Fish in a bucket. The broad side of a barn. Digging a post-hole with a back-hoe. These are the tired analogies one could use to describe the effortlessness with which one can paint Bobby Petrino to be a lying scumbag greasier than breakfast at The Beacon, but not nearly as satisfying filled from head-to-toe with 24 tons of everything that would make Mike Roe vomit less than honest. Lawyer Milloy said it best:
Bobby Petrino's integrity has been talked about and roundly discredited for months on end. Sometimes it has been done so in farcical visual images. Other times by former players. And, notably for the young law student, even through satirical litigation. It's been done to death.
But it cannot be overlooked, not during Arkansas Hate Week, that the man who now leads Razorback Nation is, by their estimation, preferable to the former head coach to whom many in the Natural State have assigned the title of "Snake Oil Salesman," which is, of course, analogous to the pot calling the glass pitcher black.
Logically, though, there seems to be a double-standard here on the Cup. We speak lowly of Petrino, while balking when our friendly pig posters harangue Houston. Isn't that a little bit of irrational homerism? Wouldn't it be far more consistent to accept and let accept? If the man has found his home infair frightful forgiving Fayetteville, who are we, the undefiled of Oxford, to care?
Upstanding folks, that's who. Put your Baptist hats on, get on down to the Town Square, and start judging. That's what real Southern Hospitality is all about, simmering endlessly in the faults and foibles of others, so that you can show your decency and courage to yourself by acting polite when in the presence of the profane. By Jove, the man is downright despicable. Misunderstood Houston Nutt found himself dragged shamelessly through town by those ill-mannered (and likely ill-bred) Arkansans, while they accept with open-arms the most dishonest man of his profession, who no doubt has a dozen or more paramours with which his interaction exceeds far beyond, I'm sure, the innocent and occasional text message. Why, I doubt that any self-respecting weather girl would be caught dead receiving calls from Mr. Petrino, animal that he is. Forget not that Mr. Petrino once attempted full-time employment in (I dare not say it aloud) ... Auburn. Terror of terrors.
In conclusion and summary, like most really important principles (for example, religion and complex mathematics), it is mandatory that we, on regular occasions, return and examine the evidence and thought processes that brought us to our present conclusions on any very important matter. To wit: Bobby Petrino is an ass-hat. Always has been. Always will be.
Hotty Toddy! Pork Roast.
Bobby Petrino's integrity has been talked about and roundly discredited for months on end. Sometimes it has been done so in farcical visual images. Other times by former players. And, notably for the young law student, even through satirical litigation. It's been done to death.
But it cannot be overlooked, not during Arkansas Hate Week, that the man who now leads Razorback Nation is, by their estimation, preferable to the former head coach to whom many in the Natural State have assigned the title of "Snake Oil Salesman," which is, of course, analogous to the pot calling the glass pitcher black.
Logically, though, there seems to be a double-standard here on the Cup. We speak lowly of Petrino, while balking when our friendly pig posters harangue Houston. Isn't that a little bit of irrational homerism? Wouldn't it be far more consistent to accept and let accept? If the man has found his home in
Upstanding folks, that's who. Put your Baptist hats on, get on down to the Town Square, and start judging. That's what real Southern Hospitality is all about, simmering endlessly in the faults and foibles of others, so that you can show your decency and courage to yourself by acting polite when in the presence of the profane. By Jove, the man is downright despicable. Misunderstood Houston Nutt found himself dragged shamelessly through town by those ill-mannered (and likely ill-bred) Arkansans, while they accept with open-arms the most dishonest man of his profession, who no doubt has a dozen or more paramours with which his interaction exceeds far beyond, I'm sure, the innocent and occasional text message. Why, I doubt that any self-respecting weather girl would be caught dead receiving calls from Mr. Petrino, animal that he is. Forget not that Mr. Petrino once attempted full-time employment in (I dare not say it aloud) ... Auburn. Terror of terrors.
In conclusion and summary, like most really important principles (for example, religion and complex mathematics), it is mandatory that we, on regular occasions, return and examine the evidence and thought processes that brought us to our present conclusions on any very important matter. To wit: Bobby Petrino is an ass-hat. Always has been. Always will be.
Hotty Toddy! Pork Roast.