My new personal hero, the alliteratively-named disgruntled Aggie Roger Rogge, recently sent the following e-mail to Texas A&M Athletic Director "Dollar" Bill Byrne:
Hey assholes
I am a third generation aggie and class of '06. my family and I, including many extend family members have had season tickets at kyle field for up to 20 yrs.
We also tailgate spending a lot of time and money during the fall in college station. That all ended today
We are canceling our season tickets and will never again donate to the 12th man until there is all new board of regents minus Gene Stallings, a new ad, new president (that guy is a disgrace).
Dollar bill, I hope you have time to pull your tongue out of dodds butt to read this email
Sincere regards,
Roger Rogge
As humorous as Rogge's typographical-error-filled e-mail, opening with the curt greeting "Hey assholes," may be, "Dollar" Bill actually managed to top it in his voicemail response. Yes, the Athletic Director at one of the largest universities in the nation actually responded personally to the ramblings of a semi-literate redneck. By telephone. And he called with the apparent intent to challenge said redneck to a fistfight.
An annotated transcript of Byrne's message is below:
This is Bill Byrne. I'm the Athletic Director at Texas A&M. I just got an e-mail from someone named "Roger Rogge," or something like that,
I like how Byrne hedges on Rogge's name, as if he thinks he may have forgotten the name he just read verbatim from the e-mail.
...asking if I've still got my tongue up Deloss Dodds' ass.
Okay. Most people think Bill called to threaten Rogge because he was insulted by this "tongue up Deloss Dodds' ass" comment. On further inspection, I think that interpretation is misguided. Just see what Bill had to say next:
Um... I'd like to talk to you in person. Uh. I'm 65 years old, but people don't say those kinds of things to me.
In other words: "I'm old, Roger. My wife hasn't talked dirty to me like that in over a decade. Pretty young girls don't look at me with that smirking come-hither look anymore. Roger, you're the first person in ages who has viewed me as a sexual being, someone with needs and desires and a longing to feel the soft touch of a lover's skin. Let's talk. In person."
He goes on:
Let me give you my direct line and we can have a pretty direct conversation.
Byrnes' voicemail reads like a late-night phone chatline commercial. Or text messages from a closeted congressman to one of his naive staffers.
979... uhm... 7... let's see... 979-862-2586 is my direct number at work.
I'm 65 years old, Roger! I can't remember shit!
Please call me.
So pathetically desperate. That's why nobody talks dirty to you anymore, Bill.
Someone who has the, uh, no guts to write that needs to have his ass kicked,
And there it is. One of the most confusing threats in the history of ever. Is Bill going to kick Rogge's ass? Or does he just think that someone needs to? And does he intend to perform said asskicking over the phone? And why? Because Rogge signed an insulting e-mail and provided his personal contact information so as to avoid hiding behind the cloak of anonymity, thereby demonstrating that he "has the, uh, no guts?"
To top off the confusion, Bill wraps up his tentative threat with a cheery farewell:
so, I'd like to hear from you. Thank you. Buh-bye.
