And Then There Was Me

John Lynch was born in Illinois but went to Torrey Pines High School, here in San Diego. After graduating from high school, he attended Stanford University where he excelled in football and baseball. In 1992 he was drafted in the second round as a pitcher by the Florida Marlins for their minor league teams. He played in the minors for two years, but in 1993 he was drafted in third round of the NFL Draft by the Tampa Bay Buccaneers. Lynch won a Super Bowl ring with the Bucs in 2002 and also became the first player to wear a microphone during the Super Bowl. After 11 years with the Bucs, he signed as a free agent with the Denver Broncos, playing with them for another four seasons. He became dissatisfied with the amount of playing time he was receiving at the Broncos and told the press that that was the real reason for his release. Prior to the 2008 season he agreed to a 1-year deal with the New England Patriots but was released from the deal before the season began, and so he announced his retirement on November 17, 2008. 6 days later he began working with NFL On Fox as a color commentator and analyst. This past Tuesday, the San Diego Hall of Champions held the 65th Annual Salute to the Champions Banquet at the Town and Country Hotel. John Lynch was being inducted into the Breitbard Hall of Fame. After a gracious speech and thunderous applause the evening drew to a close. Almost all of the over 500 attendees glided their way to the parking lot, but I stayed behind. I wanted the chance to meet some of the men I had grown up loving, with unsure steps I made my way to the front of the magnificent dinner hall. Lynch was talking to several people, one of whom was old and wore a gray bedazzled cowboy hat to match his gray tuxedo, another was Lincoln Kennedy, another inductee, and then there was me.

It was just another walk to the cafeteria; we do it every single day, usually twice a day, and we always go together. But today was one of those days where the moods of the two best friends were approaching delirious quicker than the Steelers are approaching a Super Bowl loss. We were both experiencing a combination of the myriad of circumstances and assignments that encompass the life of a college student. If we had been alone, we would have quietly bottled up our insanity until we could sleep it off. But since we were together, we fed off each other's delirium like small children clamoring for an adult's attention. Each comment had to be built upon. The caf chose that night to serve some decorative greenery on top of the rice. The greenery was completely pointless, only there to make the questionable substance under it appear slightly more pleasing to the palette than the leftovers of yesterday's meatloaf. The shrub became the unsuspecting subject of our deranged comments.
"This looks like something out of Bambi's forest," my best friend Sally commented disgustedly.
"How dare they take a shrub from Bambi's home!" I chimed in.
From there it became a volley of snappy remarks, going back and forth faster than Venus and Serena in Wimbledon and escalating as quickly as a tea kettle once it starts whistling.
"Yeah, wasn't it enough they killed his mom?!"
"And on our plate there's only one, imagine how many plates of this they will serve, they've taken his whole forest!"
"So now he's without a mom and a home!"
"We should write a letter."
"I bet it was the hunter."
So yes, the caf is personally responsible for all of Bambi's childhood pain and misery, in case you were wondering.