Consider this the first volley.
There was once a storied organization at good old Baylor U.
They were edgy and funny, and not officially sanctioned all the time.
Their shenanigans were legendary, as were their vices. They made fun of presidents, regents, and editors with abandon.
Now however, the fountains are clear, the bridges unburned and the administrators unscorned.
It would appear that the Noble NoZe Brotherhood has fallen a long way.
There used to be hardly a month that went by without fresh scorn heaped upon Baylor institutions, including this one.
It kept us all humble. As soon as we got sloppy, or too big for our respective britches the NoZe Brothers were there to remind us.
Not so much anymore.
Granted, not that much has changed. The Rope still comes out whenever the heck anybody feels like putting it out. There are still the habitually pink nosed statues adorning campus.
Maybe we’ve just matured in our relationship. Maybe we’ve just gotten comfortable with the other’s presence for so long it only feels like we’re alone.
Maybe that’s why we’ve turned to younger people for campus beautification. They really do try to please, but let’s face it, they just don’t have the experience. At the end of the day they’re just scraping at a sidewalk with chalk. Nothing like the NoZe used to.
It was important for some random acts hilarity to happen every now and then at Baylor. It reminded us that everything that is Baylor won’t endure. Like the pink paint adorning Judge R.E.B. Baylor’s face, even we shall be scrubbed from the face of the earth.
What’s most dissapointing is the Rope these days.
For the freshmen that may never have seen one, the Rope is a publication put out randomly by the NoZe brothers that makes fun of administrators, campus and The Lariat.
There are parts of Baylor that can remember when the Rope was as anticipated as the start of football season. It was a lot longer back then, and it seemed thicker. Holding a Rope in your hand felt like you really had something.
Best of all, it advertised everything that the Lariat couldn’t. One could spend hours just holding a copy of the Rope, and perusing the articles. Now it doesn’t last more than about ten minutes.
Now the limp little publications put out hardly compare.
The Lariat cannot officially ask for a stream of pranks or debauchery emanating from Elm Mott. Nor can we advocate the public humiliation of university figures. That would be irresponsible of us, and — let’s face it — any response would seem contrived.
What we can do is ask you, oh most noblest of brotherhoods to give us the funny. That old funny that we loved, that we need. We want to enjoy it again, and it’s already been too long.