My Malaise

My Malaise

Lane Stadium on a crisp football afternoon is hard to beat. On those days, the experience of the event seems more defined and in focus. The autumn breeze draws memories and mingles them with the present. Nothing beats it.

Something’s amiss for me this year, however. An iconoclastic dark cloud frames my thoughts. In years’ past, I’d be on my feet and screaming on every defensive down. So far this year, I sit quietly most of the time and only stand up when I can’t see because of people standing in front of me. Sometimes I cheer, but never too loud. I just don’t seem to care as I used to. The game doesn’t seem as important and fun.

The plays and the players aren’t new to me. Tyrod Taylor is a Vick. Vince Hall is George DeRicco. Glennon is Noell. Flowers is Prioleau. Ore is Suggs. Stinespring, Bustle, and Dooley are all the same. The check down play is still a running play to the tail back off to the right. The lineman lumber and are clones of the past.

Old traditions appear tired to me. “Let’s Go Hokies” is over-used and unimaginative. “Enter the Sandman” has lost all spontaneity to me. People bob like robots, devoid of passion, while the players predictably take the field behind cartwheeling cheerleaders. The presentation of the flags to the Corp representatives resembles some kind of royal coronation. The over-used “Hokie-Pokie” hasn’t changed choreography since the dance was written back in 1979. Wouldn’t it be at least semi interesting to watch the clarinets do the Hokie Pokie or maybe even Jim Weaver, himself. It’s all so old with nothing fresh to consider or to excite. Bill and Mike have fallen into toting a company line. Long gone are the days when Mike would do his best “Dandy Don” song to end the broadcast. I even find myself missing the entertaining calls after the game.

“Let’s go to Ida in Hiawasse…Ida are you there…Ida.”

“Bill? [echo echo]”

“Ida…go ahead you’re on the air?”

“Bill?…[echo echo]”

“Ida, you have to turn your radio down.”

“Bill [echo echo]”

“Ida, turn your radio down. You have to turn it off or we can’t hear you.”

“Okay [echo echo]…Bill, I want to let Frank Beamer know that Hiawasse stands behind him. We think he’s doing a great job. You tell him that next week I’ll make him an extra special batch of those chocolate chip cookies that he likes so much.”

“Thank you Ida. We’ll be sure to pass that along.”

“Next we have Nate from Rocky Mount….”

I find my attention diverted in the stadium. People around me annoy me. The ten year old and seven year old boys who stand on the bleacher in front of me are frustrating. One of them bobs back and forth the whole game; up and back, side to side, repeatedly. I find myself having to counter-synch perfect movements to keep an open field of vision in front of my eyes. The large men next to me grumble whenever I have to visit the bathroom, so I find myself holding on uncomfortably so as not to draw their glares. When I do go, they always inch over into my seat area while I’m away, so when I get back I have to find a way to carve out some of my space. I find myself wanting to stand and boo those who are booing and slap those who are cursing the players. All that being said, no one spilled a rum and Coke on me nor threw up on me today. I find that the day’s positive development.

I’m getting tired of the business of the game. $4.00 Cokes lift cash from my wallet on a smaller scale but same manner as the Hokie Club and athletic department extract increased membership and season ticket fees. The Jumbotron commercials, piped in at arena football sound levels, serve as ADD Sugar Daddys for the masses. With the blaring garbage being pumped out, the fan never has a moment to just process the scene below and respond honestly and in unison with the crowd. In a sense, the Jumbotron works to make us individuals instead of a collective. It’s helped neuter the Terror Dome.

The Hokie Club won’t let me earmark my yearly donation to the Marching Virginians anymore. For the last couple of years, I’ve been allowed to do that, but the VTAF changed their mind and now disallows that option. Lu Merritt, in a letter to me, told me that the reason was that they didn’t want the Corps or the Library to lay claim to that Hokie Club financial stream because they also provide services to the athletic department. Where would it all end? I don’t know, but I do know that the VTAF could simply tell those groups, “No.”

I know I’m older and when I bounce these days, many parts of my body bounce independently and my knees creak. But I don’t think my malaise springs from that well. I suppose I could lay part of the blame on the tragedy of April 16 or perhaps on the interjection of big business into college football. Maybe that’s all part of it. Maybe that’s what it is. The Innocence of Virginia Tech seems to have been replaced by the Corporation of Virginia Tech. In response, Football just doesn’t seem to be as important to me this year, and that’s an empty thought all by itself.

Geaux Hokies.