I’m writing from the shadow of Donald W. Reynolds Razorback Stadium.

The football program’s gone through quite the gauntlet this year. Things have gotten so bad, I highly doubt Bobby P will be the Head Hog for much longer. Which brings me to the coaching search, what seems to be the only light at the end of the (Bobby Hopper) tunnel.

Who will it be? Dan Mullen? Rhett Lashlee? Alex Golesh? James Franklin?

The list goes on and changes by the day, but I already said my piece. A month ago, I wrote a column claiming the U of A needed to think outside the box and hire a coach who could implement a triple-option style of offense.

I was meticulous in my reasoning, laying out an (if I do say so myself) convincing argument for improved recruitment, defense, and overall program morale.

I expected a flurry of emails, people from across the state weighing in, but all I got was crickets. Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

I was recently expressing my frustration to friend and fellow writer Graham Gordy. Graham bleeds Razorback red. He’s forgotten more Hog history than I’ll ever know, and he had his own ideas about the future of Arkansas football.

“Yeah, buddy. I been thinking outside the box too,” Graham said in a voice I first heard via his infamous “Spanola Pepper Sauce Company” short (if you haven’t seen that video, Google it now and thank me later). “I think we should turn the football stadium into a Medieval Times.”

Graham’s a funny dude, but he wasn’t joking.

“I’m serious. You know how much it costs per plate at one of those places?”

I didn’t.

“Fifty, sometimes sixty bucks,” Graham said. “And Razorback Stadium holds, what, close to 80-thousand people?”

I was starting to get the picture, a transfiguration similar to the one that took place just across the Hernando de Soto Bridge when Bass Pro came in and took over the Memphis Pyramid.

“Yeah, see, we turn the stadium into a Medieval Times,” Graham said, “or no, even better—a Dixie Stampede. Wait. I think it’s just called ‘Dolly Parton’s Stampede’ these days . . .”

(I fact checked him; Graham was right about the name change)

“Anyway, think of all that money, man. Fifty bucks a seat, night after night. Heck, this is the answer to our NIL woes. We’d have money out the wazoo.”

There was money to be made. I understood that much. “But what about the football team?” I asked. “Where would they play?”

“Nowhere,” Graham said. “That’s the point. No more football. We’d just take the money from the Stampede and up the ante for basketball and baseball.”

In these strange times, such a ploy didn’t sound all that strange. I mean, we lured Coach Calipari to Fayetteville with chicken money, after all. Why not keep fattening him up with funds from our newly renovated-restaurant-football stadium?

Jokes aside, I truly hope whoever we hire as the next head Razorback football coach can rein in this circus. If not, Dolly Parton’s Stampede is waiting just up the road in Branson, Missouri.