Here is his piece, which is about coming out as a gay man at the christian college.

Congratulations, Todd. I hope we get to meet some time.

When the newspaper for which I worked was closed in the spring of 2009, I came to Ohio University looking to burn a year and get a master’s degree. It was during that year that I took Susan Burgess’s Law & Sexuality class and I realized how smart all the people around me were.

I knew immediately I wanted to stay in this environment and that I could never go back to being the sports writer I was before I came to OU.

My master’s thesis derived directly out of my previous working experience. I wrote about ethical and legal challenges – of which there are many — in covering college football recruiting, which is strong for practical application. But, with one class (Burgess’s) out of the way, I decided to make Women’s & Gender Studies one of my specializations for my PhD requirements and, suddenly, I was around all these smart people again in classes with Julie White, Judith Grant, and Ron Hunt. My head was spinning and I wanted more.

How I ever wrote about college athletics without this cultural awareness is embarrassing to me now. But, I still see it every day on ESPN, on newsprint, in blogs – the “blue-collar, hard-working athlete” (ie, the white athlete), the “athletic, flashy player” (the black athlete), how we see female athletes in terms of their fathers’ accomplishments or as unfairly compared to male athletes. I see what New York Times columnist Bill Rhoden calls “The Jockey Syndrome” (in his book Forty Million Dollar Slaves), or when sports rules are changed to benefit the white athlete when the black athlete gets too good within the old rules. I see labor disputes in professional sports and images of Marx pop into my mind, and a white bourgeoisie and black proletariat. I see college football scandals and can think of little more than blatant exploitation of raced and gendered young athletes.

James Harrison from a Men's Journal article / Nathaniel Welch

So, now my research interests are vested in this. I wrote a paper last quarter in which I looked through the theoretical lens of critical studies and utilized Frank Rudy Cooper’s concept of “bipolar black masculinity,” which is born out of Critical Race Feminism’s intersectionality theory, as well as framing theory. I examined coverage of Pittsburgh Steelers linebacker James Harrison, who had become the poster boy for helmet-to-helmet, “illegal” tackles in the National Football League, as provided by USA Today and the national newspaper’s website USAToday.com. The study asked the question, “How does USA Today’s coverage reveal and describe James Harrison as a raced and gendered body?” and it provided the answers through a textual analysis of the USA Today articles. I am considering building upon this study through more textual analysis, content analysis, and possibly audience interviews for my doctoral dissertation. It may also include more athletes and get into Rhodes’s Jockey Syndrome, as well. (This would make it a monster of a project and turn it from a journalism study into a sociological study, as well.)

But, I may also stick with practical applications and some political economy stuff that has to do with university-produced websites vs. traditional media websites. So, I’ll let you know as I figure it out.

Regardless of what I choose to focus on for my dissertation, my biggest challenge in the field of academia is helping to turn out future sports writers who know what I did not know when I was working. I love teaching and I am passionate about the idea of helping students to look at their subjects with a culturally critical eye.

My parents and I went tonight and enjoyed every minute for over two hours. This place is a gem. It’s unique — reservations only and prix fixe five or seven-course meals all prepared before you in an open kitchen. The chef/owner Bill Justice tells you about the fresh ingredients, purchased that very day, and his methods.

Bill and his wife Suzanne Mitchell let us try a little bit of everything, all while filling our glasses with a bottomless bottle of wine and moscato.

9 Tables, which literally has nine tables, looked like it was closed as curtains covered the glass doors. However, the doors were unlocked and we entered a small, efficient, comfortable space — dimly lit, warm colors, soft jazz playing. (For my friends in Seattle, this place has the ambience of the old Asteroid Cafe, complete with a restroom on the other side of the kitchen even!)

But, let’s not mess around here. Ambience, service, wine aside, the food is the strength here and Bill is a master of the sauce.

We indulged on an appetizer of crostini with goat cheese and grapes. Creamiest, smoothest goat cheese I’ve ever had. Red pepper soup. Asparagus salad with a mustard cream dressing (that was fantastic!) Bill let us sample the main courses, so our servings were small, but we got all of them: Pork tenderloin with a bourbon-shallot glaze, crab cake with red pepper-garlic aioli, strip steak with bernaise sauce, penne with parsley pesto and shrimp. Then we sampled all three desserts: Chocolate torte, cheesecake with raspberry sauce, and (my favorite) creme brûlée.

Bill’s sauces were creative, unique and scrumptuous. Special note needs to go to the mustard cream dressing and, most especially, that bourbon-shallot glaze that included peppercorns. Heavenly. The steak was perfectly cooked and the bernaise sauce was deliciously understated with a perfect consistency (something with which I am always impressed since I can’t get it right for the life of me!) The red pepper-garlic aioli was refreshing while still full of flavor.

9 Tables is only open Thursday-Saturday at this point. Bill said he wants to keep it reservation-only so that it can continue to be a supper club-like venue — personal, slow (in a good way!), comfortable. The service is precise and personal, which may make for some tough sledding for this local, small business.

However, Athenians and guests at Ohio University now have the venue where they can experience high quality food and a unique, special environment.

Block off some time, make a reservation (740-707-4966 or athensfinedining@gmail.com) and sit back and soak in a dining experience.

I’m so glad I did.

(Damn, I had some pictures, but I can’t get them off my phone right now… will add them later.)

Much like a fumbled snap, the Worldwide Leader dropped the ball.

The biggest story in college football got swept under the rug because Saturday’s lights need to be shined elsewhere. The most tragic kind of scandal was ignored Saturday because the money-making machine that is young men grinding on grass was running at full steam.

Swept under the rug. Ignored.

These are same phrases you are – eventually – going to hear from talking the talking heads on TV, from the pages of newspapers and magazines, from the screens of your device of choice used to describe the adults in power at Penn State University.

And this is why we have a problem much bigger than a highly respected and successful coach raping a 10-year-old boy in Penn State’s locker room.

Photo courtesy of The Patriot News

Saturday, while defense ruled in Alabama and offense reigned on a football field in Stillwater, Okla., a grand jury report was brought to the public’s attention by The New York Times, the Washington Post and Yahoo! Sports.

It gave graphic and horrid accounts of sexual abuse committed by Jerry Sandusky, Penn State’s long-time defensive coordinator who was at one time in line to be Joe Paterno’s successor. It described charges levied against athletic director Tim Curley and senior vice president for finance Gary Schultz for perjury and failure to report to authorities what they knew of the allegations, as required by state law.

And neither ESPN nor CBS – which aired Saturday’s big game – spoke hardly a word of it. (To be fair, the Associated Press report was on ESPN.com, but the story was not mentioned on air.)

There are three major problems here:

1.) Over a course of 15 years, Sandusky, now 67, is alleged to have sexually abused eight boys. He used his position at Penn State to leverage relationships and to open a charity organization, “The Second Mile,” to assist boys from underprivileged backgrounds.

2.) At the very least, four people from Penn State – the GA that originally reported seeing Sandusky raping his second known victim, Paterno, Curley and Schultz – knew of one incident that occurred in the showers of the Penn State football locker room in 2002. None of these four people called the police. None attempted to identify the 10-year old boy. Instead, they protected Sandusky and simply made him turn in his keys to the locker room.

3.) On Saturday, Nov. 5, ESPN and CBS protected college football and simply led its fans to good ol’ action on the field and away from that nasty scandal stuff.

This is not just a scandal; it’s a deal-breaker. This is not just about an old man raping little boys; it’s about a nation that has deeply troubling priorities. This is not about missing a story; it’s about entertainment trumping the truth.

And it is all about money.

Sandusky faces 40 charges stemming from the sexual abuse of eight boys. These are eight boys who have come forward. Sandusky had access to the boys through his organization. The boys came from troubled and/or poor backgrounds. He was supposed to help them. Instead, he betrayed them in a way that is indescribable in words. At the very least, he crushed their souls.

There is nothing more disgusting than what Sandusky did and it is difficult to talk about.

But Penn State – which has recently ridden around on the shoulders of its integrity as one of the very few big-time college athletic programs without major NCAA violations – has an ugly history of not talking about disturbing situations.

In 2007, Penn State’s women’s basketball coach Rene Portland resigned amidst a scandal and anti-discrimination lawsuit.

Portland, a two-time national coach of the year and one of just nine coaches to win more than 600 games, had allegedly created a hostile environment towards lesbian players – or players Portland perceived to be lesbian. Complaints had been levied, but action was not taken, even after the school instituted a non-discrimination policy in 1991.

Rene Portland at a game protested by LGBT rights groups / AP photo

The environment came to light after Jennifer Harris, who had been kicked off the team, filed a federal lawsuit. The university conducted an internal review and found and reported that Portland created a “hostile, intimidating, and offensive environment” based on Harris’s perceived sexual orientation. Portland was fined $10,000 and required to attend diversity training sessions.

A documentary called “Training Rules” describes the environment through the words of Penn State players during Portland’s 28-year reign. While not subjected to the horrific sexual abuse the little boys are alleged to have endured, these young women went endured a mental abuse that the administration just swept under the rug. Ignored.

Why? Maybe because it was uncomfortable to talk about. Or maybe because Portland was so damn successful.

Why wouldn’t have Paterno and Curley called the authorities? Because it was uncomfortable? Because he was so successful? Or because it would tarnish a cash cow of a brand: PENN STATE FOOTBALL?

This brings us to problem No. 3. Why wouldn’t these major media organizations give the audience the story on a timely basis?

Because, deep down, fans don’t want to be uncomfortable. Because fans want to believe in success. Because fans pay.

Fans pour into stadiums despite scandals. Fans want to believe Jim Tressel is still a “good man.” Fans force ADs’ hands to fire coaches who go 8-4 for too many years.

But what do fans do with this?

This isn’t tattooes-for-jerseys. This isn’t Camaros-for-commitments. Right?

No, it is not.

But it is just the next logical step in an environment that is corrupt and wholly hypocritical.

It is the next logical step for an entity that is based on the lie of amateurism.

It is the logical evolution of an environment that slaps the wrists of rule-breaking players and coaches, that rewards coaches with millions of dollars while the rest of the state’s educational system crumbles, that uses catchy slogans to mask racism and sexism.

And we are all complicit. We watch. We attend. We cheer. We eat from ESPN’s spoon. We sweep under the rug. We ignore.

I am doubly complicit as both a former fan and former sports writer.

No more.

A 60-year-old coach raped a 10-year-old boy in the showers of the Penn State football locker room.

What else do we need to hear before we change?

According to my Nike+ app, this half marathon was the result of 45 practice runs totaling 161 miles and 28 hours, 30 minutes & 14 seconds, as well as 21,315 calories.

I didn’t start running until the beginning of March when I decided to a 5K in May. I did that 5K and then got the Nike+ app and really went to town.

Since March, I’ve dropped about 30 pounds, don’t fit into any of my clothes and feel terrific. And I wasn’t out to lose weight — I was out, well, to run.

Best part? This half marathon wasn’t the goal; it was the practice run. The real goal is a sub 10-min/mile in the STRIP AT NIGHT, the Rock N Roll Half Marathon in Las Vegas on Dec. 4 with my newlywed friends Debra & Katie, as well as Jen, Ashley and whoever else is coming!

I CAN’T WAIT!

Photo montage from Yahoo! Sports

As a matter of fact, the time came and went in 1985 in Dallas, Texas. The time came again in 1989 in Norman, Okla. And again in 2004 in Boulder, Colo., again in Los Angeles a year later, again in Chapel Hill, North Carolina and Columbus, Ohio over the last year. (And this doesn’t even consider the Dexter Manleys, the Tony Mandariches, the recruiting hostesses, etc.)

But here we stand in mid-2011, a month before college the college football kicks off, analyzing what may be the farthest-reaching, the ugliestcollege football scandal to date in Miami.

And the NCAA continues to lay down sacrifice bunts despite being behind by five runs in the bottom of the ninth inning.

The worst part? We insatiable fans continue to give those bunts standing ovations.

The time has come for serious reform in big-time college football.

A Facebook friend and long-time family acquaintance wrote on a message board today that this latest scandal out of the University of Miami wrote that it makes the Ohio State scandal look like “a spit ball fight in the study hall.”

I wholeheartedly disagree. To me, it looks like just another piece in a puzzle that reveals big-time college football to be a complete racket.

Make no mistake, college football is a racket.  The owners (Boards of Trustees, university presidents) use cheap labor to rake in money to be viable in the athletic arms race. The owners use public funds (tax and tuition dollars) to hire — and fire — coaches at grossly large salaries to exploit this cheap labor often at the cost of that promised free education.

Each piece of this puzzle is as critical as the next. Without one piece, the picture is incomplete. And it is time for American football fans to deal with this ugly picture in its entirety.

Why? Because as a critical thinker, I see memorabilia for tattoos, then am shown association for money for Mom and help with the car payment. I see recruiting hostesses, then see prostitutes. I see VIP club passes, booze, and then I see drugs. I see steroids, I see violence against women, I see academic cheating, I see illiteracy …

And, why not? The athletes’ sense of entitlement is partially a result of the trickle-down effect.

Watch how coaches act with the media. Watch who coaches and athletic directors schmooze with. Watch how “good men,” like Jim Tressel and Tyrone Willingham, compromise their principles — and I truly believe that, at one point, those guys did hold their principles first and foremost. But the pressure of their own egos, of their love for competition coupled with obscene salaries and unrealistic fan expectations force those principles to the back burner.

There is a lot at play here, but the problems start with fan expectations and they are compounded by greed, by racism, by exploitation, and by a series of damaging myths.

The myth of amateurism is a fan-produced fallacy all in the name of spectacle and greed. The myth that big-time college football coaches care about their players as humans is another. The myths of compliance, of fairness, of “student-athlete”… they are all myths.

The time has come for serious reform in big-time college football.

NCAA president Mark Emmert is correct that the rulebook needs to be overhauled. But that is yet another bunt. Other bunts might include another look at the composition of the Committee of Infractions, of campus-to-campus compliance, of opening the entire process to the media and public, of a dialed-down recruiting process and more.

But still, to squelch the myths, we need extra-base hits. We need to read Rick Telander’s ” The Hundred Yard Lie” and take heed.

Step 1 must be the inclusion of the National Football League. This billion-dollar conglomerate contributes zero dollars to its sole feeder program. No more. So, we start there.

Then, with the NFL’s subsidies — and dare I suggest the financial commitment of ESPN and TV networks –, we distinguish the haves from the have-nots. Non-BCS programs go the way of a Division III-type entity. For the haves, or the BCS programs, we  pay the players. We separate the football programs, but not the facilities, from the universities. We make the education a benefit to the players, not a mandatory commitment.

The racket has been thoroughly exposed.

How many times must we let the opportunity for serious reform in big-time college football come and go?

My entire life, I was a sports writer. My Saturdays and Sundays were eaten up with nothing but football. I voted in polls. I recorded games I had seen live to watch them again. I watched every highlight, scoured the internet for stats, for insight, for anything I might have missed. I went to high school state tournaments, looked at Scout.com every day, read message boards.

When I wasn’t being a sports writer, I was being a sports fan. I studied up on the Pittsburgh Steelers’ draft picks. Hell, I even studied up on the Pittsburgh Pirates’ draft picks. I went to games I didn’t have to cover for fun. I made everyone at the Super Bowl party be quiet so I could listen. I paid bartenders at sports bars to turn specific games on specific TVs – with the sound, thank you very much.

That was me for a long time.

Recently, I realized that anyone that meets me now will never have known that Molly. Shoot, even the person I fall in love with and maybe spend the rest of my life with will never know Molly the Sports Writer.

Right now, it is not hard to be angry at sports. With two major professional leagues mired in ugly labor disputes and college athletic programs unable to maintain any sense of order, it is easy to be pissed off. But I’m not pissed off. Nor am I disgusted. It has hit me of late that I’m experiencing none of the emotions a sports fan should be experiencing. So, what the hell is going on?

This is the new Molly and I’m on a mission.

First, what is wrong with being a fan? Absolutely nothing – as long as we maintain our processes of critical thinking.  But, let’s face it. Sports writers like I used to be are complicit in pulling the wool over fans’ eyes. If pop culture is the opiate of the masses, what is sports? The strongest and purest of the opium, perhaps?

How can we shrug when rogue governors like Scott Walker and John Kasich make it open season on public employees, but become impassioned to defend millionaire football and basketball players who want more from billionaire owners of sports franchises?

How can we applaud university presidents and athletic directors for extending football coaches’ contracts and hiring quarter-million-dollar-a-year women’s basketball coaches all while raising tuition and cutting academic programs?

How can we bitch about affirmative action and celebrate Jackie Robinson?

How can we be so callous toward Mexican immigrants while rooting for Cuban defectors in pinstripes?

How can we really consider a “Heartbeat Bill,” defunding Planned Parenthood, repealing or amending Title IX and still root for the U.S. women in this riveting World Cup?

For the majority of my life, Sports Writer Molly was complicit in providing the masses their opium. For example, I covered high school sports in Seattle and some University of Washington men’s basketball game. I had been told there were problems at Franklin High School, specifically with the boys basketball program. I couldn’t get enough hard evidence to run with a story. I didn’t keep after it. Instead, I probably wrote some stories about that defensive sparkplug off the bench, the local product who helped the team win. I should’ve been more diligent. I should have kept after it. Maybe then I could feel a little less responsible for these kinds of stories, now being written about Venoy Overton.

During spring quarter, I taught a Sports Writing class filled with people who reminded me of Sports Writer Molly – fans, optimistic and hopeful kids who believe in the spectacle of sport without distraction. I realized my job wasn’t about teaching them the ins and outs of a lead, but to provide the distraction.

I assigned Rick Telander’s “The Hundred Yard Lie” and the classic expose of BALCO in “Game of Shadows” by former San Francisco Chronicle scribes Mark Fainaru-Wada and Lance Williams. Why? Not to make them dislike the games, but to think critically about them.

We talked about asking tough questions of powerful head coaches who could deny our access. We discussed what happens when fans only want good news (ala Columbus Dispatch), corporate conflict (ala ESPN), public relations, fluff pieces, and balanced coverage.

I will always love sports. The Women’s World Cup has been riveting and, as much as I despise ESPN right now, I will be tuned in Sunday afternoon. If the NFL lockout ends, I hope to be in Pittsburgh on Sept. 18 for the Seahawks-Steelers game. I’ll play fantasy football. I’ll pray that the Pirates stay above .500. I’ll get goose bumps watching the Women’s College World Series, chills when seeing Husky Stadium on TV, and sweaty hands in the fourth quarter of a tight game.

But I will never look at these games the same. I will never see the press box through the same eyes. And I will do everything I can to make sure my students find intelligent criticism through their love of sports.

Locker in 2005 (Bruce Kellman/The News Tribune file)

The first time I ever came in contact with Jake Locker was on the rippled carpet on the floor of the Tacoma Dome after Bellevue High defeated Ferndale in the 3A Washington State Championship game.

I don’t think anyone ever doubted the greatness that would come to the gracious young man, even as he walked away in defeat that evening.

Tonight, Locker and his family and friends will wait to hear when his name, uttered by NFL commissioner Roger Gooddell. Once his name comes off Gooddell’s lips, visions of riches, fame and glory will dance through the minds of his fans.

But I can almost guarantee, no such visions will be in Locker’s mind. Instead, I am guessing, will be visions of what he must do next to achieve the next step on the path to greatness.

Locker is a plain and simple guy. He is genuinely nice, funny, pleasant and — oh yeah — one hell of an athlete. It is something he has heard his entire life, but the sense of entitlement so many others who regularly hear that has escaped Locker.

Before his junior year at Washington, he signed a professional baseball contract with the Anaheim Angels. It probably netted him about a quarter of a million, but you never would have have known.

He bypassed millions to stay at the University of Washington instead of heading to the NFL before his senior season. Maybe you and I can put a price tag on helping turn a program around. Maybe Terrelle Pryor can figure what a trophy is worth. But Locker saw an opportunity — the last chance for a last season. His trophy is invaluable. Winning the Holiday Bowl was priceless.

Locker & Greer at the Seattle Sports Banquet, December 2010

A sense of entitlement often leads athletes to act macho, treat women poorly, show disrespect to those without as much physical prowess. Not Locker. He signs autographs, befriends kids with cancer, and — as for jersey chasers? Shoot, Locker’s fiancee has a jersey of her own!  He is set to marry Lauren Greer this summer. Want to know something about Greer? She’s a national champion, a clutch-hitting softball player who I also had the pleasure of covering a time or two.

So, tonight, after all the speculation and over-analysis, I hope all Locker’s football dreams come true. I hope it is the beginning of a path that brings him nothing but success and happiness. And, I hope that somewhere down the line, I get to give him a high-five and let him know what a pleasure this all been from a sports writer’s perspective.

Plain and simply, Good luck, Jake.

Ohio University's campus gate on a beautiful February morning.

Being a displaced sports writer who loved her job beyond words, I have tried to carve out a new niche — one in academia.

Friends and family ask me all the time if I’m happy. The honest answer is yes. But I have never been anywhere or done anything where I haven’t been, at least, mostly happy.

Take for example my first non-internship job out of college. It was in El Centro, Calif. working for the Imperial Valley Press. It was miserable. But looking back at it, I hardly remember the nights I’d lie in bed crying because I was so lonely and frustrated.

What stands out? 

The smell of onions growing in the endless fields as I drove out 86 with the windows down. Watching future NFL first-round pick Robert Thomas play football his junior year. Kids named Leah, and Michelle, who gave me their senior pictures because I covered their volleyball teams. Tamales in the newsroom on Christmas. My first (and only) quinceanera. My old friends Sergio Flores, and Lizette Wilson, and Brett Kofford.

Years later, I was slightly miserable working as the media relations director for the Seattle Storm in the team’s inaugural season. I remember feeling like I was swimming upstream in everything I did at work, but I also remember seeing Key Arena filled with fans on opening night and the tears springing to my eyes. I remember Lin Dunn taking us to Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse after the draft, becoming best friends with Regan Freuen, and listening to the Dixie Chicks. I also remember all too vividly getting fired. As miserable as I was that day, it didn’t take long for me to realize it was my life’s greatest non-living blessing.

As I get further removed from March 2009, the P-I closing seems more and more like a death in the family — two years next week. I realize that sounds dramatic, but it’s true. It still hurts. I still long for it. And, well, it’s just gone leaving behind only memories and a way of life about which I can only reminisce.

I had wanted to be a sports writer as long as I could remember. That’s so rare — a kid that knows exactly what she wants to do when she grows up… and then goes and does it. But every day, there are these witty, brilliant young adults looking at me to help them do what they want to do when they grow up. And it makes me happy.

Right now I’m incredibly frustrated, highly emotional, and every now and then, a little lost. But I’m still mostly happy. While that sounds more like a defense mechanism, it is the truth.

Why? Because life is filled with BS — chauvanists, jerks, rejections, denials, lonely deserts, misunderstandings, people who hurt your heart, jobs that end, and greedy people that tear apart your government, your education and your hobby.

This is my all-time favorite picture. P-I photographer Josh Trujillo took it from a kayak on Elliott Bay shortly before the newspaper closed its doors.

What are the options? Let it all sink you to the bottom, or look into the eyes of those students and give them your best? Stagnate in bed in cry, or wrestle on the couch with the world’s funniest dog?

It’s almost the two-year anniversary of P-I closing and my heart still aches for the work, the colleagues, the excitement. It aches for my old life. I want to fill out NCAA brackets with Stacy. I want to be in Vegas with some of my friends next week for the first round. I want to meet Michelle and Casey for happy hour.

I don’t want to be worried about tonight’s presentation in my Qualitative Methods class. I don’t want to grade 34 features by tomorrow night. I don’t want to write two more 25-page papers, or worry about submission deadlines, or panic any more about how I’m going to be able to pay rent this summer.

But really, isn’t that just part of the BS?

While I joke and tell people I’m living the dream, I actually think I will be past this some day and it will be just like living in El Centro. I won’t remember the anxiety attacks brought on by financial panic, or  some asshole people, or the heartbreaks.

I’ll remember getting to see my nieces grow up. I’ll remember that spring evening when the Bobcats beat Georgetown in the first round of the tournament. I’ll remember how I felt when my friends and family all showed up to celebrate my thesis defense. I’ll remember these students, these young adults who have given me some inspiration and who I actually enjoy being around. I’ll remember Kirby’s whole body wiggling on the top of the couch when she sees me walking down the driveway.

They say it’s all about attitude. I disagree. But it really is in the details, isn’t it?

And I am FIRED UP!

I didn’t sleep much last night and was pretty much wide awake from 4:45 a.m. on. But I got out of bed a little before 6 and went upstairs to make breakfast. I was told that feeding the committee members is always encouraged, so I made breakfast for them: A Denver eggbake (with tofu instead of ham since Dr. Mike Sweeney is a newly-minted vegetarian), an Italian eggbake with sausage and tomato sauce, and blueberry muffins — out of the bag, of course!  

So, all that was going while I also showered, started a load of laundry, ironed a shirt, did my hair and … whew… I was only a little anxious!

Once the committee came in, it took a little over an hour. It was ridiculously painless.

I knew Dr. Sweeney was going to be fine. He’s my chair and we worked chapter-by-chapter on this thing. Dr. Aimee Edmondson is the law expert. I have a great relationship with her, and we had already discussed the gist of things, so I wasn’t worried about her.

I was, however, a bit concerned about Dr. Pat Washburn.

Let me go back a little ways… Dr. Washburn is my mentor‘s mentor. So, I hold him in high esteem. He’s a bit older, close to retirement and absolutely says what is on his mind right when the thought hits. He isn’t much on tact, and maybe even a little less on manners. But he’s brilliant and he cracks me up.

But I was a little worried. And, the way he started made me start to sweat on my upper lip.

He opened his copy of the paper up and went, “Now, on Page 2…”

But, Dr. Washburn literally went through and picked every style error and typo out — and there really weren’t many. He had a couple great questions. Like, he asked me to explain a little more about why a booster could get a team an NCAA investigation, but a reporter couldn’t. His inquiries were helpful and — let me be honest — they also didn’t add more than 30 minutes of work.

They sent me out of the room after we went through everyone’s questions and, after about 150 seconds, they brought me back in. THESIS ACCEPTED.

Washburn leaned back in his chair and said, “You’ve really done a nice job here.”

I wanted to explode.

So, I now have a few style items to edit and a couple questions to answer. After I do that, I send the thesis to Thesis & Dissertation Services, while Sweeney sends it to the Dean of the School of Communications. Everyone nods their head and they get my Master’s diploma printed!

After I sent it to TAD, I go get it bound and deliver a copy to Sweeney, who puts it in the library.

When I do that, I will also send my final version to all the people who answered my survey. 

I am posting the pre-edited/not-yet-official version here, as well. So, if you have insomnia, you can be cured. Honestly, if you’re a college football fan, you might get something out of it. I don’t think it’s a bad read considering it’s a thesis.