2008 Woodie Awards
Jock's Itch
Come Fly the Unfriendly Skies
Doug Crise
Issue date: 11/30/01 Section: Campus Life
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As I write this, the worst day of my life is set to officially begin in less than 40 minutes. I've considered myriad ways of coping with what promises to be an oncoming personal disaster, and decided that the best course of action would be to share my pain with the "Hendrix community" (easily the dumbest term in the history of academia). Enjoy, empathize, and thank your local diety that it doesn't happen to you.
See, tomorrow I will be joining the Hendrix basketball squads on their annual swing through Texas to take on Trinity and Southwestern. The trip will open conference play for both teams, and will present ample opportunities for fun for the men and the women alike. When not practicing or playing, the women will tour San Antonio's riverwalk while the men take in a homemade lunch at the Beaugh residence, home of the biggest fans of The Jock's Itch this side of the Lone Star State. The teams will fly from Arkansas to Texas, and the plane will contain the usual collection of coaches and players.
And one manager overcome by pants-wetting panic.
I wish I could say where my fear of airplanes began, but my childhood seems devoid of any ariel tragedies to speak of. All I know is that for me, and airplane is more of a personal hell than being forced to go vegetarian or give up profanity. I wake up from nightmares about crashing planes at least once a month. I have walked out of movies that feature planes going down. Don't even ask what it was like for me when Goose died in "Top Gun", because frankly, I don't want to talk about it. This will be my third basketball plane trip since arriving at Hendrix, and I'm proud to confess that I can look upon my affliction with a rather philosophical eye. After all, not eveybody gets to confront their worst fear on a yearly basis with the benefit of an audience. Because I am very forthcoming with my emotions (read: I talk too damn much), most of those connected with Hendrix athletics know of this annual ordeal. The result is, of course, a plane full of basketball players watching my every move, thinking to themselves "I wonder if he's close to losing it."
See, tomorrow I will be joining the Hendrix basketball squads on their annual swing through Texas to take on Trinity and Southwestern. The trip will open conference play for both teams, and will present ample opportunities for fun for the men and the women alike. When not practicing or playing, the women will tour San Antonio's riverwalk while the men take in a homemade lunch at the Beaugh residence, home of the biggest fans of The Jock's Itch this side of the Lone Star State. The teams will fly from Arkansas to Texas, and the plane will contain the usual collection of coaches and players.
And one manager overcome by pants-wetting panic.
I wish I could say where my fear of airplanes began, but my childhood seems devoid of any ariel tragedies to speak of. All I know is that for me, and airplane is more of a personal hell than being forced to go vegetarian or give up profanity. I wake up from nightmares about crashing planes at least once a month. I have walked out of movies that feature planes going down. Don't even ask what it was like for me when Goose died in "Top Gun", because frankly, I don't want to talk about it. This will be my third basketball plane trip since arriving at Hendrix, and I'm proud to confess that I can look upon my affliction with a rather philosophical eye. After all, not eveybody gets to confront their worst fear on a yearly basis with the benefit of an audience. Because I am very forthcoming with my emotions (read: I talk too damn much), most of those connected with Hendrix athletics know of this annual ordeal. The result is, of course, a plane full of basketball players watching my every move, thinking to themselves "I wonder if he's close to losing it."