Recently we've noticed a problem at the home football games. And by we, I mean the royal 'we,' as in everyone, and not just my brother John and our friend Mike Mahoney, who was the one to suggest I write this article.
Mike nominated me because, well, because I'm the only one of the three of us WITH a column, but also because I, according to him, 'got more rhymes than the Bible's got psalms.' I tried to point out to Mike that there are 150 psalms in the Bible, but he left to grab a hot dog before I could get my rebuttal out. So I guess that leaves me with a column to write.
Now this problem that I've mentioned has nothing to do with the team and its successes or shortcomings on the field, as much as it has to do with an overwhelming air of oppression that hangs around Camp Randall.
So pack up your notebooks, pack them in and let me begin. You see, when I come to a game, I come to get down. Let me repeat that, I come to get down.
As soon as the Badgers run out on the field, I get up, I stand up and occasionally I like to throw my hands up. Now, I will admit, I am not the world's greatest Badger fan. I was home for the weekend when Ron Dayne broke the NCAA all-time rushing record rather than at Camp Randall.
And, even worse, during the Rose Bowl one year, I did skip out around halftime to go to a local hockey game with some friends. But, just like the prodigal son, I've returned time after time to the good old cardinal and white to cheer them on to victory with the rest of the Badger faithful.
Why? Because we like to get down. Copy that? We like to get down.
Yet, I've been getting the feeling of late that The Man, if you will, has been putting the kaibash on my good time. And that just makes me mad. I mean, I'm a human being. I paid my hard-earned money for football tickets and I think I'm entitled to a little fun. Yet, The Man's trying to play me as if my name was Sega. But I ain't going out like no punk, capiche? I won't ever slack up, so whoever's causing this conflict better back up, cause I've just come to get down. I repeat, I've come to get down.
Now don't get me wrong, I am not a violent man. I do not believe violence solves anything. But, I am going to go on the record here as saying that whoever is in charge of the sound system at Camp Randall might not want to make an enemy out of me. Why? Because I can be tenacious. And if you want to duel over this matter, well then go ahead fool, cause I'll duel till the death.
Well, OK, that's a little extreme, and I'm not saying you need to bring a shotgun, but just know that I'm the cream of the crop and those who step to me are likely to get burned. So please, I'm asking you, Mr. or Ms. P.A. Person, for me, for my brother, for our friend and for the kids on the Hill, plus my mom and my pops, let's just try to get along.
After all, can't we all just agree to get down?
Jump up, jump up and get down?
OUT!
