Worse than Fatal

During the days that wars were interesting, the days when you were close enough to stare into the soul of your enemy before watching it slowly burn away, there were injuries worse than death. Given, the HMO's of the time didn't exactly treat the symptoms of bacterial infections, but the type of blows I'm talking about crushed both your collar bone and your honor.

In the middle of a field, where the sound of the war drums kept perfect time with the clash of shields, death was nearly on par with life. But when your opponent used 6 inches above the hilt of his blade to crush your shoulder, two things occurred. The first is that, naturally, you were crippled. You cannot hold up your shield arm much less balance yourself for a kill stroke with half your body deadened. The second, and perhaps worse thing, is that you are still alive. Because, unlike our modern times, the price of one human life was so very high, two of your buddies would be required to haul your sorry ass out of the fray. Thus, in a battle were every man counts, your singular opponent has just removed 3 of his enemy's numbers in a single, non-fatal blow.

The moral of the story is that, though Tulane has not killed themselves, they've done something far worse.

Post Scripts...