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The Houndstooth Husky On the bashing of Jimmy Newell and Chris Massey By Malamute, 11 September 2003
His loud, southern accent attracts attention; his imitation of Paul “Bear” Bryant turns heads. His houndstooth hat hangs on a hat rack nearby, and he gulps his whiskey by no one’s measure. Too bad a no-smoking sign is posted; like the “Bear,” he would have lit up a cigarette, blowing thinly veiled smoke towards the ceiling. He flexes his bulging biceps, is too big for his chair. Our Husky basher has just pumped iron, his sweat masked by a man’s deodorant. As he walked inside he was carrying two 400-pound suitcases it seemed, both arms spread widely from his side, gorilla-like. The young woman with the raven hair and blue-orb eyes admired his hunkery—and smiled. That’s the setting for Mr. Chugalug, also known as Mr. Houndstooth (because of his football expertise) and Mr. BigMouseDawg (because of his message-board handle). Let me sharpen the focus. The Houndstooth Husky is sitting in a restaurant, and, during the course of dinner, he bashes a UW football player who, by virtue of his “estimable knowledge,” isn’t performing satisfactorily. Can Miss Raven Hair hear me, he wonders? Five more decibels of his baritone/bass voice can’t hurt, and he raises his voice.
“I played football in high school; I know how to play free safety,” he continues. “A big hitter, I discombobulated guys twice my size,” he adds, in his southern accent. “This kid isn’t even six-feet tall. Phil Snow doesn't know beans, playing that idiot.” And then a waiter points timorously to the table where the player and his parents are dining. “Sir, the player you are talking about, along with his parents, is seated behind you.” Should Houndstooth apologize to them? I would hope so; he’s ruined a family's evening. A couple of hundred clams shortchanged won't nettle, it's the lingering memories that hurt. Similarly, an internet message board is a public place whose content is readily available to many of the UW players and their families. Parents, friends and the kids themselves subscribe to the boards. Friends of friends print messages for the players to read, the good along with the bad. No, the internet is a different milieu, Mr. BigMouse might say. Since I’m hiding behind a sobriquet, no one knows who I am. And, anyway, no one sees me face-to-face as in the restaurant analogy. I'm seated at a Poker Table wearing sunglasses, posting messages about players I don't like. You’ve got that right, Mr. BigMouseDawg. Wow, and what a bluffer you are, if not cowardly.
Since I know a lot of the parents whose kids play or who have played for the Washington Huskies, I guess I'm biased in my criticism of the Houndstooth Husky, who is inextricably trapped in a college football world filled with parity. I’ve met some of the most supportive, wonderful parents at practices, at Picture Day, at the games and at specially planned functions, such as UW cruises. Fans, put yourselves in the place of the UW players and their parents. Would you want to read a braggadocio’s bilge about your kid that’s unfair, unkind and uncalled for? Would you want your kid or his friends to read that garbage? Think about that before you post your next message on the internet or dine out seated close to that special woman. She’ll appreciate your discretion along with your chivalry. --------------------- Photos are of Jimmy Newell (1. arms folded and 2. center, bottom-most photo) and of Walt and Chris Massey (top). I appreciate Chris and Jimmy's dedication and devotion to the UW football program, and their special enthusiasm on the field of play. College football is much better off for their efforts, as are all of their fans. Walt Massey traveled from Moreno Valley, Ca., to be with his son Chris while he trained at Olympia, even though Chris was battling a hamstring problem. Thanks to Walt, I also had the pleasure of meeting Ty Eriks' father and Sean Douglas' father. Mrs. Massey is very supportive of her son also. Richard Linde (a.k.a., Malamute) can be reached at malamute@4malamute.com |
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Trapped in the Age of Parity
on his way back to the Don James Era, an era from which he evolved, an ancient
"dinosaur" called the Houndstooth Husky roams the
countryside, searching for other Huskies to devour. Our setting is at the marina, any
city’s marina. (Walt Massey and his son Chris appear in the photo).
Unbeknownst to him, the player he’s bashing, along with his
parents, is sitting at a nearby table, close enough to overhear the ranting.
“Player X misses tackles; he’s not big enough; he doesn’t have any heart; he’s a
wimp,” Houndstooth elaborates, without a blush.