Atonement

My mother never once said to me “(R)uffda!, my son, if you can’t say something nice, don’t bother saying anything at all.” That would have made for some pretty silent meals at the (R)uffda! homestead , let me tell you. We would have been left with no choice except to fling the mashed potatoes and pickled beets, and that would have riled (R)uffda! Senior, which would have led to some sort of (R)uffda! spanking and (R)uffda! screeching.

But, even without that maternal guidance, I feel compelled to atone for the hostile tone of my last blog, even if absolutely none of the hostility -- I swear! -- was mine. What I am going to do is post the very first nice thing I can think of about each of those same volleyball programs I was lambasting -- by proxy! -- yesterday.


Nebraska -- That's easy. Jordan Larson and Sarah Pavan (even if she does think I’m someone I’m not) are two of my favorite volleyball players ever.

Stanford -- Uh. Well... hmmm. OK, this was a bad idea.

Never mind. I won’t bother saying anything at all.