Poor Agincourt

History repeats itself. We're revising the victory at Agincourt to reflect the more likely number of assailants. Pretty soon, we'll realize that rarely do the facts line up with the facts. All victories were strength and power over poor planning rather than the bravery of the few against the massive size of the complacent.

So that's the answer to all my problems? Gather an army of like-minded folks and take on the status quo? C'est vrai! Mais oui!

Yesterday, while munching on a salmon sandwich at the 50s diner in Lamar Alexander's hometown (our server, Ashley A, with eyes the colour of a full bottle of Lea&Perrins worcestershire sauce), where you're liable to seeing Scots fighting in the field on a fall day, I looked at the wall coverings. Old vehicle licence plates and other memorandumabilia. Thought about the song on the jukebox, "The Lion Sleeps Tonight."

Victory in the Lion's Den. A soft jazz quintet at the Donors' club BBQ luncheon. Cheerleaders with names like Bruce Pearl jazzing up the crowd. Rain, drizzle, rain, memories of Bill Murray in Caddyshack, "I believe the worst is over." When was the last time two fullbacks scored TDs in the General's house? High-fiving new fans around us during the 31-13 shellacking of the Evil Genius on the 31st.

And finally, hungry for more, we stopped at Shoney's midnight breakfast bar and enjoyed Kristen's hot chocolate, glad that she's been with the company for ten years, ever since she was 16, having enjoyed the days of an employee-owned franchise before selling out to the Nashville group, her loyalty higher than stock value, her dedication to us tired fans more than we can ask for, assisted by T. Boudre with the post-game rush of folks wanting some way to celebrate taking the Gamecocks down a notch.

The universe is bigger than I can imagine, my being able to write the word light-year but have no clue how many tanks of gas it takes to drive that distance, assuming an infinity of life to drive it. Thus, for me, Kiffin and his crew put life in perspective, sharing the ups and downs of a first year college-level football coach's career, proving that Agincourt was no fluke. It might not have been David and Goliath but it was a giant of a win, anyway. If we can conquer our fears, we can conquer the distance between here and wherever we want to go, spooky halftime Southland thriller shows, included.

Glad that Peyton, Dallas and Jeff can joke about their complete ignorance when it comes to Sunday football. Glad that fans of all makes and models can enjoy el fútbol americano / अमेरिकी फुटबॉल / 아메리칸 풋볼 together, overlooking Shields-Watkins Field. I am always surprised by those who congregate for sports and glad to be surprised. Hope my new friends around me at the game didn't mind meeting the other side of me, who turns on his aggressive, angry fan mode for a few hours a week, now that I'm too old to body-slam opponents during industrial league football games, coed softball games, or church league volleyball games.

[No time for proofreading/editing this entry. 'Tis what what what iiit is. Real life interrupts with other plans.]