Letter to the Editor: I Miss Hot Yell Leaders

Dear The Mugdown,

 

I’m going to cut straight to the chase. I miss the old days. I miss looking down at Kyle Field and seeing a hot, blond, 6’ 2” man who could carry me home, an absolute stud that I would let objectify the absolute shit out of me. Gone are the days when I looked down at the field and thought, “Damn, I would let that man spit in my mouth.” Now, I look around and wonder if these guys are old enough to have a provisional driver’s license, let alone make me the mother of their children.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure the Yell Leaders are nice enough. Some of them have kind eyes, two or three of them have a dazzling smile, and one of them could even feasibly claim that he’s six feet tall. But that’s not what I’m here for. When I’m standing in the sun at some 11:00 a.m. game against Whatever State University, it’s not the thought that one of the Yell Leaders might bring flowers when they meet my mom that gives me the strength to carry on. It’s the shimmer of the sun on their sweaty, oiled up biceps and the way their white jumpsuit hugs their ass that reminds me what it is to be an Aggie.

In all honesty, I couldn’t tell you the name of a single guy who’s running for Yell Leader. But I’ll be damned if I haven’t evaluated them in a multifactorial ranking system stratified by height, douche-ness, jawline, and ability to make me feel like I need to go to confession just for thinking about them. On a scale of one to Ian Moss, I want a ranking of at least Gavin Suel.

We’ve changed for good in a lot of ways, Ags. But I would rather go out in a flame of very shallow glory than part with the time-honored tradition of hot Yell Leaders.

I’ll leave you with the quote I think sums my position. “For one who has [seen hot Yell Leaders], [not seeing hot Yell Leaders] is worse than death.” – Bhagavad Gita (translated from Sanskrit)

 

— Flash it Back, Ags