GundyGate in Stillwater

Though it occurred a few days ago, it seems as though America will remain engrossed and fascinated for at least a few more days re: the rant in which the father of Gunnar Gundy, Gavin Gundy and Gage Gundy chastised that female reporter from the Daily Oklahoman (apparently, her name is "Jenny").
Such a tirade should not frighten Americans -- mostly because such a reaction from a football coach re: something that was written provides American families with something to talk about other than "Jena 6" when they gather at the dinner table.
That is, if America still owns dinner tables (or, if you prefer ... "dinette sets").

More to the point, "Jena 6" is a sensitive issue which shouldn't be trivialized in dining rooms.
We leave that matter for Wolf Blitzer in "The Situation Room."

However, when the buzz 'round town is matters pertaining to the Okie State Cowpokes football, Chick Reporter Jenny has it all scribbled down on her Steno pad.
In case it slipped your mind, America, the OSU 'Pokes are the defending Independence Bowl champions.
If you forget again, Gunnar Gundy, Gavin Gundy and Gage Gundy will remind you.
With fists of fury, perhaps.

However, the fury which was on display by Gunnar, Gavin and Gage's pa was something that Chick Columnist Jenny typed up about OSU QB Bobby Reid (apparently) being a mama's boy and maybe - - just maybe - - he isn't up to the challenge in the demanding world of Independence Bowls.

Kinda makes ya wonder what all the fuss is about. After all, when it comes to OSU QBs, most of us remember that Mike Gundy spent his career handing off to Thurman Thomas and Barry Sanders and pitchin' passes to Hart Lee Dykes -- so, most of us feel disinclined from ranking Gunnar, Gavin and Gage's papa ahead of OSU QB legends Rusty Hilger and Asoteletangafamosili Pogi.
We'd like to put Matt Holliday (the Stillwater legend) on that list, but, alas, it was nearly a decade ago when the 2007 N.L. MVP candidate elected to sign a baseball contract instead of leading the 'Pokes to three consecutive Cotton Bowl victories.

Notwithstanding that, it seems as though the Gundy who didn't have the guts to name his boys "Ghandi Gundy," "Gumby Gundy" and "Burundi Gundy" got his shorts in a bunch at what he perceived as some sort of Jenny jive.
If this is something more than a Wanna-Be Macho Coach vs. Chick Wanna-Be Sports Reporter paradigm at play here, the best reference point that America has to draw from is that classic male-female awkwardness from that scene in "The Office" when Pam was sobbing and Dwight K. Schrute, seated next to her, offered some words of solace and comfort.

Dwight (as usual, w/o expression): "You're PMS-ing pretty bad."

THAT was frickin' astute 'cuz it shed some light on a basic truth:
Guys understand chicks about as well as chicks understand football.
Which is to say, not at all.
Which is why guys PMS pretty bad at the end of each Fantasy League weekend.

A textbook example of this phenomenon was provided a few weeks ago when a local TV/radio personality - - Carol Maloney - - commented that the problem with the blocking mechanics of Washington Redskins rookie o-lineman, Stephen Heyer, was that "his base is too high."
An observation such as that - - from a source with zero credibilty in that arena - - is the same as a guy opining, "Your children have developmental problems because of the lack of nutrients that they received from inside the walls of your uterus. Oh ... and in the delivery room, your footwork in the stirrups was OK, but your base was too high."

In a more-perfect world, it would be refreshing to see/hear about "what happened" rather than to read/hear opinions which have no basis in fact or which completely lack context.
This isn't a guy-vs.-gal, gender-agenda issue - - there's hundreds of pencilneck guys and fat dudes out there who have about as much insight into football as they do editorializing about a symphony or nuclear physics.

"The oboe? Great job. The contra bassoon? Totally mailed it in."

"Those neutrons need to get after it and put a hat on some protons. They gotta wrap up, play well in space, run downhill, catch the ball at its highest point, make sure their base isn't too high ..."

Again, this isn't about chicks sticking to the reportage of souffle recipes, open-toes sandals (and/or 3-inch pumps) or the never-ending conflict of saline-vs.-silicone.
It's probably more about so-called journalists transitioning a little too freely into the world of amateur psychology -- writers whose agenda is "Player A" quit or "Team X" choked ... and here's why.

Thanks to the blogosphere, we have options ... which means that we no longer have to read between the lines when Jenny hits us with:

"Dear Readers: Saturday's Oklahoma State loss was totally like my boyfriend. I'm, like, ready for our trip to the mall ... and then he's all, 'I'm not going.' ... So, I'm all, like, 'You promised,' and then he's all, 'When did I promise that?' ... and I'm, like, 'When I got back from gettin' Virginia Slims from the vending machine when we were waiting for our table at Chi-Chi's, remember?' ... so, he's all ... and I'm like ... then he goes ... so, I'm like ... and he's like ... so, I'm all ... and he goes ..."