In the Dirt

Last week I was talking to someone about Ole Miss baseball and the conversation shifted to the UCLA series last year (two years ago?) when some Rebel fans who made the trip to Los Angeles got ejected. The guy I was talking with recounted the hilarious story. The reason for the ejection was partially because of the "Throw it in the dirt! Dirt!" cheer while the Bruins were pitching.

"I heard about that guy getting ejected," I said.

"Nah. It wasn't the throw-it-in-the-dirt-guy. That guy wasn't there. It was just us," said the kid.

I would venture a guess that 75% of Ole Miss fans would understand who "the throw-it-in-the-dirt-guy" meant. Like me, though, the vast majority of them would only know him as a stubbornly persistent and funny gutterally-southern accented voice coming from Section I of the grand stands at Swayze Field. I wouldn't know the guy from Adam. So I don't really know why I'm writing about the news of his death here on this stupid website.

Chip Clinton, the guy who faithfully started and insisted on your participation in the "throw it in the dirt" chants for as long as I can remember, died today. From what few and unreliable sources I have read, he apparently committed suicide.

On a personal note this is just the latest in a string of terribly depressing bad news that has really only affected the peripheral edges of my life beginning with the New Year. Which is to say, a lot of my friends are going through some rough shit right now. Plus I'm in one of these god-awful C rate hotel and resort casinos in bum-fuck Louisiana, and I just watched Benjamin Button, which put a lump in my throat a few times, and dammit, shit's melancholic right now.

But Clinton's passing would deserve a mention even if I wasn't in a depressive funk. Clinton, after all, is a Rebel of note. Jeff Roberson agrees. He saw fit to relay the news over on the Spirit page.

No, Clinton wasn't Jimmy-two-bits or whatever the guy at Florida is called. Mercifully, Ole Miss doesn't have an advanced enough sports marketing department to manufacture a Jimmy-two-bits. He wasn't even a Whiskey Alley-ite, though I suspect he approved of those guys during the O years.

Clinton was just a collegiate baseball fan, which is about as American as anybody can get. And in a genuine and grass-roots type of way, he brought some enthusiasm to a program that was incidentally on the verge of becoming big and unique and utterly endearing. To paraphrase from Bob Marley, he struck the hammer while the iron was hot. He presided over a time period that saw our University break attendance records and regularly host post-season play. And he helped usher in an attitude that sometimes our fan base desperately lacks, which is to say, he demonstrated that its ok to actually give a shit about the game as opposed to say, your dress or the burgers on the grill.

Anyhow, this guy who few of us ever met is gone, and I can say without hesistation that he will be missed at baseball games. May God keep him. And may we remember that everybody is fighting some type of battle, and consequently everybody deserves basic human compassion.

Unless, of course, they are pitching against the Rebels.


*ED: This was written after some drinks late Monday night, but for whatever reason did not publish, and I didn't notice that until today.

** Hat Tip to ReplayReb of the Spirit boards for the audio link. I don't think I'm supposed to copy and paste from there, but what they don't know can't hurt 'em.