Never thought I would be back in the South again. I swore, after a miserable two years in a town and state I shall not name, that under no circumstances would I ever again live in that region of the United States. But there I was, freshly minted with a graduate degree in the fine arts, and searching for a sports related job.
I intended, with my slim background in marketing and the preponderance of degrees attesting to English mastery, to find some enjoyable work that I could pleasantly do from 9-5, then go home and write or do whatever else I felt like.
So many intentions and yet only the sports came to pass.
How I found myself standing on a court in a rural town in Tennessee is a story too complicated and too long to tell, so I will cheat and simply say that due to a convoluted set of circumstances and happenstances, I was named the head coach of the University of Tennessee-Martin Skyhawks men's basketball team.
In a town of just over 10,000. A true college town, where 7,000+ undergraduates made up not only a plurality, but an outright majority when school was in session.
In short, this was likely to have a very, very bad effect on my psyche. I love the urban, the great pulse of life evident in solid sidewalks, the danger-free ecstasy of simulacra in the shape of swimming pools, indoor gardens, contained displays and exhibits, and so on.
I only prayed as I walked the prettier than expected campus that no venomous snake or spider crossed my path. Rural life was, in my overly educated estimation, indeed for birds and dogs.
And yet, here I was. But not for long, I hoped. A year, two at most, and then I would move on again.