(Originally published 4/27/08)
50-48 #30: GOD (john mcdonell) IS DEAD (retiring)
Saddle up, sluts. Another hard-hitting edition of 50-48 is coming at you with the power of love, baby. (With the notable exception of those 50-48 members who were text-messaging me from the friendly confines of Beautiful Baum Stadium this week, rubbing it in that they were enjoying a Razorback baseball game in the warm Northwest Arkansas sunshine while I was huddled and alone in my dark, cavernous apartment as a rain storm poured down outside. You guys totally suck.)
But, fitting a life such as mine—a life where the protagonist crouches in a corner and gently weeps into a sofa cushion while his friends are living it up with the Diamond Hogs (question: where were you last night around 3 am, when I was watching Steel Magnolias and crying my eyes out?)—we must begin this week with tragedy. John McDonnell announced his retirement this week, bringing to a close the greatest coaching dynasty in the history of organized sports. His move comes as an even greater blow to those 50-48ers from southwestern Louisiana, as McDonnell was not only a Hog, but a proud Ragin Cajun alum. He is not mortal. He is a god. No, no, no. I take that back. He's much better than God. I defy you to go look in that monstrous mish-mash of morality tales, genealogy charts, and fairy stories that most call the bible, and try to find me 42 national championships. Won't happen. In fact, now that I think about it, God is probably quaking in his holy glowing boots about John McDonnell's retirement, because that just means he's that much closer to death. And when John McDonnell dies, he's going to go up to heaven, start a track team, and dominate the celestial racing world with a dominance not seen since the Archangel Gabriel tore his Achilles tendon in that big meet against Mount Olympus. There was great weeping amongst the heavenly hosts that day, I can tell you. (That was, incidentally, the same track meet where God tried to get Lucifer to run the 200 meter hurdles, but Lucifer bowed out, arguing that he was a "musician," and thus found athletics passé. Later, two of the trumpeters in God's Marching Band found him making out with that whore Aphrodite behind the bleachers of eternal light. "It's not the musician thing," God told him. "It's the Aphrodite thing. Don't get me wrong. When you described yourself as a musician, I just assumed you were a homo. So the making-out I like. But you never sleep with the enemy." According to some biblical scholars, this incident caused the original rift that would ultimately lead to Lucifer's expulsion from heaven.)
And so John McDonnell leaves us better for the experience. You can see a transcript of his press conference HERE. For more McDonnellalia, see here, here, and here. He will be staying in Fayetteville, so if any of you in Northwest Arkansas see him around town, thank him. Buy him a beer, then send me the bill. No one will ever duplicate what he has done. He is the most successful coach in the history of sports, statistically, and we are all better for having lived at least for a time in the shadow of his dynasty.
Of course, there are certain people on this list who, if they DID see John McDonnell at their local convenience store or Wal-Mart, would instead begin immediately sending braggadocious text messages in an effort to spur my jealousy. And it would work. It would be almost as if I were a human piñata, and my coworkers took to beating me in the hopes that delicious chocolaty candies would explode from my guts with the proper blow. Hmm…
But now on to more pleasant news! The Hogs had two first round picks in the NFL draft yesterday! Darren McFadden went to the Oakland Raiders and Felix Jones went to the Dallas Cowboys, and though both of those teams make me want to puke, there are aggregate ancillary benefits that will ultimately affect the situation on Frank Broyles Field at Donald W. Reynolds Razorback Stadium. (Good lord, that's a mouthful.) Oakland is a place where talent goes to die, and Darren's trip to the Bay Area makes me very afraid that he will fall into the black hole that is San Francisco's ugly, gonorrheal, little cousin. BUT! He did go at pick 4. He was widely considered the best talent in the draft. And those facts can only help recruiting down the road. Meanwhile, Felix was taken by Hog alum Jerry Jones and his Dallas Cowboys. Again, Dallas is the asshole of the North American continent. It is the second-worst place on earth, just behind the Austin campus of the University of Texas and just ahead of Osama Bin Laden's cave. BUT! It is close to Arkansas and Louisiana, and thus we as fans have a great opportunity to see him play live. (And frankly, his pick helps recruiting, as well. Not only will potential Hogs know that even as a backup running back they can go in the first round if they come to Arkansas, but they will also have it seared into their skulls that the crazy redneck who owns the Cowboys is a Uark grad, and therefore predisposed to give them an inordinately reasonable shot at making a professional roster after their college careers are complete.)
Today, more players will be drafted. Marcus Harrison should be a third round lock. Robert Felton shouldn't last much longer. In the later rounds, we can only hope that some visionary general manager will give Peyton Hillis and Marcus Monk a chance. You can keep up with the Hogs' draft-eligible players HERE.
And so all that is totally rad. But the radness was ratcheted up a few notches after Darren and Felix fled for the NFL. The Arkansas Spring Game was last night! And the game was televised in Lafayette! And so, since I was able to watch the scrimmage in stunning high definition, I now have expert analysis for you: WE ARE GOING TO FREAKING RULE (as soon as Casey Dick graduates). The new offense looked great last night, as passing (surprise, surprise) was used to set up the run. And that, despite the proclamations of Hootie and his minions, only made the running game that much more effective. Michael Smith averaged more than six yards per carry in his forty some-odd carries last year, and he looks every bit capable of becoming a 20-carry back in the fall. Also, Brandon Barnett looked incredibly promising.
(Parenthetically, let me just add that a few years ago, I watched Brandon Barnett play in the Arkansas High School All-Star Game with another 50-48 member. He was the running back for one team, Darren McFadden was the running back for the other. Both of us left that game more impressed with Barnett than with McFadden. He won the game's MVP award and made all those other players look like children. He will start the season behind Michael Smith on the depth chart, and rightly so, but Felix was behind Darren on the depth chart, too. Barnett and Smith will thrive in an offense where there is actually a pass threat. Our running back situation will necessarily drop off some—it isn't every day that you lose two backs to the NFL draft's first round—but Smith and Barnett will keep us in capable hands.)
Unfortunately, Casey Dick is still Casey Dick, and his brother doesn't look much better. (Also unfortunately, London Crawford still catches like Featherstone from Necessary Roughness.) Still, even with Casey's problems, he still went 33 for 49 with 404 yards. If that isn't the best advertisement for Coach Petrino's offense, I don't know what is. We are in incredibly capable hands. Watching the boys go at it last night should remind us all that is really is a beautiful life. (Also, while I'm at it, let me just say that all that she wants is another baby. And I saw the sign.)
Long live God, indeed. Coach McDonnell, Darren, and Felix have all done wonderful things for us. And we are greatly appreciative. But we won't turn around. Coach Petrino and Jeff Long will remind us that there are other things to look forward to.
[PS—The basketball team lost Coffeyville recruit Daniel Payne. And the Diamond Hogs won both ends of a doubleheader against Ole Miss on Saturday, giving them a series victory against the Fighting Hooties for the first time in 5 years. Let's all hope that Hootie was there, and Dave Van Horn gave him the finger, or punched him in the gut, or fucked his wife.]
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