OK — here is the plan. See that button way down on the right? The donate button? The S.O.A.R. thing? Click on it. We are going to buy Pat Dye’s pants. And then I am going to wear them.
Seriously, people. Let’s do this. I don’t address you with this sort of bloggish hipster hyuck-hyuck very much. But now is the time for action. Thank God that woman didn’t immediately recognize the significance of her treasure, I mean, for her sake. If it’d been me, and I’m down there with the Christmas Tree skeletons and the killer catfish tracks, and I spot some buried plaid in the mud and reach down to pull up some golf pants and feel around and whoa, oh man, actually find a wallet, and then I open that wallet to see the Glorious Face of Dye staring back at me from a pre-hologram Alabama drivers license, I would have absolutely FAINted from delight. And then the water would have come back and then “we” would be linking to an entirely different story — “Bloated Man-Corpse Found Smiling in Stillwaters Drought Bog clutching Pat Dye’s ’80s pants.” I’d be on EDSBS! And Greta!
But seriously — help S.upport real O.riginal A.uburn R.esearch: HELP ME BUY PAT DYE’S PANTS! Or maybe the blAUgosphere could take a time-share trophy approach: we start our own awards called The Pants and trade the pants from mantle to mantle. Or maybe something like that whole Flat Stanley thing and we swap them back and forth and document their travels and effect on our lives and on the outcome of games at which they are worn / present. We have until Sept. 19. Spread the word! Do I hear a dollar?
UPDATE: Yowzers, I’m gonna need $100 just to get in the red zone. Still… totally doable… as a team. And a Jimmy Buffet cover band is going to be there!