The Catch-22 Kaepernick Conundrum

Nancy Armour asked all of the right questions in her September 17 USA Today column regarding the "actively, actively interested" but unsigned Colin Kaepernick. Given the early-season ravaging of the quarterback position, why has no NFL team rushed to sign Kaepernick?

Considering the rash of contender-toppling injuries, even if a particular owner had a distaste for assigning Kaepernick a roster spot, that owner would be insane to not sign the man immediately and use him as trade bait. Allow me to repeat that. If an owner is so committed to white nationalism that it precludes his team from actually playing Kaepernick, why not be the first to sign him and then leverage the signing into a deal that benefits your team? The fact that no team has done this underlines, strongly, that there has been some kind of NFL-wide conspiracy to keep Kaepernick off all rosters.

None of the Kaepernick saga makes any sense, and it never will. Carolina could use him, as could the Jets, the Steelers, Miami, Tennessee, Minnesota, Washington, the Colts, and maybe Tampa Bay. Kaepernick could start for a third of the teams, and he'd be a superb backup for mobile young guns in Philadelphia, Kansas City, San Francisco, Buffalo, Dallas, and Houston.

Instead, he's working out at home. Why is that? Are NFL owners all idiots? For the sake of brevity, let's skip that question and cut to the proverbial chase.

The owners are trapped in a classic catch-22 of their own making. If a team signs Kaepernick, and the man succeeds, the fact that he's succeeded will demonstrate unequivocally to the American public that the owners illegally blackballed Kaepernick from the league for multiple seasons. They deprived him of prime athletic years at peak ability. Conversely, if they do not sign him, and they plug in various and sundry journeymen quarterbacks, they also demonstrate to the American public that the owners illegally blackballed Kaepernick. But at least they aren't paying him.

The only way that the owners look as if they haven't illegally blackballed him is if some team signs him and Kaepernick fails miserably. But here's the catch-22 inside the catch-22:  the fact that nobody has signed Kaepernick and given him an opportunity to fail is because most owners are convinced that he won't fail. It's as simple as that.

Lurking in the back of the NFL owners' minds is another troubling thought. The possibility exists that signing Kaepernick could motivate some of that team's players to go above and beyond to help Kaepernick succeed. That team might perceive themselves as playing for more than paychecks.

The NFL owners' Mr. Magoo business optics just amaze me. Kaepernick sits at home. Ray Lewis is a commentator. How does that work? I keep expecting Lewis to show up on one of the new NFL/Tide detergent commercials wearing his infamous white suit. Peyton Manning could call him to the podium to have Ray explain how he got all of the stains out.

The entire situation is ridiculous. The owners know Kaepernick could start for a third of the teams. It's particularly absurd that the championship caliber team that would probably benefit most from having Kaepernick as a backup is the Dallas Cowboys, deep in the heart of "we don't kneel" Texas.

Personally, I don't understand why any African-American should stand for The Star Spangled Banner. I'm not sure how many owners are familiar with the third stanza, but it's a doozy. I happen to know all of the stanzas because my grade school music teacher used 1920's songbooks. We sang all of the verses.

"No refuge could save the hireling or slave
From the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave."

Remind me, the next time the Star Spangled Banner plays, I really need to kneel.



Bob Dietz -- September 19, 2019

Exorcism at Steve Spurrier Field: Part Two

Somehow I had brought unspeakable evil back from Las Vegas with me. The consequences of its possession of eastern Tennessee football weren't pretty. Testosterone levels among Tennessean males fell to an all-time low. A depression epidemic was a real possibility. God knows what the effects of the prior 24 hours would have on opioid use. On the other hand, of course, the University of Tennessee had chosen a fine time to begin selling alcohol in Neyland Stadium. Perhaps the Vols' administration had a hand in summoning Pazuzu. To many Volunteer football fans, that didn't seem terribly farfetched, and it would explain much about the athletic director's office.

I considered what I should do. An exorcism seemed to be in order. But where? And how? And by whom?

I couldn't get through to the Vatican. I don't speak Italian, and the Vatican switchboard didn't seem to take my report of a Football Pazuzu seriously. But I couldn't sit idly by while football in eastern Tennessee was corrupted forever. Although I felt uncredentialled, someone had to do something, and that someone, to paraphrase Travis Bickle, was me. Despite my clergy license plate, which I utilize during Biker Week in Daytona Beach so nobody parks me in, I am not ordained. I do, however, own copies of Demonolatry and Malleus Malleficarum, which were used to identify, convict, and exorcize witches during the Inquisition. The only additional required text was The Rite of Exorcism (Roman Ritual), which one can surprisingly pick up from Target for $22.99 with same-day delivery.

Next I had to figure out the where. Where in eastern Tennessee could football karma be so bad, so horrifically evil, that a maleficent demon would hunker down as if at a Holiday Inn? Then it hit me. The Science Hill football team plays at a home field named for Johnson City native, Steve Spurrier. Spurrier was notorious for all manner of running up the score when he coached at Florida. He routinely threw deep with massive fourth-quarter leads, causing much weeping, gnashing of teeth, and four-letter words that could lead to damnation. More importantly, he often said that "You can't spell Citrus without UT," a reference to how his Gators consistently sealed off the Sugar Bowl from Tennessee football teams and relegated the Vols to the Citrus. If the Football Pazuzu demon felt at home anywhere in eastern Tennessee, it would be Steve Spurrier Field.

The next evening, after procuring The Roman Ritual from Target, I arrived at Steve Spurrier Field at 9 PM. I entered the iron gates while carrying Demonolatry, Malleus Malleficarum, The Roman Ritual, and a life-sized rubber model of a human heart, in case any sacrifices or trades would be required. As I stepped onto the artificial turf field, I was shocked to find that I wasn't alone. Despite my legendary IQ and insightful brilliance, others had figured out the location of Football Pazuzu more quickly than me. Others who devoted their lives to strange beliefs and who were trying to control the demon for their own devious and selfish ends.

I was too late to stop them. I would have to cut a deal.


A week later, most things had returned to normal in eastern Tennessee. The Science Hill High football team played a team from Knoxville called Hardin Valley Academy. Science Hill prevailed 52-14. The ETSU Buccaneers, a 2018 FCS playoff team, went up against something called Shorter, which had lost 29 consecutive games. The Bucs won easily, 48-10. And finally, on Saturday in Knoxville, the Tennessee Volunteers hosted Brigham Young. The Vols, holding a 16-13 lead, gave up a 64-yard pass with 20 seconds left, which allowed BYU to kick the tying field goal as time expired. In overtime, a BYU team that had been pushed around all day played like a team possessed. They muscled in a rugby-scrum off tackle play for a touchdown to pull the 29-26 upset. As Brigham Young celebrated in Knoxville, 90 miles away I heard a deep mournful wail. I couldn't tell if it was the plaintive howling of Tennessee's hound mascot or the cumulative crescendo of Vols' souls in pain. It carried on the wind and drowned out everything else in eastern Tennessee.

Why had Football Pazuzu's curse been lifted from Science Hill and ETSU, but not the University of Tennessee? Well, as I said, I had to cut a deal with those mysterious folks at Steve Spurrier Field. They had already begun their own ritual, and the best I could do was bargain with them as to which locales would be free of the demon. They were, as it turned out, Mormons. Rocky Top could not be spared.


Postscript:  A friend of mine was hiking in Colorado at the exact moment BYU punched in its winning score against Tennessee. He swore he felt a rush of wind and heard a loud wailing somewhere overhead. My deal, you see, was that the Mormons take Football Pazuzu with them to do with as they pleased, with my insistence that the demon stay west of the Rockies. National championship teams, after all, do not live west of the Rockies, so how much damage can the demon do? The Mormons, I've heard, made their own bargains with Football Pazuzu in the days that followed. If BYU somehow goes unbeaten at home the rest of the season, we'll know the true power of the football demon. And if they win as underdogs in overtime again, well, sometimes it pays to have the devil in your corner.

Exorcism at Steve Spurrier Field: Part One

Note:  This entry addresses the aftermath of events described in the previous (8/13) post.


It was, of course, entirely my fault. When my trip to Las Vegas ended and I returned to Johnson City, I assumed all was well with the world. I thought that the strange occurrences and synchronicities that shadowed me for more than a week had ended quietly with my return to the Tri-Cities Airport. I had bidden goodbye to Mickey Bible and deplaned. Nothing unusual happened in the following days. No odd connections or inexplicable resonating events. Things seemed to have returned to simple normalcy.

Just as in the beginning of the seminal film, The Exorcist, however, festering is often a slow, quiet burn. And just as in the movies, animals often detect evil much more quickly than we humans.

My friend, Tony, was celebrating his birthday. He is a diehard Tennessee Vols fan, so I bought him an orange hat with the trademark white T.  It was a good looking hat. Tennessee was scheduled to open the 2019 season a week later as 26-point favorites at home against lowly Georgia State. Tony was pleased with his birthday present and said he was looking forward to cheering on the Vols.

A couple of days later, I was having lunch with Tony and a few other friends. Tony tapped my arm and pointed to his phone. He scrolled down to a photo of the new hat, which looked as if it had been ravaged by Dire Wolves. I was close. Tony's German Shepherd had found the hat and savaged it. I joked that maybe this was an ominous omen for the Vols' season. It turns out that the hat was a just a portent of disasters to come.

Thursday, August 29, I cleaned out my suitcase from the Las Vegas trip. I took my tan Skechers out of their plastic bag and noticed some debris in the tread. Locust debris. Pieces of the swarms that had flooded Las Vegas during my visit. The same locusts that The Exorcist 2 described as vessels of the demon, Pazuzu. At the time, I did not realize the significance. I simply cleaned my shoes and put them away.

Friday, August 30, I finally understood. The Science Hill High School football team, a local power that plays at Steve Spurrier Field, had never lost to the David Crockett Pioneers. That evening, a few miles away in Jonesborough, David Crockett utterly crushed Science Hill 62-34. The result was beyond stunning. It was apocalyptic.

I began to suspect that something was awry. Had I somehow brought the demon, Pazuzu, back from Las Vegas with me? And was it manifesting itself in eastern Tennessee by corrupting that most sacred of religious traditions, southern football?

The next afternoon confirmed my suspicions. First, the local college team, the East Tennessee State Buccaneers, an FCS playoff squad in 2018, traveled across the mountain to Boone, North Carolina. They played Appalachian State and were crushed like grapes, 42-7. Then came the coup de grace. Ninety miles to the west, in Knoxville, the Tennessee Vols were 26-point favorites against a Georgia State team that had been 2-10 in 2018. That's 2-10 in the Sun Belt. Tennessee, overwhelmingly superior by all personnel standards, lost convincingly 38-30. Not only that, but the University of Tennessee had paid Georgia State almost a million dollars for making the trip. The wailing from Neyland Stadium was carried on the wind, banshee-like, to the entirety of eastern Tennessee..

In the span of 24 hours, the unthinkable had happened twice with the Science Hill and Vols losses, and ETSU's playoff veneer had been stripped as if by a blowtorch. Football Pazuzu had possessed eastern Tennessee.