The Dalai Lama And Post Traumatic USC Trojan Syndrome

The Dalai Lama and Post Traumatic USC Trojan Syndrome

So when I was a little kid, we lived right next door to the Coliseum; could’ve walked to the University of Southern California campus…with maybe some body guards, Mr. T, or a police escort (Hey! We moved when I was only 6-years old.) Last time I saw the home of my early childhood, some bad guys were using it to sell crack.

But what I have no problem fondly remembering is my big brother taking me to my first USC football game. I saw the horse, the pageantry, and the colors and I was SOLD. I read Homer’s The Iliad for the first time when I was about 12-years old and you’ll still never convince me the Greeks could beat the Trojans on a neutral field.

Ever since USC lost to the Texas Longhorns at the Rose Bowl in the BCS National Championship game…after winning 34 straight, I’ve probably needed some level of intense counseling. I wore black the next working day back in 2005 and I’m wearing black tomorrow…and maybe the next day.

Last night I saw my Cardinal & Gold football heroes knocked around like 100-lb weaklings on the first day of high school (Nobody got “pants-ed” but I wouldn’t have been surprised.) I thought I was hearing “Conquest” but what I saw on the field looked more like “Give Peace a Chance.” If I knew how to make a martini, I would’ve downed nine of ‘em just during the second half. Seeing the once mighty Trojans handled by the cross-town rival powder puff blue little bears was like watching George Bush verbally humiliating Abraham Lincoln; it was like watching Richard Simmons kick Muhammad Ali’s ass. And I guess for me, it was just too much.

I called my mentor, the Dalai Lama, His Holiness, HH; I needed help and I needed it soon. As usual, we met right across the street at El Pollo Loco. I sensed my nemesis, La Polla Loca, knew full well that if she demanded I take a senior citizen discount this time around, I would’ve considered committing 3rd Degree Polla Loca-cide…or at least the slow removal of her upper central incisors.

“His Holiness, many thanks for your valued support at such short notice. I’m experiencing dark depression reminiscent of that generated by my dreaded dental school nemesis, Dr. Ricky “wrath of” Kahn.

JVB, again, call me HH; this isn’t our first rodeo. I always enjoy my visits to your peaceful hamlet. Are my eyes betraying me or are your chosen leaders finally building something on the corner of Rosemead and Las Tunas?

HH, I think I really need your help this time. I know in the past, you’ve provided understanding and healing allowing me to overcome insurance programs and editors, not of sound mind, but I BLEED Cardinal & Gold.

JVB, are you not still the foremost elite athlete/scribe/DDS-type in the San Gabriel valley? Please allow me to share some thoughts that comfort me in times of darkened stress. JVB, sometimes when my mood is good and there is no danger of malaria, I avoid swatting mosquitoes, sometimes watching with interest as they suck my blood. But if you think you are too small to make a difference, try sleeping with a mosquito.”

Okay HH, I think you’re saying the little bear bruins can be underrated when we assume and they can do some real damage if we become too passive and content.

JVB, people take different roads seeking fulfillment and happiness. Just because they’re not on your road doesn’t mean they’ve gotten lost…probably just means they’re micro-managers who’ve finally arrived at their harmonious level of incompetence.

HH, are you really saying Sarkesian needs to go?

JVB, you remind me of Einstein. Now get me to LAX!

HH, A thousand thanks, I’m feeling better already.”