Monday September 29, 2008

Coach Catahoula

by Catahoula®

CLEMSON, S.C.—Following an inexplicable collapse at the beer pong table Saturday morning, Coach Catahoula did not have much of an explanation for his team’s failure.

“What can I say?” Catahoula said. “We go out there and try our best, try to make some changes in our game plan. The other team made adjustments and, well, you know.”

After coming out strong out of the gates early that morning with three dominating wins, Catahoula’s beer pong team caved in the second half of the tailgating event and witnessed four straight losses to inferior competition. When the final Ping Pong ball had been tossed, fans rained down boos on the losing team.

“I know the fans are upset, but they have to understand that there’s a lot of parity in beer pong right now,” Catahoula said. “Southern Cal students lost today. Georgia students lost at beer pong today. I heard that Wisconsin fans struggled as well.”

Nothing could define the day more than Catahoula’s final, desperation throw to win one game. The bounced shot late in the tailgating morning ended up in the water cup.

“Well, I know our previous strategy of just getting the ball in the cup was working,” Catahoula said. “We thought we’d experiment a little. You know, spread the Ping Pong balls around. Try for some balance.”

While his team’s season is still salvageable, Catahoula faces a tough match in two weeks on a Thursday night game.

“I know folks expect us to win at home,” Catahoula said. “Maybe if we had some better tables, cups, and Ping Pong balls, we could win more.”

* * * * * * * *

I don’t really need to give the fans a recap of what occurred Saturday. By now, as you all down a cup of coffee in stony-eyed disbelief while trying to avoid looking at the sports section, you know all too well about the debacle in Death Valley.

You all have your opinions of what went wrong and what can be done to fix the problem. Breaking down every little flubbed play call, every boneheaded turnover, and every lack of effort won’t change your mind or anyone else’s. Instead, maybe it’s time someone looked at the big picture. The really big picture.

When we all think back to our childhoods, our memories seem a bit tainted and jaded by the good things, causing us to remember those elementary school days as being a little better than they might have been. We all know that our grandmothers cooked the best apple pie and fried chicken, that the education system taught us how to conquer the world, and that you could buy a gallon of gas and a Coke for two pennies and a slice of moldy cheese.

The 1980s were my childhood, and if you were a Tiger fan then, I don’t need to elaborate to you what that period of time spelled for Clemson football. For me, Clemson gamedays were bigger than Christmas. My father could only take time off to take us to about two games a year, so whenever we took that trip to Tiger Town, I felt like St. Nick had personally let me drive the reindeer around Littlejohn.

Needless to say, I hold a lofty view of the past that came crashing down in one January of 1990. Still, that orange-tinted outlook isn’t too off base. Clemson football then was a hard-nosed, smack-em-in-the-mouth-and-call-their-grandma-a-Jack-Russell-terrier kind of affair. It was mesh jerseys, and it was little plastic footballs tossed out at the Tiger Tailgate Show by Jane Robelot. It was sliding down the hill to Littlejohn’s tunnel on cardboard. It was driving down for the winning field goal vs. Georgia with 5 minutes left and running nothing but rushing plays. It was knowing, despite your age, that you were watching something pure, something that would be satisfying to experience regardless of the outcome.

One Ken Hatfield and two Tommys later, there’s a new look to Clemson football. I’ve tried for years to put my finger on a metaphor that can sum up what we have become. I can only think of one:

We are the Myrtle Beach of college football.

Consider that Redneck Riviera that attracts so many Canadians every winter: Scores of flashing billboards, strip clubs, shopping centers, miniature golf, and calabash restaurants adorn every square inch of its existence. Condos, hotels, by-the-hour motels, 24-hour diners are at your fingertips. It’s attractive to young people. You can get a tattoo, a Highlander-replica sword, a firefighter T-shirt, and a lap dance in a span of a couple of hours and still have time to visit the Hard Rock Café.

But when you strip all that glamor and glitz away, all that remains is something cheap and unwholesome. Something that doesn’t live up to the image that it projects.

That, to me, is Clemson football today. We doll up our product with the latest glorified (and lavishly priced) private parking/tailgating locale by Tom Winkopp, or the newest propaganda slogan from the offices in Sikes (USolidOrange4OneClemsonOnFridaysToTheTuneOfATop20March?!?!),or the latest Coach’s Lowcountry Fish Fry or Something ad on the Pawvision while we replay Maryland punching it in the end zone to take the lead. Rather than Tiger Rag, we play Zombie Nation over the loudspeakers. The once majestic band is now a halftime gimmick with American Idol spin-offs or Guitar Hero contests.

Just like Myrtle Beach, the prices are gaudy as well. Without even factoring in the seating equity plan, a ticket to Saturday’s game cost $48. If a man wanted to take his family of four to a game, he would pay $192 in ticket costs, about $60 on a tank of gas (assuming he isn’t driving hundreds of miles to see the game), and possibly $50 or more to tailgate. If he wants to purchase concession items in the stadium, he faces $3.50 drinks and $6 small cups of ice cream. All in all, he could pay roughly over $300 just to watch a game of mediocre Clemson football—and then rinse and repeat it all again the next week.

With our football program, we attract young people of two types: those who want to play for Clemson, and those who want to watch it. We’ve also attracted a bit more of a fair-weather, trashy fan base that we have not previously seen in our stadium (as evidenced by several fights in the Georgia Dome this year). We still have a core group of good fans and graduates, but a new hip-hop blood has rippled through our fan base.

When we strip away all of these grandiose scenes and take a deep look at the base product (i.e. football), we have something cheap that doesn’t live up to its image. For 10 years, we have been told how much our product has improved. For 10 years, we’ve been told we need to pay more for our product. For 10 years, the national media has been telling us that our product is about to be the new hotness. For 10 years, we have watched the billboards, calabash restaurants, and strip clubs go up around our product.

Ten years later, though, I feel like we still have the same product.

Our product comes with a short warranty and breaks down shortly after the warranty is up. We have bought extended warranties on our product when we hear the manufacturing plant could be shipped to Arkansas. Our product cooks chicken well, but other meats wear out the burner. Our product is advertised as tough and durable, but those parts are apparently sold separately. Our product has the same problems as similar products, we’re told, but those products are best-sellers that win national awards. We were told our product would perform better with flashy new accessories, but it still has the same performance. Our product is awesome on Sunday mornings, but tends to sputter on Saturdays.

I don’t believe we need to slap another block C cap on Danny Ford, or bring back mesh jerseys, or have Jane Robelot throw out more plastic footballs (that part couldn’t hurt, though) to relive those days that felt more like a warm evening in Charleston rather than a midnight walk on Ocean Boulevard. I believe our school, and its administration, needs to strip away all of these bells and whistles and simply get back to the basics that once defined Clemson football: hard-nosed play, a concept of teamwork, a desire to not give up, and a mental toughness that could not be broken down despite the numbers on the scoreboard. Let’s focus less on who is giving money to have a part of the stadium named after him and more on the product that brings back thousands of alumni each weekend—with what should be a goal of making them proud.

If that means making a drastic change to personnel, both on the field and on the coaching staff, so be it.

I’ve never been able to tolerate more than a weekend in Myrtle Beach (apologies to the natives). In Death Valley, I feel like I’ve been in Myrtle Beach for 10 years.

Sadly, sometimes I wonder if we’ll ever be allowed to leave.