Sometimes a thought just strikes you out of nowhere. And sometimes, you think about something for the longest time without making any progress. For the last two months, I've wondered about how a donkey eats a waffle.
Admit it, you've probably thought about this also. One of the least respected species of the animal kingdom coming face to flour with one of America's favorite snacks. It's a grandiose topic worthy of its own shelf at the Library of Congress.
No? Are you kidding me? You mean to tell me you've never even thought about this? Honestly, I hadn't either, until I began chatting with a couple of my roommates one night. And in a blur of time not more than 10 minutes long, I had been introduced and enlightened to the donkey/waffle world.
After seeing that I had included a Wile E. Coyote reference in one of my stories, they suggested, no, demanded that I put a "donkey eating waffles" reference in a story before the end of the year. Simple enough I thought, until I actually tried to put these references in my stories and met the fate of a completely anal editor (By the way Neal, for the last time, you are not a better quarterback than Spencer Romine!).
"Hiding her shoulder injury, Schweitzer fought through her sophomore year like a donkey eating waffle." Ripped apart.
"Marie Ferdinand sparked the Tigers on their gamebreaking run, and the game was over quicker than a donkey could eat a waffle." Crashed and burned.
Infuriated and discombobulated, I came to the conclusion that Neal the Editor simply didn't appreciate how a donkey eats a waffle.
Granted, he's probably never seen a donkey eat a waffle. So I'll take it upon myself in this "senior column" to explain to Neal and my readers, both of them, the beauty and pageantry of an ordinary donkey enjoying the delightful breakfast snack, and the mind-numbing analogies that can drawn from it.
Initially, the donkey takes a glance at the waffle. Intrigued by the texture, the donkey takes a bite of the waffle. He's not sure what he just ate.
Little more than five years ago, I first started writing sports for my high school paper. I did it because I liked sports, and because I had memorized most of the alphabet by then, I figured I could write about it too. Heck, I can train a orangutan to be a competent sports writer-teach him a few clichés, feed him a couple of bananas and before you know it, he's writing better columns than Frank Dascenzo.
Jump ahead a few years to my sophomore year, and I'm beginning to think I actually liked doing this. But one ill-timed and ill-fated story I wrote drew some critical response and made me rethink this whole sports journalism thing.
Obviously, the donkey's never had anything like a waffle before, so he's not really used to the taste. But something about the waffle convinces him to keep taking more bites, and pretty soon, the donkey is hooked.
I realized a long time ago that I wasn't any good at sports writing, partly because I can only read English at a second-grade level. But I also realized pretty early that The Chronicle isn't about writing or editing, it's always been about the people you interact with and enjoying your time with the paper.
That's why I wanted to take the opportunity to thank Joel Israel, Neal Morgan, Nick Tylwalk, Rolly Miller and mostly everyone else I've worked with at the paper for letting me enjoy four years working in the dingy offices.
From that frustrating night staring at ridiculous headshots and wondering if it's too yellow on the printout, to that time two years ago when Michele VanGorp actually came up to the office looking to kick my ass, it's the people up here who have really made a difference and kept me coming back.
After taking his last bite, the donkey still isn't sure what to make of the waffle. But he knows one thing for sure, he doesn't regret eating that waffle.
In the end, my experience at The Chronicle allowed me to ride along with The Journey for four years, and sit courtside for the most memorable athletic event I've ever witnessed in person last year in Greensboro. And for that, I can only feel fortunate.
Fortunate because I didn't end up like the mindless zombies at this school who become rabid followers of that other basketball team. Instead, Nick and the paper helped me discover a team that was truly worth rooting for and a joy to cover.
These last four years sure have flown fast. After two months of thought, I couldn't think of a better description for these four years than that one phrase that smacks of genius.
Like a donkey eating a waffle.
Victor Zhao is a Pratt senior. He'd like to remind Nick Tylwalk that they never got to finish the NHL99 series from that day in San Jose, and apologize to sports promotions genius Marc Di Iorio for not including his picture in this column.
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