The loyal fans who brave their way into Ford Stadium for Mustang football games pay a mighty price to put their pony ears up. (John Schreiber)
Can you wait for the UNT game?
I was up all night studying and missed Monday’s Texas Tech game. That’s a damn good thing too, because if I’d gone I’d probably have had a barcode stamped on the back of my neck and, depending on how much of The Daily Campus the guards read, possibly deported to Gitmo.
What the hell, SMU?
I’m going to spill the beans, I’m going to pull down the SMU’s Mustang pants and expose it for the dirty, little NCAA hermaphrodite that it is. That’s all they care about too, keeping those precious seats full so they can pump more steroids into the big, white elephant that we call football attendance.
Months ago, you could get your tickets any time during game week. In fact, if you wanted to be in the precious lower deck, you had to go early, because the security people wearing yellow shirts believe that America is not safe if your ticket is in the 200 section and you are trying to get into the section 100.
So people went and got their coveted tickets for the game, since that’s what SMU always drilled into people: “Go get a ticket.” Problem was, people who got tickets didn’t always go to games. Worse still, people were having more ‘fun’ at the Boulevard than at the actual game.
The Boulevard more fun than games? Solution: Shut down the Boulevard by force and use tear gas if necessary.
People getting tickets out of loyalty but don’t want to go to game? Solution: Force everyone who gets a ticket to attend the game. This will surely generate enthusiasm for the team. Then again, who cares about enthusiasm, when we’ve got advertising?
There’s also the wonderful idea of not letting kids back into games. We aren’t in high school, okay? If I want to go outside smoke a cigarette, shoot up heroin and fire a rocket launcher at passing cars that’s my God given right as an American citizen and just because I pay you over $10,000 and voluntarily show up to a game does not mean you can deny re-entry. I really don’t care how well thought out the logic is behind the rule. It’s my free ticket, and if I don’t want to see the third quarter and ridiculously lame halftime show that doesn’t even have a fire-breathing elephant riding a unicycle, that’s my decision, not the police’s.
Thanks for turning Ford Stadium into a police state.
What if someone shows up with a gun and decides to sling some lead into the crowd? If I decide to soil myself and flee in panic, but for some reason the game is still going on two hours later, which is the average response time of campus security to a murderous psychopath, should I not be allowed to re-enter? I would go back in, too, because I plan ahead by covering half my body with blue paint only.
So now, because I am always right, I’m going to lay out how SMU cannot only boost attendance, but also not shove the Constitution up out butts at the same time.
I propose dollar hot dog and drink day. The concept is simple – by going to a good old American football game, you are provided with authentic American cuisine such as soft drinks and processed meat tubes wrapped in a yeasty cocoon. I mean, the school would probably charge you six bucks for relish, mustard and all the other things that you must put on hot dogs to avoid transforming into a democrat, but the basic idea is to catch more flies with honey than forcing kids through a security gate with nightsticks. Better yet, everything is half price when the Mustangs are ahead by more than eight points, and completely free when we trail by more than 12.
Now, this isn’t a proper “Truth as I See It” column without kicking someone innocent in the junk, so I’d like to take some time to describe the woeful tale of my compatriot Raffi Mesrobian. Named after the famous singer, Raffi wanted to go to the game but his girlfriend wouldn’t let him. He snuck out anyway, hoping to make it back to his apartment so that when his girlfriend showed up to make sure he’s studying, he could keep her happy but also support his team. Little Raffi was horrified to learn that he had to choose between his love life and supporting Mustang football. Well, they broke up. I think all of SMU owes him an apology, as well as kudos for dauntless university spirit, even in the shadow of total relationship catastrophe. I hear they might not even be friends on Facebook anymore, but that is neither here nor there.
The poor guy can’t stop crying.
Another thing we could do is have interactive halftime shows. Let’s get a belly dancer out there to teach women the finer points of droppin’ it like it’s hot, or a few yoga instructors to help us work out our muscles. By then we will be sore from jumping up and down in rabid support of our team. Maybe we could get a ninja on the field and he could do backflips and throw a truck 15 feet because they can do that. I’ve seen it.
The point is, we need to change our strategy to boost attendance. Instead of the flypaper technique, in which anyone too stupid to run gets herded into a cattle car, bound, gagged and shipped to the stadium, lets build a zip line from the Boulevard to Gate 6, and replace the guards with clowns or at least strippers in firemen outfits.
Or we could do the one thing that would undoubtedly work best at our school. Let’s serve hard liquor on the Boulevard. By the time the game starts, people will be too drunk to leave and too blitzed to care. Then we could achieve the state of zen that only comes from the singing of “Varsity” with the bubbling background drone of a whole section of vomiting students and the piercing staccato of shrieking horrified mothers covering their children’s eyes.
Pony up.
Questions? Comments? Austin Rucker is a senior English major and can be reached for comment at
