Sundown ya better take care ...
Paul, amongst others, breaks the story of trickeration betwixt the wily mountain folk of West Virginia. But the question remains, how in the high holy hell do you get busted for spying on open practice? I mean, unless he showed up in a coon skin cap and buckskin leggings, this really shouldn't have been too hard to pull off.
This touching tale struck a cord with me though because I almost hatched the same scheme while I was at Tech. My office was directly above the practice field, so come 4 in the afternoon, when there was little to no chance that I was doing any more work, I'd either prop my feet up and watch out the window or stroll outside and take in practice, either solo or with friends. Early on, it occured to me that I could easily take some detailed notes and forward them to some unknown email address somewhere in the athletic department at UGA. Of course, after a few practices you realize that it would be largely useless because your daily description of practice would become a stock email looking something like this:
Reggie fumbles snap.
Chan scratches ass and peers at play sheet.
Reggie throws to no one in particular.
Kenny Scott tries to start a fight.
Calvin makes a badass catch.
Reggie turns the wrong way for a handoff.
Chan scratches ass and peers at play sheet.
Bilbo drops a catchable ball, others watching practice try to convince themselves that this is his year.
Kenny Scott talks trash over the drop and tries to start a fight.
And of course, don't forget to throw in a liberal helping of booming strings of curses fit to make a sailor blush from Tenuta.
And truthfully speaking, I didn't really need my practice notes to know that I can always count of Game Ball to throw the ball away on 4th down or throw away from the best receiver in the nation on the goal line for a game ending pick. A little consistency in this topsy turvy world is a comforting thing.
This touching tale struck a cord with me though because I almost hatched the same scheme while I was at Tech. My office was directly above the practice field, so come 4 in the afternoon, when there was little to no chance that I was doing any more work, I'd either prop my feet up and watch out the window or stroll outside and take in practice, either solo or with friends. Early on, it occured to me that I could easily take some detailed notes and forward them to some unknown email address somewhere in the athletic department at UGA. Of course, after a few practices you realize that it would be largely useless because your daily description of practice would become a stock email looking something like this:
Reggie fumbles snap.
Chan scratches ass and peers at play sheet.
Reggie throws to no one in particular.
Kenny Scott tries to start a fight.
Calvin makes a badass catch.
Reggie turns the wrong way for a handoff.
Chan scratches ass and peers at play sheet.
Bilbo drops a catchable ball, others watching practice try to convince themselves that this is his year.
Kenny Scott talks trash over the drop and tries to start a fight.
And of course, don't forget to throw in a liberal helping of booming strings of curses fit to make a sailor blush from Tenuta.
And truthfully speaking, I didn't really need my practice notes to know that I can always count of Game Ball to throw the ball away on 4th down or throw away from the best receiver in the nation on the goal line for a game ending pick. A little consistency in this topsy turvy world is a comforting thing.
posted by The Drizzle at 10:32 PM
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