Brain Farts Brain Fart brain farts brain fart brain-fart brain-farts brainfart brainfarts LEO Louisville Eccentric Observer parody lampoon satire Louisville Kentucky Kevin Gibson kgramone@aol.com  kgramone humor

Brain Farts was a weekly humor column that ran in the Louisville Eccentric Observer (LEO) from mid-2000 until the summer of 2002. It was, well, eccentric. And occasionally satirical. And sardonic. Some liked it, some hated it; some just didn't get it, and that's OK. There were times when I didn't get it either. I've compiled here some of the archives from Brain Farts for the enjoyment of friends, family and anyone else who happens by. I also have written some new Brain Farts, and added some links and other trivialities that you shouldn't be too concerned with.

Unless you're as bored as I am.

I recently found myself sitting with my father in the fourth row at a University of Louisville football game, with lots of drunken yahoos (pronounced “yay-hoos”) all around us. It was about 30 minutes before game time, and following some pre-game schmoozing and interviews, ESPN college football analyst Kirk Herbstreit was making his way up to the broadcast booth – and he happened to use stairs that were right next to the section in which we were sitting.

I nudged Dad and said, “Hey, look, there’s Kirk Herbstreit from ESPN.” (His response: “Who?”) Then I changed the subject.

But to the yay-hoos, you’d have thought the freaking Pope had just walked up into the stands. OK, perhaps I’m exaggerating a bit, because no one bowed down to kiss Herbstreit’s ring, but the response was almost silly. Apparently, Kirk Herbstreit is, in fact, a deity.

“Kirk! Kirk Herbstreit! Woooo!”

A few people even asked for autographs. One guy seated two rows in front of us literally screamed, “Kirk! Kirk! Kirk!” When Herbstreit finally turned around, the guy said, “What do you think of the Steelers? Super Bowl!?” A voice from above spake, saying, "Only if Big Ben is healthy." Then the skies opened, a holy light shone down, and many angels sang in harmony.

Then, when Herbstreit finally made His way past us, up toward the booth, three of the U of L Ladybirds dance team (whom, from this point forward, we shall all refer to as “The Unimaginable IdiotBirds”) came barreling up the steps in their matching outfits, waving items to be autographed and squealing, “Kirk! Kirk!” IdiotBird No. 3 said to IdiotBird No. 2, and I am not lying about this, “I think they said His last name is ‘Herb-street.’” The IdiotBirds didn’t even know who they were chasing – just that He was on TV and was in possession of an ESPN-logo microphone.

Which begs the question: What in the holy f**k??? It’s KIRK HERBSTREIT, for god’s sake. So, He’s on television – does that automatically mean He’s that much more valuable than you or I as a human being? (OK, He’s infinitely more valuable than The Unimaginable IdiotBirds – individually or collectively – but that’s beside the point.)

During the pandemonium of the Great Herbstreit Sighting, my father succinctly and correctly observed, “He’s just a person.” See? Even Dad gets it.

Oh, sure, it’s true that if, say, Paul McCartney had been the one walking up those steps, I’d have turned into a babbling pile of gelatinous goo, and I’d have wept openly until he agreed to sign my pancreas. But that is a specific case of a lifetime of hero worship getting the better of me. This was ... Kirk Herbstreit. Kirk Herbstreit. Kirk Herbstreit.

Kirk ... Herbstreit.

For the sake of argument, perhaps there was one person in the stadium who has been a lifelong Kirk Herbstreit fan; someone who has idolized Herbstreit for years, since He was cutting lawns for extra money in His hometown of Centerville, Ohio, as a child, and who watched Him become a standout athlete at Ohio State and eventually land a job with ESPN in 1996, later receiving an Emmy nomination for His work. Perhaps there was in fact one person in attendance to whom Kirk Herbstreit means EVERYTHING, a person who would literally give his or her life simply to shake Herbstreit’s hand and say hello.

But there wasn’t.

Why? Because He’s Kirk Herbstreit. He’s just an intelligent guy with a really cool job, not a higher entity or a Beatle. Even an Unimaginable IdiotBird should possess enough intelligence to know that. (Ha ha ha ha! OK, I should have known I couldn’t type that with a straight face.)

Seriously, celebrities are just people, not gods. Many of them are incredibly talented people, and that is certainly worthy of admiration, but they’re still just people. So why do “regular” people toss aside their own self-worth to get a so-called celebrity to “autograph” something. They’re just signing a name. So now you have a cocktail napkin with Kirk Herbstreit’s name scribbled on it. Does this really have value? If you in fact did meet His Highness, isn’t that enough? You know you met His Holy Herbstreit-ness. Why do you need proof?

One could argue that having a photo taken of you and a favorite celeb is no different than meeting a new friend while on vacation and snapping a picture as a memento. I'd buy that. But think about it ... when’s the last time you asked your buddy for his autograph? And, more importantly, why are there “dance teams” at football games? Football players don’t show up and run the west coast offense at dance recitals, for chrissakes.

E-mail me at kgramone@aol.com. And I’ll sign whatever you want. Even Kirk Herbstreit’s forehead.