The Hammer

Can you feel it?

The weight that just dropped off your shoulders. That big sigh of relief. The steady wind on a cool Los Angeles night that has the hint of something called peace...

I can.

24 hours ago about 52 different thoughts went through my head and it ended on one word: Pray. I called our drum major back. Went on facebook. Searched through my bible for the best little tidbit I could find then went to bed not knowing. Knowing what? Anything really. The news was unoffical. Yet it was about as official as it could be...

8:27 AM. Heritage Hall.

Jenn Brown is camped out in a corner outside. Gary Klein and a few other nameless beat writers were inside, laptops up, fingers ready. And the Sports Information Deparment hadn't even turned the lights on yet.

The next several hours were a blurr of tweets, facebook updates and ESPN headlines. Stuck behind the desk is the last place I usually want to find myself, but today of all days it was the worst place possible. A few hundred feet away, the athletic department I had worked in for over 3 years, the friends that I have just had the chance to make and the school that has treated me with more dignity that I could have asked for, was being slowly picked apart and thrown out to pasture.

2 bowl games? Lost. 30 scholarships? Nonexistant. Freedom? A thing of the past.

Meanwhile, the PAC 10, I'm sorry PAC 11, continued to discuss expansion into a mega conference after dismissing one of its more highly touted quarterbacks.

I'm sorry. I thought this placed was called Reality? Oh its not? I must have taken a wrong turn somewhere between Bizarre and Sureal. Well that explains the makeshift media room amongst the soon-to-be 6 Heisman Trophies. It all makes sense now.

And honestly, it truly does. A whirlwind of information has been followed by a whirlwind of opinions and will shortly be followed by a tornado of appeals. We know certain people deserved to punished. They aren't. Other people are though. Its how things happen nowadays. And yet I say, it all make sense.

The fact of the matter is, USC came together tonight somewhere between a 67 page report and a spirit rally for a freshman orientation program. When Heritage Hall was finally vacated like the 2005 Orange Bowl, and the dust had settled, we had a lesson from Special Teams Coach John Baxter.

You see, this poor fellow decided it would be a good idea to watch the Trojan Marching Band play for a group of incoming freshman. Suddenly, here comes the assistant director with an idea and a microphone. So the new coach gave a lesson to the new students.

"I'm a special teams coach. I get guys to run 60 miles per hour into one another and like it." Really? Go on...

"I tell the players. Be the hammer. Not the nail."

For all the talk of the NCAA "dropping the hammer" on USC, it bordered on cruel irony. But that's exactly what made the entire day make sense. Every person gutsy enough to still call themselves a Trojan suddenly knew what they would have to do next season.

So now, I'm going to bed. Cool breeze, peaceful night with the feeling that all is right in the world? You know why?

Because tomorrow morning I'll wake knowing exactly what I need to be.