Goldfinger
03-17-2009, 07:30 PM
Nashville TN is big, bloated, and full of fashionable pretenders deceiving themselves into believing they are living in Hollywood East but not even their beautiful women can disguise the fact that they have no taste in music at all. I arrived in Nashville on Wednesday afternoon with plenty of time to check in and re-discover what Nixon had called "peace at the center" before I found Allen Arena. I knew Nashville very well from the old days of working on several music videos featuring either aging stars or the latest crop of studio manufactured teenage whores but I had never been to DAVID lipscomb. From the hotel it was just a short stint up Belmont Avenue in the quick little beast we had rented for the occasion just in case the Lord's Army became unhinged. Few things are more dangerous than a group of pissed-off Jesus freaks armed with silver uzi's and tear gas while howling Old Testament gibberish at the top of their bleeding lungs.
The Arena itself was tucked away between similar bricked buildings and a baseball field. There were no visible signs or banners outside advertising the tournament -- in fact the only signs of basketball I saw were hand made ornaments of the nations elite (Kansas, Duke, Oklahoma, etc.) hanging on a couple of outdoor Christmas tree's. Indeed a far cry from tournaments past. A high school student touring their campus would have had no idea that a division 1 basketball tournament was going on that weekend. Then again the type of high school student touring their campus was probably screeching with lust over the tiny chapel just a few streets down. For a town that prides itself as being a major player in the entertainment industry this little corner displayed no showmanship at all.
By the time the first game got underway I was desperate to shed the disgruntlement my heart felt over the desolate atmosphere and concentrate solely in cheering on the Bucs for I truly desired a ticket to the Big Dance. The NCAA tournament is the birthright of ETSU for as long as they remain in the Atlantic Sun and I had enough of watching them willingly hand over the keys to lesser talent through poor defensive schemes and mental breakdowns. Stetson put up the fight of their lives but were ultimately no match for a team that had finally been given the green light to unleash their athletic dominance. Kevin Tiggs led the way with his 37 points but it was Mike Smith's defense that impressed me the most that night.
Mike Smith is the most complete basketball player in the A-sun. He does it all. His range extends from post player all the way to point guard -- as he rebounds, shoots, penetrates, defends, and passes with a kind of controlled toughness that is reminiscent of the athletes in ancient Greece. I do not know the color of his eyes but his body and heart are exactly what Hitler had in mind when he spoke of his master race. Yes sir, he is a dangerous juggernaut chocked full of true grit and when he's heading your way at top speed all you can do is either get out of his path or pray your insurance has been paid in full.
There were many great deep three's and athletic plays during the first two games, such as the lob from Pigram that Tiggs flew over the 6^8 Belmont kid to catch and throw down with great agility and force, but the most amusing play of the weekend was when the eye-shadow sporting Andy Wicke tried to pull the ball out of Smith's hands. Smith was minding his own business looking to pass to someone on the wing when the little transvestite grabbed the ball which was nonchalantly being cradled by Smith. As soon as Smith realized the ball was slipping he clamped down hard sending Wicke crashing to the floor like a rag doll as he over powered the fancy lad with brutal force.
I sat behind Mike Boyd's wife during the Belmont game and she was a wild girl. She roared into the arena that night with the kind of rare madness that is only found in hyenas just as they are closing down on an injured animal. She expected no mercy and gave none. She understood that basketball is a vicious business and anybody who gets into it should be prepared to deal with the meanest of the mean. I enjoyed her quite a bit, actually. I think it was the moment that I accused the referee of being "a sawed off little runt who had the face only a mother could love" that she turned around and started conversing with me. We spent much of the game yelling at the bucs to fight through those screens and when I lost a little faith in the second half as Belmont cut the lead to two it was she who turned around with threatening eyes and ordered me to "get with it". Her fire and brimstone was just what I needed -- of course it also didn't hurt that the bucs started putting points on the board. After the Jacksonville game she sought me out for high fives and to inform me that I knew exactly what was needed to defeat Belmont. I smiled and congratulated her as I sat back down in my chair quietly watching as the jackals tore each other apart in a desperate attempt to steal the credit from those who deserved it.
I've been hypocritical over Bartow during the past couple of seasons and that kind of hot-blooded criticism is rightfully within my borders as a fan. Despite whatever blunders he may have made in the past he coached three near perfect games last weekend in Nashville. I know. I sat behind him all three games. I could hear every word coming out of his mouth and I was very impressed with how he handled his players. Pigram got a little wild in the Jacksonville game when Bartow sat him down, fussed at him, and then sent him back into action the very next play. Pigram responded with the kind of composure that is fitting of a champion as the bucs cruised to victory. I think my favorite Bartow moment came during the Stetson game where they allowed a man to sink a wide open three prompting Murry to turn to the bench yelling "*** **** it". The humor didn't come from Bartow's words but rather a large woman to my left who stood up and told Murry Bartow that he "does NOT talk like that". She lacked the understanding that Mike Boyd's wife had. Not that Mike Boyd's wife used any profanities...because she didn't. But she knew that these were desperate moments and that in this country we are free to damn our creator if we wish. After three years of losing in this conference I can certainly see Murry's desire to do so.
As the Belmont game was winding down into the closing minute I was busy dangling my keys toward the student section of the bruin fans. At first they looked like deer in headlights just before the oncoming bullet bore into their faces -- shattering their skulls into tiny bits as their brains skipped off into the woods providing a hearty meal for all sorts of jaded mammals to feast on. With thirty seconds left on the clock two Belmont girls in pink shirts from across the court were mouthing off and pointing at me. I wasn't quite sure what they were saying but I was fairly certain that they were not shouting their phone numbers. After the game I quickly walked to their side of the arena in hopes of engaging these spirited Frauleins in a quiet talk but to my amazement they had left. They were no where to be found at all. What was worse the entire Belmont student section had vanished with them. To the victor goes the spoils apparently had no meaning for these two damsels and I was left feeling jaded once more.
Purgatory can't come soon enough for the miserable bastard who decided to intermingle the men and women's tournament. What used to be three days of high speed frenzy is now a hurry up and wait operation. Last Thursday I attended the Belmont/Mercer game which saw Belmont pull a rabbit out of Rick Byrds sweater vest and once again prove that they are the luckiest team in the nation. Just as I was starting to get into that tournament flow I had to wait around a couple of hours while the women came into dull my senses. When Lipscomb and Campbell finally took the floor I found myself tired and ready to go to the hotel but instead I endured through it like some kind of dutiful servant of the Mad Hatter only with considerably less charm and blatant sex appeal.
Saturday had finally arrived and I been reminded twice by the puritan hotel maids that check out was at noon. The mens championship didn't start until five and I had seen everything in Nashville that I cared to see at least three times at this point. We decided to take a long lunch in order to stay away from the women's game as long as possible. Women's basketball is like watching a boys club game only without the wall-eyed relative that requires your presence but the level of excitement the two sports offer is about the same. In fact the boys club might have the upper hand during those amusing moments in the heart of madness when a little boy will become confused and run the ball to the opposite team's goal for a last ditch layup that seals his teams defeat in the final seconds. Yes, anything can happen in boys club ball and if your lucky the child-like magic extends to the college game. Just ask Chris Webber.
We arrived at Allen Arena during the closing minutes of the women's championship game as the lady bucs had all but closed it out. I sat in the far corner away from everyone in a desperate attempt to find peace from the action on the court but it was impossible to ignore Dave Mullins wandering around behind me like a pale buffalo -- grazing on a field where mighty gods once played.
The nets were down, the celebration had ended, and now came the impossible three hour wait until the real team took the floor. Most fans scattered across the DAVID lipscomb campus like possessed rats escaping a good old fashioned exorcism while a few accepted their fate and sat down in a long induced silence. I had decided to find the campus starbucks that the announcers had been peddling all weekend over the loud-speakers but when I got there it was closed. Fortunately the lady back at the arena let me into a special room where the commissioner and other assorted officials gather to drink coffee, eat donuts, and pat each other on the back at what a fine tournament they are providing. I felt no guilt in stealing their own private starbucks coffee...in fact I made several cups and auctioned them off to some campus girls outside who were eager to fill their lips with Hot Starbucks coffee....Bold.
After about fifteen minutes of flirting with the campus girls I felt satisfied that this fine upstanding Church of Christ school was filled with whores like all the rest and so I returned to claim my seat behind the bench but when I arrived there was a conversation going on about the direction of the program. The man who was leading the discussion was just hanging on to those last moments of middle age. He wasn't a bad guy but it was clear his interests were to get along with the administration despite his attempts to mask his own shilling through a very practiced sense of diplomacy. The man's age withstanding, he was relatively a new fan as he had just started following the bucs in 2004. His wife had informed me that when he retired a few years ago they had decided that this would be the perfect opportunity to travel together. She went on to explain what a beautiful area Florida Gulf Coast is and I thought to myself -- sure if you're using the bucs as some sort of travel club for your twilight years then the Atlantic Sun is the conference for you.
Upon being pressed the man expressed the administration had made some mistakes in a few areas but he was adamant with his monstrous belief that the administration needed positive support rather than negative complaints. "If we can just build them up with positive energy" he boasted "then I think it can be better for everybody. The fans, the program....everybody." I asked him what his definition of a better program was but I was never given a satisfactory answer. Instead he rambled on about how we need a new arena. "Tear down the dome and put a parking lot in its place" the man preached "then build something very similar to what is here at Lipscomb." Jesus God, I thought! Did I just hear him correctly or had my ears wandered off into some sinister playground for the morally corrupt? Build something similar to DAVID lipscomb? Why don't we just go back to the NAIA why we are it? We can dress in period clothing and storm Brooks Gym with live stock in hopes of haggling for tickets in a reenactment of Greeneville High vs the ETSN Teachers. The man didn't stop there... he went on to suggest that the real culprits behind the loss of football was the State of Tennessee. "They just don't give enough money to education" he brayed like a mule. I would argue that far too much money is being given to education but it doesn't matter because such arguments have no bearing on reality. If Chattanooga suddenly had to drop its football program then maybe he would be worth listening to but as it is he's just a lap dog for the administration...barking the same tired action line I've heard over the past few years.
Mike White wandered over and suddenly the conversation changed radically. I had never met him prior to that championship day but I found him to be a likable guy. Although the subject of football never came up I got the impression that he would prefer ETSU to have the sport back as he struck me as an old-fashioned company man who just felt fortunate to have his job. He appeared to know everyone else by name including the middle aged man. It was one big club filled with handshakes and polite banter but once Jackie Mullins joined the scene got even sappier. White went off about his business but the little social club took to Mullins like royalty. At first I asked "Who is this woman" when a man turned to me with shiny eyes and exclaimed "why that's Jackie Mullins!"
Mullins had a fake politeness about her as she went about greeting her loyal subjects when a group of fans who looked to be just out of college showed up with yellow wigs and blue face paint. They were a spirited bunch of William Wallace rejects and I could sense the possibility of a showdown on the horizon. As the teams came onto the floor for their pre-game shoot around Jacksonville seemed to be in high spirits. They were sinking three's and making athletic dunks which demonstrated they were no ordinary A-sun team. They had size, athleticism, and the audacity to display it right in front of the buccaneer fan base. Marcus Allen was going wild. He had a big game the night before and it looked like he was poised to carry it into the finals. After a couple of arena shattering dunks and a few made baskets the trio of golden-haired bucaneer crazies got all over his case. He was busting down shots from the foul line but as they yelled "Allen's going to choke" he started missing. This was enough to send Queen Mullins into convulsions. She quickly attempted to quiet the young band of undesirables by saying things like "we don't do this kind of thing at ETSU" and other terrible gibberish. Despite all her attempts to the contrary the merry band of misfits kept on taunting Marcus Allen and what's more they got inside his head as he was visibly frustrated. Just before he left for the locker room he finally hit a foul shot and then pointed to the dissident breed of rebel rousers and cockily mouthed "Take that!" Mullins could still be heard spewing her rotten convictions but she lacked the courage to say it to their face.
I remembered hearing stories of Dave Mullins and the ETSU Gestapo quieting down the students and confiscating bring back football signs from fans at the dome but I had never actually seen this kind of Stalinist behavior in action. Yet here it was, happening right before my eyes, from the same high-ranking thug who had just denied our football alumni the right to an on-campus reunion. These men have given their blood, sweat, and tears to this university. What has she ever done other than seduce a young tennis coach in the hopes of joining the ranks of the university's social elite? The treacherous swine didn't possess the courage of her brutish dogma when the local press came knocking on her door. Instead she retreated to cowardly lies with a flimsy excuse about kitchen improvements while her daffy faced husband gets away with claiming he had no knowledge of the incident. It was enough to make Joseph Goebbels proud.
Lady Mullins had been saving three seats beside her but only two of her special guests finally showed up around ten minutes after tip-off to claim them. The matching pink shirts were a dead give away that this man/woman duo were not ETSU fans but as the game went on it became abundantly clear that they were also not basketball fans. Mullins was attempting to explain to these two aloof guests that if the bucs won this game they would get the only automatic bid from the Atlantic Sun but that big conferences got four or five automatic bids. Jesus! She talked like a donkey with no brains at all. Deep into the second half when Jacksonville was mounting its run and Ben Smith really got going due to Tommy Hubbards exit -- Ben Smith threw up a three pointer that missed everything and the entire buccaneer nation chanted "Airball...Airball...Airball." Jackie quickly turned to her elitist comrades and said "I wish they wouldn't do that. I've always hated it when they chant that." ETSU was about to go to the NCAA and this scurvy shady wench was apologizing for the very kind of fan support ETSU claims to want.
In truth, what this monarchy wants is for ETSU to become a social elite club where only those they deem worthy are allowed to be a part of. A kind of experimental country club that feeds off of the back breaking labor of the common tax payer. Of course Mullins was appointed to drop football -- the sports brutality and violence didn't fit in with the tea party crowd. But by God we have got to get that new softball field! Get a grip. These rotten bastards have destroyed ETSU's status in the world of athletics and it doesn't appear to me that they are finished. I think the Mullins team would cut mens basketball if they had the political capital to do it. How else are they to wee out the undesirable ruffians who makeup the fan base?
In the semi-finals I looked on as DAVID lipscombs president walked over to greet and encourage the student fan base. He complimented one student on his very bizarre hat and begged them all to get wild and crazy for the next forty minutes because the team needed it. In case you didn't know, DAVID lipscomb is a church of Christ school. One of the most prudish forms of religion you will ever come in contact with. I know I grew up in it. They think they are the only ones going to heaven and will argue to the point of a sword that when Jesus turned water into wine it was actually grape juice. The position the Mullins couple hold isn't out of goodwill but rather their own disdain for what they consider a peasant sport which attracts commoners and simpletons who should not be granted access to the party. They aren't the only ones who hold this grand country club vision -- the president of BASA gave a dirty look to a fan who was daring coach Cliff Warren to press us in the second half.
This is what we are up against. Some of us like to ignore it, a few like to challenge it, and far too many of us want to be included in it. I want ETSU Basketball to succeed. I helped lead the charge, although I insist that most of the credit should go to buc2002, in the email campaign. My loyalty to the team is unquestionable. And I can tell you from observing the coaches and the coaches wives that they just want to win. David and Jackie Mullins with their club of elitist snobs are the enemy. If we want the best for ETSU we have got to start treating them as the enemy. Otherwise...we have yet to hit the low point. These rotten swine will see to that.
The Arena itself was tucked away between similar bricked buildings and a baseball field. There were no visible signs or banners outside advertising the tournament -- in fact the only signs of basketball I saw were hand made ornaments of the nations elite (Kansas, Duke, Oklahoma, etc.) hanging on a couple of outdoor Christmas tree's. Indeed a far cry from tournaments past. A high school student touring their campus would have had no idea that a division 1 basketball tournament was going on that weekend. Then again the type of high school student touring their campus was probably screeching with lust over the tiny chapel just a few streets down. For a town that prides itself as being a major player in the entertainment industry this little corner displayed no showmanship at all.
By the time the first game got underway I was desperate to shed the disgruntlement my heart felt over the desolate atmosphere and concentrate solely in cheering on the Bucs for I truly desired a ticket to the Big Dance. The NCAA tournament is the birthright of ETSU for as long as they remain in the Atlantic Sun and I had enough of watching them willingly hand over the keys to lesser talent through poor defensive schemes and mental breakdowns. Stetson put up the fight of their lives but were ultimately no match for a team that had finally been given the green light to unleash their athletic dominance. Kevin Tiggs led the way with his 37 points but it was Mike Smith's defense that impressed me the most that night.
Mike Smith is the most complete basketball player in the A-sun. He does it all. His range extends from post player all the way to point guard -- as he rebounds, shoots, penetrates, defends, and passes with a kind of controlled toughness that is reminiscent of the athletes in ancient Greece. I do not know the color of his eyes but his body and heart are exactly what Hitler had in mind when he spoke of his master race. Yes sir, he is a dangerous juggernaut chocked full of true grit and when he's heading your way at top speed all you can do is either get out of his path or pray your insurance has been paid in full.
There were many great deep three's and athletic plays during the first two games, such as the lob from Pigram that Tiggs flew over the 6^8 Belmont kid to catch and throw down with great agility and force, but the most amusing play of the weekend was when the eye-shadow sporting Andy Wicke tried to pull the ball out of Smith's hands. Smith was minding his own business looking to pass to someone on the wing when the little transvestite grabbed the ball which was nonchalantly being cradled by Smith. As soon as Smith realized the ball was slipping he clamped down hard sending Wicke crashing to the floor like a rag doll as he over powered the fancy lad with brutal force.
I sat behind Mike Boyd's wife during the Belmont game and she was a wild girl. She roared into the arena that night with the kind of rare madness that is only found in hyenas just as they are closing down on an injured animal. She expected no mercy and gave none. She understood that basketball is a vicious business and anybody who gets into it should be prepared to deal with the meanest of the mean. I enjoyed her quite a bit, actually. I think it was the moment that I accused the referee of being "a sawed off little runt who had the face only a mother could love" that she turned around and started conversing with me. We spent much of the game yelling at the bucs to fight through those screens and when I lost a little faith in the second half as Belmont cut the lead to two it was she who turned around with threatening eyes and ordered me to "get with it". Her fire and brimstone was just what I needed -- of course it also didn't hurt that the bucs started putting points on the board. After the Jacksonville game she sought me out for high fives and to inform me that I knew exactly what was needed to defeat Belmont. I smiled and congratulated her as I sat back down in my chair quietly watching as the jackals tore each other apart in a desperate attempt to steal the credit from those who deserved it.
I've been hypocritical over Bartow during the past couple of seasons and that kind of hot-blooded criticism is rightfully within my borders as a fan. Despite whatever blunders he may have made in the past he coached three near perfect games last weekend in Nashville. I know. I sat behind him all three games. I could hear every word coming out of his mouth and I was very impressed with how he handled his players. Pigram got a little wild in the Jacksonville game when Bartow sat him down, fussed at him, and then sent him back into action the very next play. Pigram responded with the kind of composure that is fitting of a champion as the bucs cruised to victory. I think my favorite Bartow moment came during the Stetson game where they allowed a man to sink a wide open three prompting Murry to turn to the bench yelling "*** **** it". The humor didn't come from Bartow's words but rather a large woman to my left who stood up and told Murry Bartow that he "does NOT talk like that". She lacked the understanding that Mike Boyd's wife had. Not that Mike Boyd's wife used any profanities...because she didn't. But she knew that these were desperate moments and that in this country we are free to damn our creator if we wish. After three years of losing in this conference I can certainly see Murry's desire to do so.
As the Belmont game was winding down into the closing minute I was busy dangling my keys toward the student section of the bruin fans. At first they looked like deer in headlights just before the oncoming bullet bore into their faces -- shattering their skulls into tiny bits as their brains skipped off into the woods providing a hearty meal for all sorts of jaded mammals to feast on. With thirty seconds left on the clock two Belmont girls in pink shirts from across the court were mouthing off and pointing at me. I wasn't quite sure what they were saying but I was fairly certain that they were not shouting their phone numbers. After the game I quickly walked to their side of the arena in hopes of engaging these spirited Frauleins in a quiet talk but to my amazement they had left. They were no where to be found at all. What was worse the entire Belmont student section had vanished with them. To the victor goes the spoils apparently had no meaning for these two damsels and I was left feeling jaded once more.
Purgatory can't come soon enough for the miserable bastard who decided to intermingle the men and women's tournament. What used to be three days of high speed frenzy is now a hurry up and wait operation. Last Thursday I attended the Belmont/Mercer game which saw Belmont pull a rabbit out of Rick Byrds sweater vest and once again prove that they are the luckiest team in the nation. Just as I was starting to get into that tournament flow I had to wait around a couple of hours while the women came into dull my senses. When Lipscomb and Campbell finally took the floor I found myself tired and ready to go to the hotel but instead I endured through it like some kind of dutiful servant of the Mad Hatter only with considerably less charm and blatant sex appeal.
Saturday had finally arrived and I been reminded twice by the puritan hotel maids that check out was at noon. The mens championship didn't start until five and I had seen everything in Nashville that I cared to see at least three times at this point. We decided to take a long lunch in order to stay away from the women's game as long as possible. Women's basketball is like watching a boys club game only without the wall-eyed relative that requires your presence but the level of excitement the two sports offer is about the same. In fact the boys club might have the upper hand during those amusing moments in the heart of madness when a little boy will become confused and run the ball to the opposite team's goal for a last ditch layup that seals his teams defeat in the final seconds. Yes, anything can happen in boys club ball and if your lucky the child-like magic extends to the college game. Just ask Chris Webber.
We arrived at Allen Arena during the closing minutes of the women's championship game as the lady bucs had all but closed it out. I sat in the far corner away from everyone in a desperate attempt to find peace from the action on the court but it was impossible to ignore Dave Mullins wandering around behind me like a pale buffalo -- grazing on a field where mighty gods once played.
The nets were down, the celebration had ended, and now came the impossible three hour wait until the real team took the floor. Most fans scattered across the DAVID lipscomb campus like possessed rats escaping a good old fashioned exorcism while a few accepted their fate and sat down in a long induced silence. I had decided to find the campus starbucks that the announcers had been peddling all weekend over the loud-speakers but when I got there it was closed. Fortunately the lady back at the arena let me into a special room where the commissioner and other assorted officials gather to drink coffee, eat donuts, and pat each other on the back at what a fine tournament they are providing. I felt no guilt in stealing their own private starbucks coffee...in fact I made several cups and auctioned them off to some campus girls outside who were eager to fill their lips with Hot Starbucks coffee....Bold.
After about fifteen minutes of flirting with the campus girls I felt satisfied that this fine upstanding Church of Christ school was filled with whores like all the rest and so I returned to claim my seat behind the bench but when I arrived there was a conversation going on about the direction of the program. The man who was leading the discussion was just hanging on to those last moments of middle age. He wasn't a bad guy but it was clear his interests were to get along with the administration despite his attempts to mask his own shilling through a very practiced sense of diplomacy. The man's age withstanding, he was relatively a new fan as he had just started following the bucs in 2004. His wife had informed me that when he retired a few years ago they had decided that this would be the perfect opportunity to travel together. She went on to explain what a beautiful area Florida Gulf Coast is and I thought to myself -- sure if you're using the bucs as some sort of travel club for your twilight years then the Atlantic Sun is the conference for you.
Upon being pressed the man expressed the administration had made some mistakes in a few areas but he was adamant with his monstrous belief that the administration needed positive support rather than negative complaints. "If we can just build them up with positive energy" he boasted "then I think it can be better for everybody. The fans, the program....everybody." I asked him what his definition of a better program was but I was never given a satisfactory answer. Instead he rambled on about how we need a new arena. "Tear down the dome and put a parking lot in its place" the man preached "then build something very similar to what is here at Lipscomb." Jesus God, I thought! Did I just hear him correctly or had my ears wandered off into some sinister playground for the morally corrupt? Build something similar to DAVID lipscomb? Why don't we just go back to the NAIA why we are it? We can dress in period clothing and storm Brooks Gym with live stock in hopes of haggling for tickets in a reenactment of Greeneville High vs the ETSN Teachers. The man didn't stop there... he went on to suggest that the real culprits behind the loss of football was the State of Tennessee. "They just don't give enough money to education" he brayed like a mule. I would argue that far too much money is being given to education but it doesn't matter because such arguments have no bearing on reality. If Chattanooga suddenly had to drop its football program then maybe he would be worth listening to but as it is he's just a lap dog for the administration...barking the same tired action line I've heard over the past few years.
Mike White wandered over and suddenly the conversation changed radically. I had never met him prior to that championship day but I found him to be a likable guy. Although the subject of football never came up I got the impression that he would prefer ETSU to have the sport back as he struck me as an old-fashioned company man who just felt fortunate to have his job. He appeared to know everyone else by name including the middle aged man. It was one big club filled with handshakes and polite banter but once Jackie Mullins joined the scene got even sappier. White went off about his business but the little social club took to Mullins like royalty. At first I asked "Who is this woman" when a man turned to me with shiny eyes and exclaimed "why that's Jackie Mullins!"
Mullins had a fake politeness about her as she went about greeting her loyal subjects when a group of fans who looked to be just out of college showed up with yellow wigs and blue face paint. They were a spirited bunch of William Wallace rejects and I could sense the possibility of a showdown on the horizon. As the teams came onto the floor for their pre-game shoot around Jacksonville seemed to be in high spirits. They were sinking three's and making athletic dunks which demonstrated they were no ordinary A-sun team. They had size, athleticism, and the audacity to display it right in front of the buccaneer fan base. Marcus Allen was going wild. He had a big game the night before and it looked like he was poised to carry it into the finals. After a couple of arena shattering dunks and a few made baskets the trio of golden-haired bucaneer crazies got all over his case. He was busting down shots from the foul line but as they yelled "Allen's going to choke" he started missing. This was enough to send Queen Mullins into convulsions. She quickly attempted to quiet the young band of undesirables by saying things like "we don't do this kind of thing at ETSU" and other terrible gibberish. Despite all her attempts to the contrary the merry band of misfits kept on taunting Marcus Allen and what's more they got inside his head as he was visibly frustrated. Just before he left for the locker room he finally hit a foul shot and then pointed to the dissident breed of rebel rousers and cockily mouthed "Take that!" Mullins could still be heard spewing her rotten convictions but she lacked the courage to say it to their face.
I remembered hearing stories of Dave Mullins and the ETSU Gestapo quieting down the students and confiscating bring back football signs from fans at the dome but I had never actually seen this kind of Stalinist behavior in action. Yet here it was, happening right before my eyes, from the same high-ranking thug who had just denied our football alumni the right to an on-campus reunion. These men have given their blood, sweat, and tears to this university. What has she ever done other than seduce a young tennis coach in the hopes of joining the ranks of the university's social elite? The treacherous swine didn't possess the courage of her brutish dogma when the local press came knocking on her door. Instead she retreated to cowardly lies with a flimsy excuse about kitchen improvements while her daffy faced husband gets away with claiming he had no knowledge of the incident. It was enough to make Joseph Goebbels proud.
Lady Mullins had been saving three seats beside her but only two of her special guests finally showed up around ten minutes after tip-off to claim them. The matching pink shirts were a dead give away that this man/woman duo were not ETSU fans but as the game went on it became abundantly clear that they were also not basketball fans. Mullins was attempting to explain to these two aloof guests that if the bucs won this game they would get the only automatic bid from the Atlantic Sun but that big conferences got four or five automatic bids. Jesus! She talked like a donkey with no brains at all. Deep into the second half when Jacksonville was mounting its run and Ben Smith really got going due to Tommy Hubbards exit -- Ben Smith threw up a three pointer that missed everything and the entire buccaneer nation chanted "Airball...Airball...Airball." Jackie quickly turned to her elitist comrades and said "I wish they wouldn't do that. I've always hated it when they chant that." ETSU was about to go to the NCAA and this scurvy shady wench was apologizing for the very kind of fan support ETSU claims to want.
In truth, what this monarchy wants is for ETSU to become a social elite club where only those they deem worthy are allowed to be a part of. A kind of experimental country club that feeds off of the back breaking labor of the common tax payer. Of course Mullins was appointed to drop football -- the sports brutality and violence didn't fit in with the tea party crowd. But by God we have got to get that new softball field! Get a grip. These rotten bastards have destroyed ETSU's status in the world of athletics and it doesn't appear to me that they are finished. I think the Mullins team would cut mens basketball if they had the political capital to do it. How else are they to wee out the undesirable ruffians who makeup the fan base?
In the semi-finals I looked on as DAVID lipscombs president walked over to greet and encourage the student fan base. He complimented one student on his very bizarre hat and begged them all to get wild and crazy for the next forty minutes because the team needed it. In case you didn't know, DAVID lipscomb is a church of Christ school. One of the most prudish forms of religion you will ever come in contact with. I know I grew up in it. They think they are the only ones going to heaven and will argue to the point of a sword that when Jesus turned water into wine it was actually grape juice. The position the Mullins couple hold isn't out of goodwill but rather their own disdain for what they consider a peasant sport which attracts commoners and simpletons who should not be granted access to the party. They aren't the only ones who hold this grand country club vision -- the president of BASA gave a dirty look to a fan who was daring coach Cliff Warren to press us in the second half.
This is what we are up against. Some of us like to ignore it, a few like to challenge it, and far too many of us want to be included in it. I want ETSU Basketball to succeed. I helped lead the charge, although I insist that most of the credit should go to buc2002, in the email campaign. My loyalty to the team is unquestionable. And I can tell you from observing the coaches and the coaches wives that they just want to win. David and Jackie Mullins with their club of elitist snobs are the enemy. If we want the best for ETSU we have got to start treating them as the enemy. Otherwise...we have yet to hit the low point. These rotten swine will see to that.