Author: shane higdon

Cyclone Nation is at a crossroads. After seasons of inconsistency, offensive sputtering, and a fanbase that’s equal parts loyal and exhausted, Iowa State needs more than another safe hire. They need a shockwave. They need a storyline. They need a villain-turned-hero arc so strong Netflix would option it by spring.

They need Brian Ferentz.

Yes — that Brian Ferentz. Stick with me, because the case is a lot stronger than you think.

1. The Man Has Survived More Pressure Than Anyone in College Football

There isn’t a coordinator in America who took more heat the last few years than Brian Ferentz. Every drive, every punt, every field goal attempt came with a national punchline attached to his name. The man coached under a literal points-per-game contract clause — you can’t simulate that kind of pressure in a video game.

If he survived Iowa message boards, national media mockery, and a contract tied to touchdown totals?

Handling Ames expectations will feel like a week in Cancun.

2. Iowa State Needs an Identity. Brian Has One Ready-Made.

Let’s be honest: the Cyclones’ brand has drifted into the beige zone. Not bad. Not amazing. Just… fine.

Brian Ferentz brings:

Toughness Old-school attitude A “run-the-damn-ball” philosophy A villain aura that instantly brings national attention

Iowa State has never leaned into being the chaotic disruptor. With Brian, the entire program becomes must-watch TV.

Imagine the Cy-Hawk game hype if the guy Iowa fans roasted for years is suddenly standing on the opposite sideline wearing red and gold.

That’s rivalry gasoline.

3. He Knows Iowa Recruiting Like the Back of His Hand

Brian Ferentz has spent years inside Iowa’s pipeline:

The in-state kids The overlooked Midwest grinders The tight ends who are secretly monsters The three-star linemen who turn into NFL starters

And here’s the secret: those players love him.

He’s blunt. He’s real. He doesn’t sugarcoat anything. Recruits respect that.

Plus, flipping a handful of Hawkeye recruits every year would immediately elevate ISU’s roster and kick-start a true in-state recruiting war.

Ames hasn’t had that energy in years.

4. He Is NOT Kirk — and That’s Good

People love to say, “Brian is just Kirk’s son.”

Wrong.

Brian is the version of Ferentz who:

Isn’t afraid to break something that isn’t working Isn’t locked into 1999 football traditions Has an edge, a chip, and something to prove Doesn’t care if you like him — only if you win

He would bring a modernization to Iowa State’s offense simply because he finally has the freedom to run his system, without dad, donors, or contract clauses breathing down his neck.

Sometimes the best coaches are the ones who had to fight for space their entire career.

5. Iowa State Needs Boldness — and This Move Is Bold as Hell

Hiring a recycled coordinator from the MAC?

Hiring someone whose only qualification is “young and energetic”?

Boring.

Hiring Brian Ferentz instantly:

Launches Iowa State to the top of the national talking cycle Makes every 2025 preseason list Turns the program into a storyline Electrifies the fanbase Reignites the rivalry with Iowa in a way never seen before

It’s not just a hire.

It’s a PR earthquake.

And in modern college football, perception matters.

6. The Man Wants Redemption — and a Coach With Something to Prove Is Dangerous

Brian Ferentz has been underestimated, mocked, doubted, and memed for years.

Give that man a head-coaching position and he will coach like every win rewrites his entire career.

A hungry coach → a motivated staff → a fired-up roster → a fanbase that believes again.

Iowa State could be the place where the redemption story begins.

Final Thought

If Iowa State wants safe, predictable, and quietly mediocre, there are plenty of names out there.

But if they want:

An identity National attention A rivalry explosion A coach with grit A leader who’s been through fire Someone desperate to prove every critic wrong

Then there is only one candidate who truly fits the moment.

Brian. Freaking. Ferentz.

Ames — make the call.

You might just ignite the most entertaining era in Cyclone history.

There’s something sacred about growing weed. Not the hustle, not the clout, not the Instagram flex — I’m talking about the actual process. The quiet. The routine. The patience. The reward. For me, growing isn’t just about producing a flower… it’s about the way the whole experience slows me down, grounds me, and connects me to something deeper than the noise of life.

It Starts With the Seed

There’s a crazy feeling that hits every time you drop a seed into soil. It’s like planting a promise. You don’t know exactly how it’ll turn out, how tall it’ll stretch, or how loud its aroma will be — but you know that if you give it love, it’ll give love right back.

Watching that first little sprout break through the dirt never gets old. I’ve seen it a hundred times, but every single one feels like a victory.

The Daily Ritual

Growing weed gives your day rhythm.

Checking the leaves.

Turning pots for even light.

Adjusting humidity.

Watching how the plant responds to you like it’s communicating in its own language.

And honestly? That daily ritual is therapy. When life gets loud, the plants don’t yell back. They don’t judge you. They just quietly grow, one hour at a time, like a reminder to slow down and breathe.

The Science Behind the Art

One of the best parts about growing is that it hits both sides of your brain.

You get the science:

pH levels nutrient mixes light cycles airflow genetics

And then you get the art:

shaping the canopy dialing in the smells watching colors change in late flower learning the personality of each strain

Some plants explode with energy.

Some grow stubborn and slow.

Some smell like citrus, others like diesel, some like straight candy.

It’s wild how different they all are.

Harvest Season Is Pure Magic

There’s no feeling like harvest day.

The room fills with a smell you can’t bottle — fresh, loud, sticky, sweet, and earthy all at once. You put in weeks of work, months of patience, and now you’re literally holding the results in your hands.

It hits different when you grew it yourself.

It Teaches You Patience

Growing weed forces you to slow down. You can’t rush it. You can’t cheat time. You can’t fast-forward nature.

You learn to appreciate the process, not just the product.

And honestly? That mindset carries over into the rest of life.

It’s a Connection

Growing binds you to the plant in a personal way — spiritually, emotionally, even mentally. It’s grounding. It’s healing. It’s empowering.

And yeah… it’s straight-up fun.

Governor Kim Reynolds never misses a chance to tell Iowans how much she cares about families, education, and health. But when you look at her record, it’s clear her policies are doing the exact opposite.

She talks about protecting our kids, yet the state keeps pushing prescription drugs like oxycodone, Xanax, and all the other chemical quick-fixes that wreck lives. We’ve got teenagers hooked on pills that are easier to find than a doctor willing to recommend medical cannabis. If you really cared about Iowans, Governor, wouldn’t you fight for the medicine that saves lives instead of the one that ends them?

And then there’s her so-called “education leadership.” The same governor who brags about improving Iowa schools just let the Des Moines district put someone with questionable legal status in charge of the whole system. How’s that possible under the education reforms she championed? She promised better oversight, but the only thing we’ve gotten is confusion and hypocrisy.

Isn’t Kim Reynolds supposed to be the Education Governor? Isn’t her daughter a teacher? If so, maybe she should ask her daughter what it’s like to teach in a system that’s falling apart from bad policy and political hypocrisy.

The truth is, Reynolds’ Iowa is a place where Big Pharma cashes in, our kids fall through the cracks, and our schools turn into political battlegrounds. It’s time someone called it what it is — not leadership, but negligence.

Laura Ingraham’s Blind Spot on Weed

Fox News host Laura Ingraham has made a habit of warning viewers about the supposed dangers of marijuana. Every few months she highlights a tragic story, points a finger at cannabis, and declares that legalization is a social mistake. What she never mentions is that the glass of wine she often praises on air is far more lethal than the plant she condemns.

Alcohol is linked to millions of deaths worldwide each year—from liver disease, cancer, accidents, and addiction. Cannabis, by contrast, has never caused a fatal overdose, and its most serious health concerns mainly involve heavy or early use among teenagers. Study after study—from The Lancet to the World Health Organization—ranks alcohol among the most harmful drugs, while marijuana falls near the bottom of that list.

So why the double standard? Part of it is cultural. Wine is marketed as sophisticated; weed still carries decades of stigma. But pretending one is safe while the other is a menace isn’t journalism—it’s hypocrisy. Americans deserve honest conversations about both substances, not fear-based sound bites.

If Ingraham truly cares about public health, she should start by acknowledging the data. The science is clear: when it comes to danger, the wine in her glass poses a far greater risk than the weed she ridicules.

When you think of college football, you don’t just think about the roar of the crowd, the smell of tailgates, or the bands blaring fight songs. You also think of one man in a suit and tie, grinning ear to ear, holding up a massive mascot head with perfect comedic timing. That man is Lee Corso, and for decades he has been the soul of ESPN’s College GameDay.

From the Field to the Booth

Before the bright lights of television, Corso lived the game. Born in 1935, he was a quarterback and defensive back at Florida State in the 1950s. After graduation, he traded his helmet for a headset and began a long coaching career. He climbed the ranks as an assistant before becoming head coach at Louisville and later Indiana. While his coaching record was mixed, his personality was magnetic — players and fans remembered the man more than the scoreboard.

Reinventing Himself on TV

In 1987, ESPN was still finding its footing in the college football world when they brought Corso onto College GameDay. What nobody knew at the time was that he would turn into the show’s secret weapon. Corso didn’t try to be polished. He didn’t try to be a hard-nosed analyst. Instead, he leaned into his charisma: funny, unpredictable, and always authentic.

The Mascot Head Tradition

The moment that made Corso a legend wasn’t a breakdown of X’s and O’s. It was when he pulled out his first mascot head in 1996 — donning Brutus Buckeye to pick Ohio State over Penn State. Fans went crazy, and a tradition was born. Since then, Corso’s weekly mascot headgear pick has become the most anticipated segment in all of college football broadcasting. Sometimes the crowd boos, sometimes they explode with joy, but either way, everyone tunes in for that moment.

More Than Just a Gimmick

While the mascot routine is his trademark, Corso has always been more than a prop comic. His insight, storytelling, and love for the game shine through. Even after suffering a stroke in 2009, Corso fought his way back to the set, refusing to let health struggles silence him. His speech slowed, but his spirit never dimmed. That determination has earned him respect far beyond football — he’s become a symbol of resilience.

Why Lee Corso Matters

In a world where sports coverage often leans on stats, data, and sometimes negativity, Corso has always brought joy. He reminds us that football is supposed to be fun. He’s the uncle at the cookout who makes everyone laugh, the professor who makes learning exciting, the grandpa who still loves to play.

When Corso finally steps away from the cameras, it’ll feel like the end of an era. But every Saturday that he’s still there, smiling under a giant mascot head, is a reminder of why we love college football in the first place.

There’s a point in life where the shine wears off.

You’ve been through enough storms to know that rainbows aren’t promises—they’re just light refracted through water. People you trusted turned out to be strangers in disguise. Dreams you chased either broke in your hands or slowly crumbled when the reality of them didn’t match the picture in your head.

Some call it growing up, but I call it wearing down. Each disappointment sanded off another layer of hope until the surface was raw and indifferent. I don’t buy into fairy tales, political speeches, or even the idea that hard work guarantees a better future. I’ve seen too much to believe the world plays fair.

It’s not bitterness—it’s just the quiet knowledge that nothing is sacred, nothing is certain, and very few things are truly what they seem. And when you’ve learned that lesson enough times, belief turns into observation. You stop waiting for things to get better and start just getting through.

Maybe that’s survival.

Maybe it’s just what’s left when you’ve used up all your faith

Finding Peace in the Haze

I used to think peace was something you found on a mountaintop or at the end of some long, winding road. For me, it turned out to be something much simpler — a quiet moment with a little green plant.

Weed didn’t “fix” me. It didn’t erase the hard days or rewrite my past. What it did was slow the noise in my head long enough for me to breathe. It took the edge off the anxiety that kept me pacing at 2 a.m., and it softened the weight of memories I’d been carrying for years.

Instead of fighting my own mind, I started listening to it. I learned to sit still, to enjoy the way sunlight comes through the blinds, to laugh at dumb jokes again. It made space for gratitude. It made space for me.

People can say what they want about it — they haven’t walked in my shoes. I’m not here to argue or convince anyone. I’m just here to say this: for me, weed has been a friend, a medicine, and a bridge back to peace.

When history looks back on political legacies, it doesn’t care about cable news ratings or partisan talking points. It remembers moments when a leader made a decision that truly changed lives. For Donald J. Trump, rescheduling marijuana could be one of those moments—a move that would ripple across generations and cement his place as a legendary figure in American history.

A Lifeline for Veterans

America’s veterans have sacrificed everything, from physical health to mental well-being, and far too many return home battling chronic pain, PTSD, and sleepless nights. For decades, cannabis has been shown to help—often more effectively and far more safely than opioids or dangerous cocktails of prescription drugs.

But because marijuana remains shackled under outdated federal law, many veterans can’t access it without risking their benefits, careers, or freedom. Rescheduling it would finally give them the choice they’ve earned without making them criminals for seeking relief.

A Game-Changer for Chronic Pain Sufferers

Millions of Americans live in a constant state of pain—fibromyalgia, arthritis, cancer treatments, nerve damage, the list goes on. These people aren’t looking to “party.” They’re looking for a way to get out of bed in the morning without popping pills that could ruin their livers or put them in a coffin.

By rescheduling marijuana, Trump could open the door for more medical research, safer prescribing, and insurance coverage for cannabis treatments. This isn’t just politics—it’s humanity.

The Political Earthquake

Even if Fox News or other conservative media outlets push back, the truth is simple: the American public has already shifted. Red states, blue states, swing states—support for medical marijuana is overwhelming. This isn’t about left vs. right anymore; it’s about right vs. wrong.

By taking this step, Trump could do what no modern president has had the guts to do: break the federal stranglehold on a plant that helps millions and criminalizes none. And in doing so, he could deliver a bipartisan win so big it would make even his critics take a step back.

Legacy Over Headlines

Trump has never been a man to follow the crowd. Love him or hate him, he thrives on defying expectations. Rescheduling weed would be a legacy move—one that transcends party lines, talk-show monologues, and election cycles. In 20 years, people won’t be quoting the nightly pundits. They’ll be saying, “Remember when Trump finally changed the game for veterans and patients?”

Even if Fox News doesn’t agree, veterans will. Chronic pain sufferers will. Families will. And that gratitude will outlast every news cycle.

It’s one of the biggest hypocrisies in modern society:

You can stroll down the street with a glass of wine in your hand, smelling like a vineyard dumpster, and no one bats an eye. But light up a joint—something with proven medical benefits—and suddenly you’re a criminal, a “problem,” or a “bad influence.”

Here’s the truth nobody wants to say out loud:

Alcohol has zero medical use. None. Zilch. Unless your definition of “medical” is “liquid courage for karaoke night,” it’s purely recreational—and it kills more people every single year than all illegal drugs combined. It wrecks livers, destroys families, fuels domestic violence, and clogs up our hospitals. Yet somehow, it’s not just legal—it’s celebrated.

Meanwhile, cannabis has been shown to help with chronic pain, PTSD, epilepsy, nausea from chemo, and a dozen other real medical conditions. Veterans use it to manage trauma. Cancer patients use it to eat again. People with crippling anxiety find relief without wrecking their organs. But in many places, you can still get cuffed for it.

So why the double standard?

The answer’s ugly: alcohol is deeply embedded in our culture, our economy, and our politics. There’s a century-old industry that spends billions making sure you see booze as “classy,” “social,” and “normal.” Weed, on the other hand, was demonized for decades with racist propaganda and fearmongering—lies that still echo in laws today.

If the smell of weed bothers you, fine. But don’t pretend a cloud of merlot breath is somehow more “respectable.” If we’re going to judge a plant with medical benefits, then we need to be honest about the bottle in our own hand.

It’s not about health. It’s not about safety. It’s about old money, outdated laws, and a society that still hasn’t admitted it was wrong.

Legal for one, legal for both. Anything else is hypocrisy—straight, no chaser.

1. Partial acquittal on serious charges

Combs was acquitted of the most severe accusations—sex trafficking by force, fraud, or coercion and racketeering—but convicted on lesser transportation for prostitution charges under the Mann Act. Supporters argue this outcome reflects a significant legal vindication on the core allegations  .

2. Rehabilitation and public character

An individual central to the case, identified as “Victim‑3”, recently submitted a letter urging his release, suggesting he has not been violent in years. She described him as a transformed individual and a committed father who now demonstrates remorse and community responsibility  .

3. Disproportional sentencing risk

Although prosecutors are seeking a sentence of 51–63 months, critics argue that given the convictions are for lesser crimes, a long prison term may be disproportional. The defense has proposed significantly lower figures—time served or less than half the recommended term  .

4. Precedent for pre-emptive pardons

Presidential pardon powers can be applied even before sentencing—or even conviction—in cases with ambiguous guilt or significant doubt. Some point to historical precedent of clemency granted in high-profile cases despite incomplete adjudication  .

5. Mitigating broader public concerns

Combs’s supporters emphasize his past philanthropic efforts—particularly through youth programs—and argue that further punishment could impair these contributions. They suggest a pardon may help him redirect influence toward positive social impact.

⚖️ Counterarguments to Consider

Serious pattern of allegations: Beyond the criminal counts tried in court, Combs faces numerous civil lawsuits alleging rape, drug-facilitated sexual assault, and abuse—some involving minors and decades-old claims. These raise questions about the court’s findings versus the broader context of allegations  . Pardons under political or personal bias: Former President Trump has publicly expressed hesitation, citing his personal history with Combs—including critical statements made during prior campaigns—and framing a pardon as possibly clouded by emotion  . Potential backlash: Critics like Megyn Kelly argue a pardon could be seen as excusing abuse and might alienate voters—especially women—by reinforcing elite privilege and undermining accountability  .

📅 Context & Timing

The verdict was returned on July 2, 2025, with sentencing scheduled for October 3, 2025  . Trump’s public statements were made in early August 2025, indicating the pardon question remains under internal review but is heading toward a “no” answer  .

🧠 Final Thoughts: A Balanced View

Those advocating for a pardon argue:

The partial acquittals diminish the weight of the remaining convictions. There’s evidence of personal transformation and reduced risk to the community. Their position emphasizes leniency over punitive excess, especially when civil suits—rather than criminal convictions—drive much of the public concern.

However, opponents stress:

The magnitude and volume of civil allegations, some involving minors, and a consistent pattern across decades. The concern that pardoning Combs could erode public trust in accountability. That personal or political bias should not override the seriousness of confirmed convictions.

Ultimately, the debate over a pardon hinges on whether one views the criminal verdict as just enough dispute to merit clemency—or whether the broader allegations and convictions demand upholding the standard of justice.