Bring on Lou Holtz
There’s nothing to not like about the onset of football season, right?
Wrong. Because even as great as football season is, there are a few unavoidable downsides to it. And last night, one of them smacked me in the face with the subtlety of a two by four.
Upside: this time next week I’ll be watching college football. Downside: this time next week Lou Holtz re enters my life. #Sacrifices
— John Cave Osborne (@allVOLyall) August 22, 2013
Don’t get me wrong. It’s not like I hate Lou Holtz. I mean, the guy obviously means well. But well-intentioned though he may be, he still bugs the hell outta me, and his offenses are many.
First, there’s something about his very appearance that’s unsettling to me. It starts with his stiff-ass bonnet of hair which unknowingly serves as the model for every single toupee ever made.
And I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the fact that he bears an uncanny resemblance to Granny of Beverly Hillbillies fame.
(H/t to my buddy @dccoletrain on that one…)
But, to be fair, it’s not like Lou has ALWAYS looked like Granny. In his younger days, he looked far more like Garth from Wayne’s World.
Sadly, even when I’ve succeeded in blocking out his appearance, the sthound of histh voithe fillths me with the sthensthation that I’m bathing in the foul-smelling saliva of an octogenarian, which, you know, I could do without.
But I could probably even get past that were it not for all the other things that irk me about him.
Like the fact that I hate Notre Dame with a white-hot ire while Lou sports such perpetual and obvious wood for the Irish. (Golden Domer, indeed.)
Or that horrible segment ESPN created for him called Dr. Lou. Given the violated feeling I’m left with after enduring each poorly-executed edition, I’m guessing Dr. Lou’s a proctologist.
Then there’s that horrible bit where Mark May and he go all Matlock on us and pretend like they’re attorneys arguing opposite sides of a case to poor Rece Davis who (a) spells his name like an asshole — thought that’s really neither here nor there — and (b) serves as their judge. If there’s a shittier (or more spit-drenched) bench to sit upon in this nation’s legal system, I’m unaware of it.
Still, I’d be the first to admit that the segment makes sense on some levels, given that Mark May and Lou Holtz seem to have such an adversarial relationship.
Or do they? Because their on-air spats have a passion to them that suggests, to me at least, that these guys have an awful lot on the line. It’s almost as if whatever they’re debating is of secondary importance.
Because it’s a well known fact that many fights, particularly those between lovers, aren’t what they’re purportedly about. Which sometimes makes me wonder if I’m not witnessing a brand of tacit homo-erotica that would leave even Verne Lundquist’s crush on Tim Tebow a bit red in the face.
Yes. Lou Holtz bugs the living hell out of me and he always will. Though I’d be the first to admit that I watch him. Because, as a rabid college football fan, I often have great interest in whatever it is he’s rambling on and on about.
Besides, despite all the bad, there are two undeniably great things about Lou. First, he’s one of those guys who’s fun to dislike. And I sense he knows this. Maybe even eggs it on a bit.
But second, and far more importantly, his re-emergence means that football is finally back. And it’s about damn time. So bring on Lou Holtz, I say.
And go Vols.