Last year, when the University of Tennessee announced that the young, fresh-faced, cutie-pie, Lane Kiffin would replace Phil Fulmer, my husband was skeptical.
“I don’t know about this,” he said. “This could be good. Could be bad. But I have a feeling he’ll stay for a year or two and then leave us in the middle of the night like a one-night stand.”
I, on the other hand, was a little more optimistic. I mean, I wasn’t exactly the conductor for the Lane Train, but I was definitely on board, along for the ride. I was ready for a change, and Kiffy-Poo was looking like a good choice, especially next to Fat Phil.
He had spunk. Personality. Attitude. And I liked it.
Who knew he’d screw us? Apparently, Jonathan did.
Unless you’ve been living under a rock (or you’re on a business trip in Denmark), you’ve probably heard that Kiffin is gone. Dunzo. Peace out, Girl Scout.
Held a one-minute presser. Packed his bags for sunny California. Hopped on a jetplane with his lovely wife, Layla. Probably hopping off a plane at LAX (Miley Cyrus style, of course) right now.
The Lane Train has left the station, folks. And -ALL-ABOARD- he took his friends with him.
He left in the middle of the night, like a one-night stand.
Are we sad that Kiff-Kiff broke up with us? Maybe. Maybe not. Are we outraged that he used the classic breakup “it’s not you, it’s me” approach? Absolutely. What a total jerk-face. Perhaps we’re even feeling a little embarrassed about the gawd-awful emotional mess he left behind him in hills of Tennessee.
Rejection is hard. Hurtful. Embarrassing. Demoralizing.
But somewhere, there is a man who won’t reject us. He’ll love us for who we are (a bunch of crazy-ass, redneck football fans), and he’ll want to stick around for more than a night (or two). Maybe he’s in Texas. Maybe he’s an old friend in North Carolina. Maybe he’s a bigshot broadcaster.
Wherever he is, we’ll find him. Our big orange hearts will mend. And we’ll be just fine.
But before we heal, we have a lot of hating to do...