Longshot (30 page)

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I do not believe that Rulon saw God, nor do I know that he believed that he saw God, but I know that many of his followers, members of the Allred Group, believed he did, and I know that he allowed them to believe that. I remember, as a little child in Sunday school, being taught that Owen, Rulon's brother and successor, spoke with God, and that Rulon did as well.
     I do, however, have to give my grandfather credit for being a very charismatic man who had a dream, a vision of a perfect society, and gave his all in an effort to achieve that—all in the name of the Lord. It's amazing what the human mind can do when there's hope, when there's a dream—especially a dream greater than oneself.

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“Yes” or “OK” is my default answer upon failing to understand for a third time the statement or question placed before me, as I'm too self-conscious after that to once again ask someone to repeat themselves. Valeen, however, is an exception. She gets the VIP treatment and is immediately rewarded with a yes or an OK.
     But, as I'm sure many of you are wondering, what happens if neither a yes nor an OK is the correct answer, and you find yourself blindly committing to something that you would in good conscience not want to be a part of. Well, I will usually find out what it is that's being asked or said to me after I give the default answer, because people will be so surprised that they will raise their voice and repeat it loudly with a “Yes, you'll…?” preceding said question. And if in that moment I can recant my answer, if it's indeed a wrong one, by saying “Oh, I thought you said you
didn't
…,” no harm, no foul.
     Whereas if it was just a statement and I say yes when there's no answer warranted, the recipient will usually give me a dumb “Huh?” and a moment of awkward silence will ensue.

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I have been quoted and scribed to have said, albeit affectionately, “Why do Ripplinger women insist on yakking my ear off, when I have only half an ear to begin with?” This statement entails not only the true Ripplinger daughters of John Henry, but their ensuing lineage as well. Yaya herself has a lineage of children and grandchildren, with a ratio of four to one in favor of women. I'm of the school of thought that believes that the male infants are buried upon birth to keep the female harpingly dominant in the Ripplinger clan.}

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I won't bore you with any more details of the LDS hierarchy.

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I'm not offended by the “F” word; I simply find it mundane and boring. I have heard it used in every grammatical way possible—as a noun, verb, adjective, adverb, pronoun, preposition, and much, much more. It's too easy, too convenient a word. If “Fuck” is the most clever thing you can say, you really should pick up a dictionary.

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You know the kind, the ones that wear Oakland Raiders jackets and spit every third step.

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But, Lance, you're a Mormon, you should want to attend BYU. Well, I'm a big fan of the concept of free agency, a concept publicly embraced in the LDS church. Free agency states that we all have the right to choose between right and wrong and that's how we learn from our mistakes and develop character and accountability. It's strange how free agency and accountability are a big part of the Mormon doctrine, but at BYU they step in and manage every aspect of your daily life—your dietary habits (no caffeine or any other addictive chemicals), your clothing (no shorts above the kneecap), your freedom of speech (no swearing), and your personal grooming (no facial hair). I found it too ironic as a teen, having escaped a polygamist cult, to jump back into another environment where religion was around you 24/7. I don't drink and party, but I like having the option of doing so.

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In the basketball world, a
big
is a center or possibly a power forward.

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I mean, come on, people: who really wants to know about all these theories explaining and even justifying ludicrous behavior by obviously weak and inferior specimens? You know what I say: instead of society spending millions of dollars wasting time coming up with cock-and-bull ideas of the mind and bailing out all the self-pitying fools, I'd have them all come to the realization of my obvious genius. The genius is: tell the sulking bastards to get over it. (Funny, I said this then….)

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That's part of basketball, but try to imagine going to work every day and having your boss analyze your every move, always letting you know you can be replaced for even the slightest slipup. And you can visibly see your replacements waiting in line, peering over your boss's shoulder.

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I especially love studying Europe in the Middle Ages. It was such an intricate chessboard of interdynastic family rivalries, all competing for power and the upper hand, with so much brutality and savagery, seemingly kept in check by the even more powerful Holy Roman Church, which was at the time a giant, scheming, money-laundering corporation, the living example of hypocrisy, trumping all other kings, dukes, and barons, with the threat of excommunication and interdict, while many of the supposed abstinent popes threw lavish weddings for their daughters. It was pure chaos and organized hierarchy all at once. The fact that Western civilization survived through all of this self-destructive and manipulative behavior is simply fascinating to me. Once again, I'm a dork.

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Someday my father will finish telling his story and give you further insight into this way of life—how everything, work or play, was aimed to better our little utopian society and how by the age of twenty-five my father had built four houses and never made a dime on any of them, because it was all for the betterment of the dream. We were all preparing for the Second Coming of Christ—that much I knew.

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Even though this was my fourth year in college, having another red shirt year meant I would ultimately graduate after six years in college: three at Utah and three at Weber.