It comes as no surprise that yesterday’s junket into the damnably handsome mind of Young Kevin Youkilis lit the Internet on fire and then made love to the flames. Were the writer’s interpretations chillingly accurate or nothing more than odious revisionism? On this matter, the Republic is as sharply divided as a fraction with rocky chasm running through it and within that chasm a painstakingly sustained demilitarized zone and within that demilitarized zone a river and a fence with razor wire and giant, violent border chickens — talons brandished, natch.
First, the affirmation:
Camisadelgolf has validated my impressions! But, lo, those impressions shall not go unchallenged. Via Navin, known around the office as Canada’s Ric Flair, comes this email from a young lady named Dara who finds my renderings to be the opposite of accurate, whatever such a word would be:
I went to Kevin Youkilis’ high school. He graduated a few years before I got there, but I can declare with a fairly high level of confidence that all of this is dead wrong.
Youk would have fit in just peachily with the flyover-state knockoff-preppy jock culture that dominates Sycamore. He probably deliberately took Ancient History to get his last social-studies credit because he knew it was taught by the wrestling coach. He probably hung around the weight center after school, not because he was lifting but because that’s where his friends were. He probably (almost certainly) dropped serious money and time preparing for Dart Wars. He probably “coached” the junior girl’s team in Powderpuff football. He probably wore a dress shirt and tie on game days and a brand-name hoodie the rest of the time. He probably rolled in late every day senior year but knew the front-desk attendants by name so they couldn’t get too mad at him. And while he was probably friends with a couple National Merit Semifinalists and maybe had been to Jewish summer camp or youth group back in middle school with a few others, if he ever made eye contact with an asthmatic, stereotypical nerd it was a mistake on both their parts, and they rectified it as quickly as possible.
Needless to say, Ms. Dara has booted my assumptions in the rascal basket, and now they are writhing on the ground, compromised and vulnerable to further attack. And at this point, I must bow to the will of the people:
A cracking fine choice!