The Center for Disease Control (CDC) in Atlanta has recently released a study on a new illness that has been dubbed Weed Height Aversion and Control or WHAC for short. The study noted a number of dysfunctional behaviors associated with weed height aversion that included an obsessive compulsive need to whack down any piece of grass or weed growing more than two inches above its intended height, manic depressive tendencies when the individual cannot release their disturbed emotions by cutting down the offending weeds, and severe dehydration due to constantly running weed-eaters, lawnmowers and other grass cutting apparatus. The study further found that these behaviors were observed most often in spring and summer and especially after rain showers.
    I have each and every one of these symptoms and thus have concluded I am a victim of this newly discovered, hideous malady. I think my case of WHAC was brought on by years of cutting the grass on football fields and then lining them off in preparation for Friday night games. In my particular situation the fear of having a shoddy field on display for hundreds of fans to criticize is what drove me toward getting a chronic case of WHAC. Tending those fields, which for me bordered on the fanatical, included cutting the grass three or four times a week and then watering it so it would grow even faster. Watering would seem to make no sense except when you factor in the concept that it was not enough to have the grass cut neatly but to have it as green as humanly possible.
    So now I have to contend with yet another affliction in my old diseased body. Having found out that I’m sick leads to all kinds of questions. Is there some medicine I can take and if so what are the side effects? What is my long-term prognosis? Will it worsen? Am I contagious? Should I update my will? Will my friends and family shun me for fear of catching this infamous bug? I now live in fear for my health and sanity.
    On the positive side there’s something I can do to help others from contracting WHAC. First and foremost is to issue an advisory to all high school football coaches, and especially assistant coaches, to have a clause in their contract that designates someone else as the football field grass cutter. Assistant coaches are at greater risk for contracting WHAC due to the fact that the head coach can tell them to cut the field and then curse them out if they don’t have the field looking like the Garden of Eden on game night.
    I really don’t think there’s any need to extend this advisory to college coaches because they are not generally required to do field maintenance. This is primarily due to the fact that they have to be out flying around in airplanes and helicopters, playing in charity golf events and making speeches on the rubber chicken circuit. As of today I’ve not heard of a single case in which a college football coach has contracted WHAC.
    After consulting with doctors at the CDC on a possible treatment it has been recommended that I should begin taking this new-fangled drug that I can’t spell but is supposed to prevent anxiety attacks. Along with that medication I’m supposed to take a sort of recreational drug — that is to go play golf at least twice a week and go fishing no less than once a week in order to help stabilize my apprehension concerning stray weeds in the yard. As for my diet they have advocated a strict regimen of high-fiber foods like garbanzo beans and spinach in order to keep me regular and thus help with the angst associated with WHAC.
    I’m a little concerned about the medicine because there are some weird side-effects like the possibility of abnormal hair growth in strange places, blue urine, and bizarre dreams like being chased by lions, tigers and large rattlesnakes. I think I could put up with blue urine except for the embarrassment factor in public restrooms and if that abnormal hair growth happened to be on the crown of my head that would actually be a plus but I’d rather have WHAC than to be chased all night by full grown rattlers.
    As a final suggestion the doctors thought that selling my weed-eater and hiring someone to cut the grass would be a splendid idea. I’m not so sure about that. My weed-eater is kind of like a security blanket that I can cling to in case some unwanted plants pop up. Before I can get rid of my grass cutting utensils I’m gonna have to see if the medicine, recreational drugs and diet do any good.
    After all, I’ve got a pretty severe case of WHAC and I just hope it’s not terminal because it would be the last straw for weeds to be growing over my grave.

    E-mail details of your own illnesses to dar8589@bellsouth.net