The Independent Voice of Southern Methodist University Since 1915

The Daily Campus

The Daily Campus

The Independent Voice of Southern Methodist University Since 1915

The Daily Campus

The Independent Voice of Southern Methodist University Since 1915

The Daily Campus


The truth as I see it

The mid-February variety pack

Mud, blood, guts and mouthguards. That might be the best description of Sunday, when some of SMU’s few real men engaged in full-blown Rugby Warfare against the University of Dallas in the muddy trenches of the enemy’s campus.

The last thing coach Bob “Butter-boy” Bonafair told the team was, “Watch out for trick plays.” The information that followed sounded critical, but nothing prepared us for the tooth-and-claw mud wrestling that started at the first tackle.

Fights, fouls and swearing brought momentum to the game. The referee played a damn hard situation, choosing to ignore the social dynamics of “I’d like to kill that guy with a steel pipe” and paid more attention to what mattered most – the ball.

Brent Walter made his first appearance at No. 8 with all the pinache and style you would expect from Leonidas himself. Every ball had his name on it and every UD player could expect a little burn from his soul patch as he brought them gently to the earth with the grace and style of a starving pit bull on angel dust in a pet shop full of kittens.

Their No. 9 made a bad call by repeatedly kicking the ball, sending a bouncing grounder downfield, gaining field position in a cowardly manner to which there is really no response. You can’t physically or legally obstruct anyone who does not touch the ball. Brendan Marks, our outside safety, came charging for a tackle, going full speed and, by the grace of our lord Jesus Christ, connected his full momentum, roughly 23,500 joules of angry FIJI energy, delivered to the soft flesh of unprepared solar plexus.

It was like watching Wile E. Coyote’s clever plan backfire. Backfire is the only real word to describe what happened. The kid literally transferred from full sprint downfield to an airborne rolling ragdoll as Brendan “I am a Human Cannonball” Marks reversed his downfield progress.

He forgot one important factor: As good as he is at soccer, Marks was there to play rugby and that subtle misunderstanding put him out for the game.

Ironically, Christian Carrere was the only SMU player NOT to exchange blows. He runs his mouth to the haters and while hilarious, it causes fouls and fights. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a great boxer, but he’s actually a better rugby player, so that was a good call.

I got WWF suplexed by the opposing No. 4 when he, upon trying to tackle, stop or even just prevent the forward momentum of someone 80 pounds inferior, decided to pick me up and throw me on the ground instead. I think I have a few more neurons in my head too, because he threw me on top of one of his own teammates. That’s the kind of teamwork that gets people killed. Whatever; I may be stronger, faster and more mentally aware, but I bet he could beat me in an eating contest.

There is nothing worse than watching your friends get mauled by a team of the dirtiest cheating scumbags on earth, surrounded by a swirling mass of fists, elbows and knees. Not to mention the basic fact that he’s at the center of a human trash compacter as both teams reverse tug-of-war him toward one of two end zones.

The University of Dallas has a team of great players with the kind of spirit that allowed them to beat us seven years running, but they have three players, possibly four or five, who are just about the biggest haters you could ever imagine. It’s OK, they can play dirty and kick us while we are down all they want, but we won 10-8 and that’s what makes us different.

Now for the remaining half of the article, which covers a wide range of topics.

The first is Hibiscus. The restaurant itself is made for uptown yuppies with no idea how to read a wine list beyond the price tag. This summer, my family surprised me with dinner at the place, and with all the warmth and excitement I get out of good cooking, it sounded like a wonderful birthday present.

About five minutes after walking in, I got pissed off and we left. One of the waiters made a very genteel attempt to explain the finer points of wine to my mother. The wine selection is, in fact, OK, but they mark it up at least two-thirds of what it really is. As much as I like Franzia, I don’t want to pay $60 a box just for “atmosphere.'”

That said, maybe a college freshman knows more about eating than I do, since he is the food critic.

There are no good restaurants that are easy to find. The reason for this is simple: mainstream “please the common sheep” grazing pastures like Hibiscus have a proven business model, and can therefore afford absurd land values to stick their culinary feces at your fingertips.

Real joy comes from exploring, going and finding places that nobody knows about so that when you choose to indulge yourself, you can do so at the cutting edge of food technology, rather than paying the price for high demand that Hibiscus markets simply by being able to put two things on a plate that nobody else has ever heard of. So, if you want to enjoy a nice, delicious meal of eclectic ostrich steaksauce over veal with a crab-frappuccino dessert, I highly recommend washing it down with a $200 bottle of the finest, obscure equivalent to Kendall Jackson whose price is more an indicator of the advantage ripped out of your own ignorance rather than any amount of careful selection or taste.

Grab the wine list and go to Pogo’s. You’ll find it all there for less than half the price.

The final part of this article deals with school shootings.

The gun-show loophole does not exist. There is no such thing. I’ve worked in gun shows for years and I’ve never seen this loophole. What we’re talking about is absolutely illegal.

The gun-show loophole is really about the ability to sell your gun to a complete stranger with no paperwork, and not be held responsible if they go out and hurt someone. However, the only reason they do paperwork to begin with is to track the owner of a gun. If your weaponry commits a crime, the gun-show loophole is that even if you didn’t do it, the police will make your life a living hell to find out why you sold your gun to a criminal.

However, since over 90 percent of crime is committed with unregistered firearms – guns that literally fall out of the sky with no name attached to the serial number – Americans have nothing to worry about. The chance of dying in a school shooting is only slightly less than being attacked by bees.

That is my fact, that is the truth as I see it.

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