‘Present’
“What’s up, SMU? How was your summer?” I say, smiling because I haven’t seen you for so long. “Oh, really. That sounds great. I went to Taos.” Then you tell me that you were there or somewhere else. I tell you how cool that sounds. Then, “Well, let me have your number so we can hang out this year.” Then I take down your number.
That may be too untraditional for my first column. How about:
Omigosh, I’m like so totally exited for another year on the Hilltop. If we all try really hard, we can make this the best year in the history of SMU. And I know we all will!
No, that just won’t work. Okay, I just stick to what I know:
On August 31 our SMU Mustangs take on Navy in the decadent Ford Stadium. Now I know it may be a bit early for brash predictions, but what the heck. I’m gonna say it: The SMU football team will win the national championship this year. That’s right. The BCS’ No. 1 will be our squad. You heard it here first. Actually, this isn’t all that bawdy an assumption, what with the other powerhouses in the almighty WAC (great name for our conference, eh?) like Hawaii and Fresno State. This year’s bowl champion will surely be from our conference.
And then hoops! Even though our team, like the batteries in my remote, always seem to fail at precisely the wrong time, this year we won’t finish the season in a skid that would prompt a Dale Earnhart candlelight vigil. Dare I say it? All right, I’ve got to: SMU will win the Final Four.
Someone told me they have other sports here at SMU, but I doubt it, because I searched “SMU Baseball” on the internet. Nada. No such thing. Last year, I heard our soccer team was playing in the Final Four in Ford Stadium, so I went, but I was told it was $10 to enter, and I didn’t think any school would charge students (i.e. later donating alumni) money to watch a school sports event, henceforth I don’t think we have a soccer team.
For those of us less athletically inclined, we should elevate the status of our education. Harvard, Yale, Stanford: they’re for the birds. If we all try super hard, there is no reason why next year’s Princeton Review shouldn’t list SMU as the premier house of academia in our great nation. We have the faculty, bless ’em, now let’s do our part, by far the easier of the two.
I’ve seen a few first-years … what a dumb term … I’ve seen a few freshmen wandering about looking more lost than Martha Stewart at a porn convention. Nevertheless, they all look healthy, ready and willing to contribute to the minute goal I’ve set for us.
Anyone else remember freshman year? I have vague recollections myself … Wellness, where I learned my body’s actual age is almost ready to collect social security … Cafeterias, where I ate more stir fry then the entire Shanghai populous … Residence halls, where I saw enough drunken revelry to make an E! Wild On. A quick tip, then, for those still unmarred by years of college, meaning freshmen: shower shoes. It seems so silly, I know, but trust me.
Being that giving advice is such a hoot, considering that I’m wise decades beyond my years, I’ll give more. Sophomores: continue to act sophomoric. You’ve little time left for that. Juniors: by now you’ve probably made the decision. You’re either ready to successfully move on through college and become upstanding, or you’re a hard core alcoholic with vicious mood swings. Though I consider myself a member of the former, the later is far more fun on weekends. So says Woody Allen: “The world is basically divided into two different types of people. While the good ones sleep easier, the bad ones seem to have much more fun during the waking hours.” Seniors: fail a class or two. The way I see it, if you’re still in college, no one can call you old. I won’t, but then again, I plan on seeking more pleasant climes come next fall.
Welcome back to another year of my column. I know you’re all as excited as I am.
