grass blades (the number I reached before I gave up around 9 o'clock and went home).
Anyway, whoever you are, when we play, whenever we play, wherever it may be, could you please do me a great favor and show up this time?
Thank you.
Sincerely,
SI
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