5 Takeaways From Things Actually Said by Tennessee Coaches

In case you haven’t heard, the University of Tennessee is currently facing a Title IX lawsuit.

 

→→→→→Before I continue, I need to take a moment and give a disclaimer that the subject matter of this post is mature.←←←←←

 

Numerous women are alleging that the university has created a negative culture, a culture which not only allows bad male athlete behavior, but also protects those athletes. The lawsuit also alleges that the University of Tennessee has been deliberately indifferent in these sexual assault cases.

In response to the lawsuit, 16 head coaches from Tennessee called their own press conference Tuesday afternoon to defend the university and its culture.

Watching video of the conference and reading news recaps left me in a state of absolute bewilderment. I don’t know if it’s because I have a daughter now and, as a result, issues like this strike an even deeper chord within me, or if it’s because I endured abuse as a child (physical and verbal, not sexual though), or if it’s simply because I am a decent human being. Whatever the case, let’s just say many of the speakers/coaches came off as mind-numbingly ignorant.

Here are 5 takeaways from 10 of the more asinine things actually said by the Tennessee head coaches during the conference.

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The Face of Waiting

It’s Monday……for better or worse. I generally pick the latter as my view of this particular day of the week.

case of the mondays

Such a great movie…and right on point.

Getting back into the groove of work and trying to not look ahead longingly to Friday afternoon can sometimes be a tall order. A long list of voicemails and emails to respond to, staff issues to be resolved, conference calls to join, and regaining momentum for ongoing projects only helped to solidify my wish for it to be the weekend.

As I plodded through my morning, Loverboy’s “Working for the Weekend” popped into my head. It was against my will, but I guess it was appropriate nonetheless. And because my brain can be an obnoxious bully sometimes, the song kept randomly reemerging throughout the day, like some kind of torturous Jack-in-the-box.

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Being Awkward at Costco

Raise your hand if you’ve ever felt awkward.

Dang, I can’t tell if I’m the only one to raise my hand or if you all are feeling too awkward to raise your hands about feeling awkward. Man, that sentence was awkward to write. An now I’m sitting here in front of the glowing screen of my laptop, my hand pathetically raised, without a soul in sight. I guess that didn’t pan out as expected.

Well, my recent contest with awkwardness came while I was at Costco. Which is weird because I try to find a reason, any reason, to go to Costco. Maybe you’re a Sam’s Club fan, or an advocate of some other regional wholesaler, but you get what I’m saying. I don’t know if it’s the feeling of saving a few pennies on some industrial-sized item that will last for years in my house or if it’s the simple novelty of slaloming around the store, gawking at things that I want to buy while figuring out if the vehicle I brought is large enough to bring it all back home.

thinking

Hmmm, that enormous box of Goldfish crackers would be nice to have, but my cart’s already overflowing and I didn’t bring a rental truck. I wonder if I can I Tetris it all into my trunk?

Anyway, I felt no awkwardness initially as I began to roam up and down the cavernous aisles. Feeling a bit like Gulliver in the land of Brobdingnag, I hefted massive things into my over-sized shopping cart. Of course, in the midst of my shopping and rubber-necking, I had to periodically stop on a dime in order to not make road pizza out of unsupervised small children as they darted carelessly in front of my Big Rig of a cart.

All was going well, but I knew awkwardness would be rearing its ugly head. I could feel it, deep down, slowly bubbling up to the surface. It would only be a matter of time.

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Stats and a Moment of Reflection

I check out The Daily Post quite regularly. Not as frequently as its eponymous name suggests I probably should, but often enough. Finding sources of inspiration for writing topics and discussion can come from anywhere and I try not to limit myself to anything in particular.

Perhaps it’s a bit of perfectionism, perhaps it’s anxiety, perhaps it’s a lack of confidence, but I’ve written 12 different drafts from Daily Post prompts that have never come to fruition. In those cases, I find that I don’t have a seemingly interesting enough post, a unique enough perspective or take on a particular topic, or am unhappy with the end result and the drafts are subsequently remanded to writing purgatory…forever locked in the prison of my mind, occasionally being tweaked in the hope that they can be released in the future. But in all likelihood, they probably will never see the light of a screen day.

writing

I go off course and get lost occasionally. Sometimes I think I need Google Maps to help me figure out where I’m going with a topic.

As I read the latest Daily Post suggestion for a topic, I found it resonated with me in quite a remarkable way.

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Serenity When?

It started off as a somewhat promising evening. Dinner was finished on time and placed on the table, our three year old Jason ate without protesting every morsel of food on his plate, and our three month old daughter, Maggie, was content to gum a fluffy owl during the meal instead of crying.

We were on a roll. But bedtime was lurking around the corner.

And sure enough, it was then that wheels came off as they usually do. Jason, like most three year olds, tries to prolong bedtime as much as he can. This is the segment of the day is where the majority of consequence threats come into play.

Jason initially starts his nightly dissent by army crawling up the stairs at the pace of a slug trudging through molasses. Upon reaching the top of the stairs, he darts off quicker than lightning into a bedroom, any room really, that isn’t his.

“Serenity now” I demand to the ceiling,  only half-joking.

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As the hour of bed approaches, step back and marvel as a mild-mannered child morphs into an impish hooligan.

Finally corralling the rampaging bull of a preschooler in the bathroom, he contests the brushing of his teeth with a combination of clamping down on the brush and telling me that he needs to spit…318 times.

Concluding the Battle of Dental Hygiene, we begin the Potty Conflict. I’ll spare the details, but suffice it to say, there is a significant discrepancy between Jason’s ability (and staunch confidence) in standing up to pee and his aim.

“Serenity now” I mutter to myself. Any hint of joking has left my pleas.

We power past the PJ dispute, make it through his chosen story for the night, and conclude with the standard hugs good night. In the aftermath of all the nonsense, I hope for no more chaos and wish for a feeling of relief to wash over me like cool water on a scorching day.

Maybe the rest of the evening will go smoothly. No? Of course not.

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