The Screwed Tape Letters: Mind The Gap

Dear Dr. ADJD,

(I assume Dr. to be the proper honorific, as is wise when addressing any member of an institution of higher learning; my rationale is simple: if there exists a smidgen of doubt, round up!)

Dear Dr. ADJD,

(I am told your actual name is Jeremiah Donati; and I would love to address you as such, since Jeremiah happens to be the name of my favorite Biblical prophet--see the Lamentations--and, further, your patronymic allows for a delicious pun applicable, as any collegiate administrator can attest, to your multifarious activities. Having said that, the Barry Lewis strictly insists I address you as the ADJD, that being evidently the rule--though the man himself no longer speaks to me due to my having directly quoted him in my satirical pieces too often, this one not excluded).

Dear Dr. ADJD,

It is my privilege to be writing you today, and I assure you, the request I am about to make is intended with all due respect. Here, for once, I will cut to the chase: please, if it be at all possible, separate, for all sports events, the TCU fans from those of their competitors. If you could do so, it would, I think, make watching our Horned Frogs in the midst of athletic competition a more enjoyable, to say nothing of safer, experience.

Please allow me to provide some background. I know nothing about sports. Nada. Nil. Zilch. Less than zero. I know more about alternating and direct currents, and to tell the truth, I have never understood the distinction between the two.

But somehow, as fate or luck would have it, I have found myself, as you can see, a scribe for Sports Illustrated. I like to call myself SI's very own SI (sports ignoramus). The only thing I do know about sports is that the Horned Frogs should always win, and Baylor and UT should always lose.

So you will be sympathetic, I'm sure, to my position; prior to my being strictly banned by the Barry Lewis--long story, don't want to go into it--from all TCU sports competitions, the dear man was kind enough to invite me to a tennis match and a baseball game. You will, I am sure, understand my perplexity when I found myself in the midst of a madding crowd, most in purple, but many (and by no means a small minority) in green. Green! At TCU!

And further, while I was tasked with the not-so-simple assignment of learning the rules of a virtually incomprehensible game, I was surrounded by cheers constantly, and had at one point clapped--out of purblind habit, I assure you--at an inappropriate occasion: the Bores from Waco had won what I am told is called a "set." I assure you, the look I received from the Barry could have rivaled those Dante received from Virgil when he had the audacity to pity the sinners in the Inferno.

"That wasn't us," he said, and for one moment I wished my hands had been amputated before I could fall so low as to join the Bores from Waco in applause for a Baylor victory.

And while this was happening, and we Frogs, we mighty under-Frogs, were being utterly humiliated at home, it occurred to me that the knoll at the opposite side of the court would have made for a wonderful sitting area for these heretics in green. You must understand that at this point, I was no longer watching the various matches at play, but rather the audience, so I could know when TCU did well as against when Baylor did. While TCU performed poorly, celebration from our inconsiderable majority slowly dissipated, so I was spared cheering, even clapping, through the rest of the match, my only solace being I did not give comfort and aid to the enemy, and it is my hope, after this epistle, I never will again!

Tennis up, the Berry and I relocated to the Charlie and Marie Lupton Baseball Stadium, where the Frogs were at play against Kansas (perhaps Kansas State, I forget which; I only know they wore purple. Purple! At TCU! How to account for such treachery?). And as we scaled the ramp leading to the gate, we heard clearly a collective groan and a responsive cheer. I said, "That sounds good." And the Barry had to clarify: "That's not us." "How could it not be, they're cheering in our stands!" "Did you not hear the groan before?" "Perhaps one of our guys got socked in the nose and walked." "Don't count on it."

Sure enough, when we took our seats overlooking what I am told is "first base," I found, auspiciously, a sea of purple shirts. The only problem was the other team was also wearing purple. However, fortunately, the visiting team evidently wears gray, so I was able to tell which team was at bat. And I was incredulous when a guy in gray got on base or, worse, passed home plate, cheers erupted from people in purple surrounding me.

"Base traitors!" I shouted.

"They're cheering for their team!"

"Well, can't they do that in the parking lot? This is fundamentally indecent!"

And it was then a shock of inspiration jolted me: the wall! Yes! Allow the visiting team to collect on the other side of the wall so they cannot, with their obnoxious cheers, demoralize our guys. Further, they can have the pleasure of collecting each ball from Brayden Taylor's incessant home runs--were they Baylor or UT fans, maybe an occasional bop on the head, just for good sport!

It seems to me that separating TCU fans from those of our competitors at all home games is necessary, and of paramount importance--if for no other reason that I not make the humiliating error of cheering for a Baylor team ever again.

Sincerely,

P.S., If this proves inexpedient, please feel free to cut a hole in the net where the visiting team sits; those foul balls need somewhere to go.

P.P.S., Seeing as you're a director, can you produce as well? My friend has a quality screenplay that would make a great movie! You can catch her imbibing spirits at Ye Olde Bull and Bush on Montgomery 76107 (please, no direct correspondence; all mail will be summarily returned).

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