Brought to you once more this week courtesy of Bob Marley, Tito’s Vodka, and the ugly consequences of ignoring the signs.
Last night, my family watched the game at the house of some friends. There was barbecue and beer and a big back yard for the kids and it was a grand old time. Sometime late in the third quarter, my seven year old son came inside and asked me to help him climb into “the top hammock” in the back yard. I said no, because it was dark, it was wet, and we have a hammock at home that is one-foot off the ground that he manages to fall out of, so any hammock referred to as the “top hammock” gets an automatic denial from me, as there is by default a lower hammock available.
So I said no. And he pouted. He climbed up into his mother’s lap and asked for her phone. At this point, it was about an hour past his normal bedtime.
He started googling.
First, he googled “What to do when you’re sad.”
Then, he googled “What to do when your football team stinks.”
That should have been our queue to leave. It was time for him to go. But the adults were in the middle of a discussion about where the best Bloody Marys and daiquiris can be found in the French Quarter. That’s... kind of an important conversation.
So we stayed. Some more kids ran by a few minutes later. He stopped pouting and ran off with them. All was well.
Fifteen minutes later, we heard crying. Hysterical crying. Injury crying. Or at least perceived injury crying. We ran outside.
My son was covered, head to toe, in soot and ash. He looked like Wile E. Coyote after one of his diabolical schemes literally blew up in his face.
HE HAD FALLEN INTO THE DAMN FIRE PIT.
He was fine. It hadn’t been in use. He didn’t even scratch his glasses. But when it’s time for someone to go, it’s time for them to go.
It is time for Bret Bielema to go.
Does anyone really, truly want to discuss the football game from last night? I don’t. Can’t. Won’t. What is there left to say? What sentence can be written that doesn’t include the word “still”? Arkansas still cannot block. Still cannot catch. Still cannot defend. Still cannot avoid special teams snafus. Arkansas is still bad. Arkansas is still getting worse. Arkansas still has five games to further hone its skill of losing in the most demoralizing manner possible, and consequently, Arkansas fans still have five games of misery to endure.
Arkansas has played sixteen quarters of SEC football so far this season, and they have outscored their opponent in one of those. The second quarter against Texas A&M is the only period of play that Arkansas has won against an SEC team this season. The Hogs haven’t scored a touchdown against a first-string defense since the second quarter of the South Carolina game. They haven’t held the lead for even one second of their past three games, and were tied for less than one-sixth of the minutes played over the same stretch. That’s bad. Really bad. It’s seven-year-old trying to google the solution bad, because the man making $4 million annually to find it is coming up empty. Maybe he should ask Siri.
It’s time for Bret Bielema to go. It needs to be repeated. It needs to be recognized and acknowledged and accepted. It doesn’t have to happen today or tomorrow or anytime before the end of the season, but that outcome must be established as imminent. Arkansas plays Ole Miss next week. Ole Miss has an interim head coach, is looking down the barrel of serious sanctions, and lost their best player for the season last night against LSU. Beating Ole Miss, if it were to happen, should change absolutely nothing.
It’s time for Bret Bielema to go. It has to happen. It may not be the answer Google gives you when you query what to do when you’re sad or what to do when your football team stinks, but it’s the correct answer nonetheless. When it’s time for someone to go, it’s time for them to go. Because in the SEC, it can always get worse. There’s always another fire pit to fall face first into.
I’ll see y’all next week.