Good Fridays w/Padre: Lessons

It’s been an interesting couple of weeks, to say the least.  Here are a few ways my eyes have been opened, a few points I have pondered, a few insights I’ve gained:

– The head football coach should be a CSC.  He doesn’t have to be a priest.  The key is that he take a vow of obedience.  We can waive poverty, and his wife might quibble with chastity.  But the obedience is essential.  That way, he can never leave Notre Dame, can never talk to other teams, can never contemplate another way of life, without the permission of his superior – permission he will never be given…so long as he’s good.  If his skills leave him, he gets assigned to missionary work is some far off place like Kansas or New Mexico.  The only question is who his superior should be.  Technically, it would have to be another CSC; but in order for this to work, the alumni as a group will have to be his superior.  This isn’t such a stretch, since the alumni think they have this kind of religious authority and spiritual hold over him already.

  – Gold snow has NOT fallen from the Golden Dome.  It is NOT specially blessed.  Do NOT pick it up or collect it.

Fr. John Hollowell coaches in Indianapolis. It's just a short train ride to get him here, and a little paperwork to make him a CSC.(photo by John Shaughnessy)

Fr. John Hollowell coaches in Indianapolis. It’s just a short train ride to get him here, and a little paperwork to make him a CSC.
(photo by John Shaughnessy)

– Life was much easier when students could communicate only by letter or telegraph.  After I tricked the U.S. Postal Service into making me a Postmaster, all the mail came to me.  And, yes, I read it first.  Letters from rebellious friends back home – burned.  Hate-filled screeds from acquaintances at other schools – burned.  Naughty letters from old girlfriends – burned.  Naughty letters from girls – burned.  Letters from girls – burned.  This strategy most certainly would have eliminated “letters from and imbalanced fellow posing as a cloying girl(friend).”  It would also have scotched “letters from previously deceased girl(friends) who were really running from druglords.”  You see the wisdom here.  As for the telegraph, not only do all messages go through the poor stiff transcribing the Morse code (who works for me), but you can’t stay up all night listening to people – real or imagined – talking to you over the telegraph.  It’s an excellent system.


  – No matter how innately intelligent they are, no matter how well we educate them, no matter how close to being upstanding adults in the community, students immediately devolve into giddy and mischievous children when it snows.  They were given the glory of an undefeated football season, but snowball fights and vulgar sculptures are infinitely more delightful.

– Parietals need to be applied to electronic media.  If that can become an alternate reality, then it can become a filthy, dirty, sinful alternate reality.  We separate the lads from the lasses at midnight for their own good.  Likewise, we need to chase out the electronic succubi, virtual priapi, fake girlfriends, imaginary boyfriends, and all the catfish.  I am a man of letters.  I understand metaphor and metonymy.  But how did a hideously ugly, slimy, bottom feeder ever come to be associated with people who create…oh, now I see the poetic similarity.  At any rate, electronic parietals are not difficult to achieve.  All those magic boxes that show raunchy photos and allow sick twits to babble at you all night long need some cable or another to connect them to the inter-smut or erotic-net.  And I’ve got a big old sheep shears I’ve been itching to use ever since they plowed-under my farm.

– Gullibility and naivety can be good things.  I still marvel at the number of students who end up in the infirmary after the first day of sub-zero temperatures.  Not from frostbite – but because they believe me when I tell them the cold makes the Moses statue by the Library taste like cookies.



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