Humor

The Old Professor Has a Dream
The Night the World Changed at Virginia Tech
by Sam G. Riley
October 9, 2006

I had a dream. 

Not your ordinary, run-of-the-mill dream, either. This one was a real lu-lu.

Suddenly, professors, not coaches, were appearing in the local ads of chiropractors, clothing stores, grocery chains and the like. 

Coaches continued coaching, of course, but in a quiet, unassuming way, free from constant public attention. People didn’t stop going to the games, but now the real action on campus was in academics.

After doing a few car lot commercials, I found that children no longer wanted to be like Michael Vick or Frank Beamer.  Instead, they wanted to grow up to be just like me. I was flattered, sure, but it seemed strange having to be escorted from office to classes by police to ensure that none of my new fans tried to tear off articles of my tweedy clothing, or carve their initials into me.

And if such rowdy crowd behavior doesn’t stop, we Virginia Tech professors might have to drop our exclusive corporate endorsements in protest.

My wife didn’t much like the groupies, either.  But heck, what can you do?  Groupies always have been attracted to the raw power of the very famous.

At first, we faculty members didn’t quite know how to react to the crowds that would gather to get a glimpse of us or to ask for autographs or to have their picture taken with us.  Finally, we ratcheted up our press-conference schedule and assigned our graduate assistants the task of flinging out miniature Hokie-colored mortarboards to our throngs of grateful fans.

Guys who used to be sportscasters were assigned to cover our lectures. They’d say things like, “Man, that Riley was awesome today, Mike.  He really came to teach!”

 “Yeah, Bill, and you know what? When Riley’s running a class, syntax is the name of the game.”

Yeah. And did you get a load of that Socratic method?  And how ‘bout the way he spiked his notes when he finished the lecture?”

 “Darn right, Bill. He really takes it to the next level.  The guy might have some years on him, but he’s still Hokie-Hokie spry.”

Few of us were prepared for the way the alumni would rush up, thrusting their checkbooks at us, asking to be allowed to “step up” and increase their support of our classes or research projects.

And it was hard trying to teach around the new construction taking place in all the campus classroom buildings.  We had to stop and remind ourselves that the costly catered box seating at the back of the classrooms and the somewhat more reasonably priced club seating up near the lectern would help fund our vacation homes and our early retirements. 

Nor were we prepared for the lusty cheering every time we made an especially telling point during a lecture.  Or the way that in large-section auditorium classes, the students would sometimes break into “the wave.”

Squads of cheerleaders began to move about the campus from classroom to classroom, and all-new cheers had to be written, such as:

We professors were enjoying all the attention, I admit. I tried to show my appreciation by occasionally treating my best students to a nice steak dinner out at Riley’s.

The money was pretty good, too.  Still, I’m planning to hold out for an extra $400,000 before I agree to sign for next year.

And the Faculty Senate decided that we professors ought to show some compassion and make donations to the university’s coaches and administrators who have to make do on their less attractive salaries.

Yep, things were going along pretty well, but one problem arose.  Bet you can guess.

I woke up.