I know the past year hasn’t been kind. We dropped again in the rankings and, sometimes, it seems like whole damn world is bearing down on us. But, whenever I get knocked out of the saddle, I like to remind myself of better times.
So, I reckon now’s a time as good as any to remind you all of the glory days. Those were good years, when this here business cowboy roamed free without a care in the world.
It was a simpler time, a time when a man could earn an honest livin’ as an analyst at HSBC and maintain his family and his land with the sweat of his brow.
In those times, men were men and jobs flowed free like water down the mighty Chattahoochee river.
I remember those times fondly, campin’ out with my friends beneath the stars that we couldn’t see out of our five-star business hotel suites.
It seemed we were nigh invincible. If we wanted something, all we had to do was reach out an’ take it. The world and all of its quarterly bonuses were ours.
The Big Four knew us, they feared us, but above all, they respected us. Just hearin’ the word “Goizueta” made ‘em tuck tail and run, throwin’ six-figure startin’ salaries at us just so we’d leave ‘em alone.
We’d ride out on the open road of the heartland, puff our chests out proudly, and sing songs of past glories. It only seemed fitting that one of the top songs of that blessed, dream-like year, was a little country ditty called “We R Who We R.” If I remember correctly, it was composed by the finest musician of that era, Ke$ha.
The year was 2011. Our BBA program was ranked third in our vast nation and the entire world knew – mostly because we printed out “We’re #3” t-shirts.
Oh, those were the days. We had none of the troubles that we face today. Those Three-Fifths Compromise comments were nothin’ but a twinkle in our dear president’s eye.
Now, hell – I don’t know what happened. Some say the age of the business cowboy is long gone, like the red, late afternoon sun settin’ over one of my three vacation homes. Maybe they got a point.
We’ve got our backs to the wall. We’re ranked seventh and those damn Yanks from Boston College have pushed us off our lands. Ranked sixth, they now lay claim to the fertile topsoil that your forefathers, the BBA classes of 2009 and 2010, fought for.
I pledge to spend every waking hour from now on, with the exception of Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays, fighting to reclaim our rightful home. My BBA friends, will you ride with me?