Levi Strauss Pays Josh A Visit

Even his beard was inspired by Levi’s Unbeknownst to the masses, our man Jorts has a ghost story that will make you break out your Tony Delk denim jersey. On December 30, 2010, with visions of Yum! Center patrons giving him the finger after a win running around his mind while laying in bed, Joshua Harrellson closed his eyes for what he thought would be the remainder of the night. In the midnight hour, when it was officially game day in the Bluegrass, a well-meaning spirit drifted through the Wildcat Lodge walls and Jorts’ closet, passing right through the rack XL denim short-pants with “55” embroidered on the back pocket. The ghost of Levi Strauss floated over Jorts and said in his thick German accent, “Son, today is your day.” Startled, Josh jumped up in bed, too scared to speak. The transparency of Strauss could not hide the full jean-jumpsuit he wore, and thus Josh immediately felt a connection to this old soul. “Jorts, my boy. I'm the one you’ve paid homage to with your attire all these years: Levi Strauss. I remember when I ventured over from my Bavarian motherland to join my family in America, entering a whole new world just as you did when you left St. Louis to join the one they call Billy Clyde, a man who has kept my hometown alive with his support of Bavarian hops. Even more, the American food kept me in a bathroom stall nearly as often as you were during your first year at UK. But that is all in the past now, and you are now ready to rise up from the ashes of your deleted twitter account. Today, you will rise to the highest ranks of denim-glory!” Josh stammered out, “But Levi, I don’t need the glory. I’m content working hard and doing whatever the team needs me to do. Cal showed me the light.” “You’ve earned the glory, Josh. You buckled down, got **** right, earned your keep. When you’re back was against the wall and the doubters came out in full force, you showed them what you are made of. The basketball gods have sent me here to help you take down the filthiest of Cardinal opponents in superstar fashion. Now, throw on those Daisy Dukes and get your rest, because tomorrow we feast in the paint!” Strauss disappeared into a puff of smoke right in front of Jorts’ face. He could not believe what just happened. He got out of bed and did as the ghost asked, throwing on his favorite pair of jean shorts. Denim-clad, he crawled back into bed, even more excited about the game. That night, he dreamed of Angels in the Outfield and The Sixth Man. Warming up in the The Bucket, Josh kept looking around for any 19th century spirits wearing that ‘rugged cotton twill textile’. The whitest thing he saw was Pitino’s face as he peered over at the Cats, at first. Finally, Levi Strauss appeared, gingerly drifting down from the Yum! Bar with a Kentucky Bourbon Barrel Ale in hand. In one swift pull, Strauss downed the beverage and threw the glass at Handsome Jimmy, who never noticed it hitting him. Strauss came up behind Jorts, preparing to help him fly high the rest of the game for monstrous dunks and blocks. He took a step back and looked at Levi. Josh nodded his head and smiled in that familiar way he does after a great play and said, “Nah, man. I got this.” Jorts needed no other-wordly help for his biggest day (*Rumors surfacing that Levi did, indeed, revisit Josh against last night to spark a swift disposal of the Commodores on Jorts Day.)