Like every other church in the south, ours just concluded a week of VBS for all the little 'uns. The theme was . . . something to do with Rome -- underground church, I think, so naturally there were Roman solider costumes and . . . balloon animals. You know, because the Romans were all about squeaky inflatable poodles.
Anyway, the kids learned one of Israel Hougton's many fantastic songs -- You Are Good, and they learned the "hand signals" to go with it. Last Sunday, a bunch of them took the stage and led the rest of us in a performance of the thing.
Yeah, so stuffy middle-aged white folks can know intellectually that this is sign language and that it's an honorable form of communication, but put them in a room where they can see each other and ask them to do it, and they'll just think "hand signals" first and "no" second. I love Houghton and his energetic and inspirational songs, but asking me to dance with my hands in the air while turning circles is well beyond my comfort and agility thresholds. Apologies from the graying, overweight gentleman in the tenor section.
My point: once you get past a certain age, it's hard for regular people to get groups of dreary individuals like me to participate in any choreographed or concerted action. We consider everything outside of polite golf-claps and prim parade waves a shameful foolishness that demeans our carefully honed aura of fastidiousness. Sure, it looks like a blast, but fun is for the children.
Well, in another example of how Ed Orgeron is not "regular people," here's video evidence of his contagious enthusiasm infecting even little old ladies:
If Orgeron can get a congregation of middle-aged women to throw off their inhibitions and embrace sixty seconds of pure, unadulterated absurdity, what can he do with riled young football players who are prone to such behavior anyway?
I dare you to tell me that we aren't going to have at least a little fun this season. Even us stuffy, immobile ones.