On Change (with the requisite but insufficient “long”)

Nov 26, 2012, 10:10 PM

Permit me, if you will, to take a walk. I’d like to go back aways, and explore a thing or two. Pondering, reminiscing, and maybe reaching a conclusion somewhere along the way. This is not your get-to-the-damn-point post. So if this is not your speed, that’s cool. Just click the back button, and no hard feelings. Promise. Otherwise, go pour yourself a cup of coffee, or a cold one, or a stiff one, whichever you prefer, and let us reason together. I’ll wait. There’s no rush. Also, I should warn you. I haven’t had my ADD medication today, so forgive me if ramble a bit.

I find myself in middle age these days. It does suck in some ways. Yet its vices and blessings, though markedly different from those of a younger and leaner Centennial Tiger, are more enjoyable, with more relevance. Dare I say it’s the difference between happiness and joy? I think I shall. The losses like we experienced the other night have come to be merely disappointing, muted from the maddeningly excruciating pangs from the days of old, but I get ahead of myself.

The time during which you come of age, I think, you consider your baseline. Your reference point. Your zero, if you will. The basis upon which all other things and events are measured and compared. For me, this was 1984 to 1989. For me, the ACC had always existed. Georgia Tech had always been a member; South Carolina, never. I couldn’t envision an offense that didn’t include the option. Even the paw itself was eternal. This was my youthful paradigm, palpably incorrect as it was.

Does it need to be said that each of these things had a beginning? I’ve heard it said that “every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.” It took time for a majority of colonists to support independence. Many Southerners didn’t support secession. I’m sure many an alum rolled his eyes over removing the “C” from the helmet and replacing it with a tiger paw. If you try hard enough, you can imagine a 1950’s TigerNet with this poster and that clambering atop their digital soapboxes, making the case for leaving the Southern Conference for greener pastures, or – conversely – remaining in the Southern Conference because tradition and loyalties and rivalries mean something dadgummit, and endure, they should.

This is where we stand today.

Leave the ACC? Jump into the deep end? What, are you kidding? What if this? What if that?

We cling to the familiar for comfort. Yet the world has indeed changed. Or at the very least, it IS changing. We can argue among ourselves about whether this is good, or whose fault it is. But to what end, and for what purpose? What cannot be argued is that we are in the midst of the storm. But be encouraged: in times of great change, there is always great opportunity.

How much have things changed?

In 1987 I was in Central Spirit. One of my gigs was painting paws on faces or whatevers at games. This particular afternoon, we were to play the hated Georgia Bulldogs (hocch ptooey!). As I walked to the game from my apartment through downtown, I carried my trusty bottle of orange Ceramcoat and a few Q-tips (if you ever see anyone painting faces with a pencil eraser, call a priest immediately to have them exorcised).

It was always easy to draw a crowd painting faces. I loved this. Seems there would always be some kid standing off to the side who would ask, “How much does it cost?” “Five bucks.” He’d turn and sulk off, and then I’d be all like, “Hey, kid! Come here …” and he’d burst into a huge grin when he found out it was free. I felt like Mean Joe Greene throwing his jersey to that kid in the Coke commercial.

This particular day, I painted faces for a group of coeds right in front of Tiger Town. Every so often, and this was one of those times, you’d get one that wanted paws in a walking-up-my-thigh-till-they-disappear-under-my-miniskirt pattern. Oh yeah. Let me assure you, it is exceedingly difficult to hold a Q-tip with your hand shaking like a reciprocating saw. Nonetheless, after the painting was done, I said to my newest best girls, “Let’s go! Game starts soon!” But no, they had sold their tickets. However, I got a nice invitation: “We’re going to watch it at our apartment. Why don’t you come with … hey! Where are you going?!”

Pfft. Forget you. We’re playing the hated Georgia Bulldogs (hocch ptooey!). Larry Munson on more than one occasion called those games “wars.” We stood toe-to-toe with the best in the land, and punched those mofos in the mouth, took their lunch money, and debauched their sisters.

We were tough. TOUGH. Physical. I saw Tracy Johnson throw a block on some DB from Maryland that sent the poor dude’s mouthpiece, helmet, jockstrap, and pride flying into thru the azure mid-Atlantic sky. We knew we would never step on the field and face anyone tougher than we were. But things change.

How we mocked the Gamecocks! And deservedly so, because – well – they’re Gamecocks, but also because they tried to beat us with finesse, speed, and skill. And usually failed. But things change.

We – no, I – used to say, “I pull for Clemson. Screw the ACC. What difference does your conference make?” This was before TV and other contracts meant Clemson got either millions or tens of millions of dollars. You see, things have changed.

Conferences change. Rules change. Seasons change. Death Valley changes. Cheers change. Anybody remember when the band had a bass player, or when students could run the tiger paw flag around the field? I was the last to do so. Well, actually, my buddy Brian was the last to do so completely, the Rent-a-cop stopped me about thirty yards after I started. It hasn’t been done since. The whole stadium booed the cop (at least that’s who I hope they were booing). I can’t even say with confidence that I hate the Georgia Bulldogs (hocch ptooey!) anymore. Things change.

The world has changed. It is too late to stop it, and unproductive to argue why. The Declaration of Independence has been signed. Fort Sumter has been fired upon. The Berlin wall has fallen. Our cheese has been moved. It is impossible to go back, and suicidal to stay put. We must change.

We’ve become comfortable, complacent. We’re angry about losing four straight to the Gamecocks because we’ll have to live with those bozos mouthing off for another year, not because it means Clemson isn’t approaching her potential. How selfish. Shame on us.

We were whipped physically Saturday night (need I remind you it was the fourth year in a row?), as was FSU. We play weak teams in a poor conference. This is not good for Clemson athletically. And with tens of millions of dollars on the table, it’s not good for Clemson academically either. It’s time for us to go. We’ve had a good run, but things have changed too much for our membership in the ACC to be profitable for Clemson any longer. And adding Notre Dame doesn’t mean squat.

Thanks for your patience.

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On Change (with the requisite but insufficient “long”)

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