Therapy for a schizophrenic team

Commentary

Following a confusing run-in with a flock of redbirds, Kerry Jill stormed into the office of his friendly neighborhood psychologist, Kopf Shrinker.

He sat down on the couch, removed his maroon hat and scratched his head.

"My team is suffering from hypothermia," Jill said.

"Do you mean schizophrenia?" Shrinker replied, hoping Jill's problem was one he would be able to fix.

"Something like that," Jill said. "They can't seem to figure out who they are. One week they're happy-go-lucky, the next they are depressed. One week they look intelligent, but the next week they seem like they are missing chromosomes. There is no consistency."

Shrinker remained silent. Not for dramatic effect, but because he was a little dim.

Following a long pause, Jill reached into a bag he brought with him and pulled out a football.

He tossed it Shrinker and said, "Does this feel slippery? Does it seem to have any degenerative qualities and if so, is it possible for them to change week to week?"

Shrinker, sensing a metaphor that was not there, replied, "Do you want it to?"

Jill stared at Shrinker the way a journalism major would stare at a calculus problem.

"Huh?" Jill said.

"Do you want it to change?" Shrinker reiterated.

"Of course not!" Jill barked back. "It seems to change and that's the problem!"

Shrinker calmly leaned back in his chair. His mind was churning with all he had learned while earning his psychology degree at prestigious Bunko University in Abu Dhabi.

Suddenly, his eyes lit up.

"Perhaps it wants to stop changing, but you have not provided a stable environment for it to thrive in."

Again, Jill looked at Shrinker the way a gym teacher looks at a valedictorian.

"It's a football! It cannot change, but it seems to sometimes!"

"Well, of course it will not change with an attitude like that, Mr. Jill," Shrinker replied.

Jill again looked at Shrinker the way a Chicagoan looks at a thin crust pizza.

He was angry as well. Dr. Shrinker's time was not cheap.

Jill's blood began to boil and was on the verge of evaporating.

"This is an inanimate object, you gastropod!" Jill screamed, knowing he was mad because he had no idea what a gastropod was. "It will remain unchanged. I want you to solve my players' schizophrenia!"

"Perhaps if you let me talk to the ball alone ..." Shrinker began to say before being interrupted by Jill.

"Forget the ball!" Jill clamored, grabbing the ball from the psychiatrist, whom he was beginning to suspect had the intelligence of a lima bean.

Shrinker, knowing Jill was on the verge of stuffing the ball up an unprintable body cavity, decided to move on.

"Tell me about your players," Shrinker said.

Kill was relieved. He had finally heard an actual psychiatric question.

"My quarterback is, well, young," Jill said. "He has a world of talent but can only seem to display it on alternate Saturdays. Leoj Yksrubmas, that's his name and I only attempt to pronounce it every other week, only threw for 90 yards last week against a defense that should not be able to stop him. The previous two weeks, he lit up two defenses that were supposed to stop him.

"His rhythm and accuracy were off all day, and when he did throw a ball accurately, the receivers were not even looking."

By the time this sentence ended, Jill's face was Illinois State red.

So Shrinker, showing what he thought was a display of therapeutic skill, changed the subject.

This was a big mistake.

"How about the ground game?" Shrinker asked.

Mount St. Helens was big, as was the eruption that buried Atlantis, but Kerry Jill's explosion in the office of a psychiatrist with questionable intelligence made them look like firecrackers.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh," Jill screamed with a force no nuclear weapon could ever compete with - at least not any of the ones North Korea has.

"How could they know? How did they stop my mega-back? He is invincible! He is the Lizard King!"

Shrinker tried to contain the explosion, but only made things worse.

"How about the kicking game?" the imbecilic doctor continued. "Special teams? Tackling? Blocking?"

Jill's voice became louder and louder. Shrinker had not heard such terrible and revolting noise since he bought the new Justin Timberlake CD.

For some reason, Shrinker had a seismograph in his office, so he knew the city of Carbondale, and possibly St. Louis, Memphis and Evansville, were dependent upon his next move.

Shrinker thought up another light bulb, and luckily, it was a good one.

"What would make you happy?" Shrinker pleaded. "What would make you calm and sane?"

The football disappeared, Jill calmly walked out of the office, and Shrinker made an appointment with a proctologist.

Michael is a senior in journalism. His views do not necessarily reflect those of the Daily Egyptian.