Sunday, November 26, 2006

Holy Brutal Hell

I just returned from the rural South. I was a bit culture shocked-- to say the least-- after my extensive absence. The unrefined and bitter days of my youth attacked my senses and sent me into a freefall of accents and accidents. I was garrulous and reserved at the same time. I couldn't figure out why.

Then I read this and remembered the rules of Padgett Powell's New South. Everyone is out to get you. I can't imagine being a witness to this, but I can imagine that at some point the entire crux of the argument regressed into a discussion over who was better than who in high school athletics.

Collegiate sports are overblown in the South. Rivalries are taking on new meaning. What's surprising is this wasn't even a Duke-NorthCarolina argument. I've seen some violent shit break out over Jeff Lebo and Eric Montross as compared to Cherokee Parks and Steve Wojchekowski. No lie, Serge Zwicker's laxness made a man throw a bottle once. This, however, was Clemson vs. South Carolina. It was football. It was SEC vs. ACC pride, and goddamnit if James Walter Quick was gonna take Steve Spurrier's shit lying down. He wasn't afraid of the goddamned SEC-- he knew good and hell's well that Allen Johnson was as sonofabitch for laughing at him, and he wasn't paying for no bullshit cheater-ass shit like this.

The craziest part? He used a hunting rifle. This is some shit Mark Twain would've scoffed at-- c'mon Jamie, man, at least break a beer over his head. A hunting rifle? Wow.

If nothing else, I'm really glad to be back in NYC. At least here I can get shot outside of a strip club 50 times for a reason.

Ahem. My point is... the South is crazy, man.

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