Truth has nothing to fear.

Over dinner Sunday night, I dove headlong into a critical discussion of the current administration at my undergraduate alma mater. My companion in the conversation was a fellow alum and also teaches as an adjunct at my current university, and he was a few decades older than I.

As we talked about all the people we know near the foothills of the Ozarks, I suggested two reasons for my frustration with the current administration, and the first is the unfortunate public alignment with a single political party and ideology. My friend was stumped and wondered why I thought it was a bad idea for our alma mater to declare its partisan preference. I responded with a bit of discourse on the ethic of academic freedom and the practical effect that this alignment will have on faculty and student recruiting and fund-raising over the long-run.

He gave two responses in common apology for the University's public declaration of political preference: 1. It will comfort the conservatives, even if it alienates the liberals. 2. It provides some sort of national balance to the liberal academy. I suggested that such a national balance does nothing to serve the students who do not get to attend 10 colleges at once. He said that in his experience, well stuff that he had read, that most "state schools" and other universities actively discriminate against conservatives. I explained that my other school, a top-20 national, secular school, did quite a good job of welcoming all points of view, so long as the proponent could articulate a decent basis for thought.

Against this backdrop, I enjoyed this post from Concurring Opinions, but I sat perplexed at Columbia's invitation and subsequent bumrush of the Iranian President.

I will admit that while applauding Columbia's invitation, I did not feel at ease with the introduction by Professor Bollinger which was, at best, not hospitable.

That is, until I read this statement announcing and describing the event, issued last week, days before the event. As it turns out, Columbia told the Iranians precisely what to expect, left no question about the university's intent. Columbia invited the man to answer charges, and to his credit, he showed up. Columbia invited him to a dialogue about his claims and positions, guaranteed that the University would challenge and criticize and required that at least half of the event must be answers to student questions.

This is the high function of a university, to invite, demand and guarantee the inquiry.

I hope that my alma mater will heed Columbia's courage and moxie to invite an unpopular speaker onto its campus, to extend an invitation to an opposing point of view, to offer its stage for a controversial idea. The central function of a university is to explore and relish the criticsm of ideas, not to shield students from a disfavored point of view.

Go Wildcats

Greg Kendall-Ball reports at his site about the anti-war protest and peace demonstration Friday at Abilene Christian University. This is the first war protest on a Church of Christ college campus of which I am aware, and I am proud of the students for standing and speaking and of ACU for providing a safe forum.

These students' signs and message are prophetic and speak like the radical Messiah who taught people to love their enemies and claimed the hurt of vulnerable victims.

Let's go Faulkner students, Harding students, Freed-Hardeman students, Lipscomb students, Rochester students, York students. Call to the conscience of your generation and get your hands dirty.

(I'm jealous because I matriculated during the Clinton administration when we didn't have anything decent to protest.)

Cheese Eating Surrender Monkeys

I am not so sure that bellicose threats against Iran are useful or creative, but I sure am glad to hear them coming from France. Perhaps a bit discomfiting historically, but some contemporary, cooperative German and French sabre-rattling is a healthy sign.

First, it's not us, and we have done quite too much of that in the past six years.

Second, a healthy, leading Western Europe who does not pander to the U.S. is good for the world.

Third, the U.S. deserves to sit in the second row at this conflagration for the sake of peace; we have precious little diplomatic, non-military capital to bet at this table.

I was pulling for the cute socialist to win the French elections over the summer, but the conservative nationalist may have some use on the world's stage.

So Far, So Good

In our march to .500 and a bowl, Vandy is making good progress:

Vandy Opponent (my pick) Result

Richmond (win) WIN

Alabama (loss) LOSS

Ole Miss (win) WIN!

Go 'Dores!

(and Go State!)

(and Go Eagles! My daughter and I witnessed the first ever homegame in Faulkner's inaugural football season. FU lost, but the turnout and atmosphere was great. The NAIA action was quick and competent, and the game was competitive. 70 years from now, when Faulkner beats Auburn at the first even I-85 Bowl we can tell our great-grandkids that we were there at the beginning.)

Casus Belli

I read an article in the last couple of weeks, addressing Coach Saban's future opponents and suggested something to this effect: "If you haven't found a reason to despise Nick Saban yet, just wait a few more weeks."

Now, as explained below, being once an Alabama fan and being recently relocated back into my home state, I was holding out hope that Saban would enjoy some success and make my family happy again. I held no ill will toward the guy.

Then today, with the game firmly in hand against my beloved Vanderbilt Commodores, after scoring his insurance touchdown, the Alabama Head Coach went for two. That was more than enough. That was Spurrierian and corrupt.

Now, I just look forward to the anguish Alabama feels when Saban bolts for Michigan next year.

Go 'Dores.

Greek Life

My friend, Mike the Eyeguy, and his alter-ego have commented today on a certain football game this weekend. While much of the country won't be sitting by with bated breath to read the scores for the Alabama v. Vanderbilt confrontation, this game holds a special place in my heart. Alabama enjoys an 18 game winning streak over my beloved Commodores, but this year Alabama's secondary is pourous while Vandy sports the best wide receiver and best quarterback in the conference. Vandy is as strong as ever, and Alabama is rebuilding. In 2005, we beat Tennessee in Knoxville. In 2006, we beat Georgia in Athens. Alabama should be worried more only if we were playing this game in Tuscaloosa.

To mark this occasion, I republish a post from October 2006, with a revised ending.

Go 'Dores!

Yea, I was born unto a nation with twelve tribes. Among our chosen people in the rich land, an inheritance is imparted from mother to son, from father to daughter, and the hate-blood flows among the feuding tribes. The tribe of my birth is an ancient race, long wielding dominion over the rest in days long past, a tribe of scarlet red descending from its high place, the Capstone. Its lords and lore echo their bawdy songs, giving honor to the yellow bird and unstoppable moon cycles; hark to the past glory and ascend again to the high place! My tribe’s arch enemy resides in tents and barns on the Plain where they mingle the song of the eagle and the mouth of the tiger to nefarious ends. Indeed as iron sharpens iron, so does the Capstone tribe rake against the beguiled Plain tribe.

Yet, I was reared in a foreign land, a rebellious land full of growling dogs. In the shadow of the weary Dog’s lair did I come of age, and its minions befriended me. My forefathers shuddered at my dalliance with the Dog’s adherents and rather would have me keep company with the Aged Soldiers to the north, if any. Even so, the Canine tribe was a defeated people, living in angst beneath the Aged Gentry who once warred against the rest. The Aged Soldiers established themselves in the ancient Grove and oversaw the land of cotton, despite the Dog’s toil and oppression. On the blue moon, the Dog could rise up against the Aged but rarely remained in their lofty presence. The Aged had little regard for the other tribes, and their pride put me off. My affection grew for the Dog tribe, but still I would not forsake the Capstone tribe of my birth. My blood ran scarlet, and I harked to the yellow bird, the crimson flow and the mighty trunked-beast. I worshiped at the Capstone and was pleased.

For a season, I sojourned in the most remote land, among the Pig People. The were the youngest tribe, accepted in our national charity when their old nation crumbled in corruption and despair. The Pig People did not speak our language and are unclean, and despite their fierce howls and nasty teeth, I could not the Pig People love. The live in squalor among the Lizard people and the Swamp tribe, the brutal, uncivilized hoards.

In a season of wandering, far from the Capstone, having visited among the Dog tribe, having feasted in the Aged Grove, having roamed with the Pig People, I received the highest calling of our nation. The Athenian tribe issued to me a writ to encamp on their High Hill under the Ancient Oak, to study among their wise men, to breathe the free and lofty air of erudition and nobility. The Athenian tribe is the least in number among our nation, and its people have no land beyond their High Hill and Ancient Oak. The Athenians call to the high-minded, the principled and honored among the nation to join, learn and govern the rest. With humble exhilaration did I answer the writ of invitation, proceeded through the Rites of Spring and took my place among the Athenians, on the High Hill, beneath the Ancient Oak, to prepare for a life of learning and glory. The Athenians do not often fare well on the field of battle but guide the nation in righteousness, truth and the path of brilliance, not unlike the storied Levites of scripture.

One bright, oppressive day, the tribe of my birth, the Capstone, clad in gleaming armor, did take the field on the High Hill to assault the men of the Ancient Oak, to challenge the scholars in a game of brutality. This conflagration tortured my heart and rent it assunder. Thus, in that moment did I apprehend the truth, a man may not well serve two tribes. A fork appeared in my life-path, and the tribes demanded of me, choose one now, because you cannot bear the weight of duality. The Capstone tribe, the tribe of my birth and forefathers brook no transgression. The Athenian tribe, the tribe of my calling, stood smugly to await my decision; could I forsake the hate-blood for the blessing of fresh air on the High Hill and Ancient Oak? In that moment, I hollered the incantation, “Vandyvandyohhhellyeah!.” Thus, did I renounce the tribe of my birth, and did the Capstone tribe disinherit me. Thus, did the Athenians install me on the High Hill for the length of my years in the shade of the Ancient Oak.

The Athenians adorned me in black and gold, and I set aside the scarlet sash of my boyhood. The writ of invitation was satisfied, and the Sea Baron was pleased.

Alas, having matriculated on the High Hill and fulfilled my studies at the feet of the law givers, the law makers, I descended to the Athenian valleys, to venture into the nation and minister among the tribes. On the first journey through the mountains of Smoke, did a fair lady approach me quietly. She hailed from the Mountain Tribe, a numerous, boisterous, bellicose people, yet the lady inspired a serene, sublime beauty to all whom she met. Her warrior’s spirit rose against injustice, but her compassion poured to those in oppression and chains. She served among a warlike people and loved them yet, even as she disdained their bloodlust. She and I loved one another and pronounced vows among the baptismal waters of the Hill near the River.

She, the Mountain Girl, and I, the Athenian, gathered each other in arms and set forth to minister and multiply among the tribes.

Lo! A cataclysm awaits! On the Third Sabbath Day of the Tenth Month the Capstone tribe rallied its warriors to assault the Mountain tribe. Yes, for this long age, the Mountain tribe and the Capstone wage endless wars. The hate-blood rises deep and fiery over the River and floods men’s souls with brooding and fear. Yonder massed my kinfolk, the tribe of by birth, the proud Capstone column. Nigh to my bosom rested my Mountain Girl who pined for her tribe on the Hill near the River. Betwixt the cacophonic armies I stood, the Athenian, torn in two between the love of family and the love of woman. Star-crossed, I knelt before my mother and father and bid them farewell, for I would not forsake the love of my Mountain Girl and her tribe, with banners raised, the color of the rising sun.

I gird myself with black and gold, incanting the explosive yawp of knowledge and nobility, adorned with the orange sash of my Mountain Girl’s people, to stand among a foreign people, in devotion to my calling and my love. I would bear the loyalty of two tribes. Beneath the Ancient, I learned long-suffering and love and would devote my years to the invitation of the High Hill and the devotion to my Mountain Girl and her people.

On this day, the battle is joined. Behold the Athenians atop their ramparts, flush with hope and strength, never before stronger, never before faster. The foe advances from the Capstone. Do I despair that the people of my youth make war against the Ancient Oak who called me on high? I do not. The Capstone has a celebrated marshall, wooed by lucre and malice, yet he is inconstant and cagey. After trouncing a defenseless opponent, might the Capstone care more about the Pig People and the Other Dogs?

The day of victory is at hand.

Go 'Dores.

Political Notes

1. Fred Thompson actually appeared nervous on Leno last night. Isn't TV his strong suit? Senator Thompson could not have towed the President's line anymore vigorously, and I question whether that's a good strategy. If you has nothing new to offer, all the drama and strategery will fall flat.

2. When seeking to retain your job or repair your reputation, this is a problematic strategy:
1. Tell the cops you did nothing wrong.
2. Plead guilty.
3. Say pleading guilty was a mistake.
4. Announce your resignation.
5. Say you're going to "fight like hell."
6. Reconsider your resignation.
7. Condition your resignation on a unlikely appeal of the guilty plea.
8. Say you are still resigning, then say it's alright, because you weren't running again anyway. So there; take that.

Where's The Decider when you need him?