Post by zipzam on Oct 13, 2006 13:15:42 GMT -6
First of all, let me just say this. We've settled the D@mn reading debate.
Before our game against Vanderbilt last week, I walked right over to the d@mn Vanderbilt coach and I said "Hey, Steve Martin! Get your azz over here, I got a question."
So he comes over and I say "Is is it true that every d@mn boy on your football team can read?" And he says, "Why, yes, Coach Orgeron, all students at Vanderbilt can read and write." Well, I figure he's taunting my azz by throwing that writing in there on top of reading. But just in case you wonder what reading has to do with football, let me tell you it's NOT A D@MN THING, because those reading-azz pansies from Vandy felt the HOTTY-TODDY-GOD-ALMIGHTY wrath of the Ole Miss Rebels upon them. We rolled up 177 yards on 'em, and the Jerrell Powe Memorial 10-Man Defense held their azz to 400 yards and WE INFLICTED DEFEAT upon them and they will fear Ole Miss forever, and like I told some of their players coming off the field, I said "Hey, Smart Boy, I reckon you can read that scoreboard." Then I told our gut-lacking Chancellor the same d@mn thing, and if I ever am denied another recruit for a FLIMSY-AZZ excuse like not reading, I am going to beat somebody into an early grave.
Of course, we played an early game and and I was fired up like a big cross in downtown Oxford after that WIN, so I decided I had time to drive over to Tuscaloosa and scout our upcoming opponent. So I asked Lefty, our NCAA compliance director, if it was OK to go and live-scout the d@mn Alabama game and he said "YES SIR, COACH O!" which is pretty much all he ever says since the day I pulled his right arm off for telling me we couldn't sign 175 players who are BY-GOD OLE MISS MATERIAL in February.
I said "Good! I'm going to Tuscaloosa and you're coming with me!" So we fire up one of the pickup trucks that one of our millionaire boosters lets me drive when we win a game (it only had 38 miles on it before Saturday) and off we go. On the way to Tuscaloosa, there's this little shack outside of Okolona where they fry up a mean catfish mess, so I called ahead and said "Coach O is coming through, but I ain't got time to stop. I'll slow down as I pass by, though, and I want EVERY D@MN OLE MISS-LOVIN EMPLOYEE YOU GOT to throw catfish and hush puppies in the back of the truck as I drive by. So that's what they do. great big old buckets full of catfish going in the truck. Some of the hush puppies missed and fell onto Highway 6, but one of their d@mn busboys picks it up and fires into the back of the truck from 60 yards away, so I sling the door open and holler "YOU ARE BY-GOD OLE MISS MATERIAL AND I'M A-OFFERIN' as we head off towards Tuscaloosa. We picked him up on our way back home, though, and you can REST BY-GOD ASSURED that if Brent Schaeffer goes 3-for-d@mn-17 or whatever the he11 he was against Vanderbilt, I will put tht hush-puppy slinging' sunuvab!tch ON THE FIELD before you can say three Hail Elis.
So we're going down the road and I keep asking Lefty to reach back there and grab me some catfish and hush puppies, partly because I'm hungry and partly because if you ain't ever seen a one-armed man trying to open a truck door and grab some greasy-azz hush puppies out of the flatbed while travelling 90 miles an hour goin' down Highway 82 then you DO NOT KNOW WHAT 'BY-GOD FUNNY AS HE11 REALLY MEANS.
Anyway, we finally get to Tuscaloosa. We buy us a couple of tickets for the Alabama game with Duke, but I don't want to just go rolling into a seat, knowing that there is no d@mn way to disguise my husky Cajun manliness. So I put on some sunglasses and a parka and I look for an inconspicuous place to watch the game. "That ramp looks good," I think, so I head for the ramp.
Well, I get up there and start watching and all of a sudden, this d@mn woman, her face all painted red and white, starts letting out a holler that I ain't heard since alligator-mating time back in Bayou des Cheveuax. As you know, I once set my own leg on fire just because I wanted some toasted marshmellows, so I don't scare easy. But this Ramp Lady makes me take a step back or two. But after a while, I figure out that she's not speaking in tongues, like I thought at firsts, but it's some form of English and what she's saying is "COOOOOACHHH SHUUUUULLLAAAA YOOOOOUUU ARE AAAAA FREEEAKINNNN' IDJEEEEET!"
"So I go up and ask her 'Why the he11 you sayin' that?" and she says "'Cause I know every d@mn play we are gonna run." Well, I don't say anything, but I'm thinking "Holy Mother of Eli, this woman's got some BY-GOD INSIDE INFORMATION.' So I figure I'm going to find out what I can.'
"Well, we keep watching this game, and Alabama is also playing one of those sorry-azz all-our-boys-can-read teams, DUKE, and they are wallowing around, and this Ramp Lady is wearin' Shula's azz out. The worst kind of language and when Coach O is telling you that, you know he don't mean Pluck and Grit. So she yells that blue-azz language for about 58 minutes, then Alabama scores five touchdowns in the last nine seconds or some such crap and wins the d@mn game. I says to her, "Honey, tell me about that offense," but she says "YOU JUST WAIT A MINUTE" and then she starts yelling "HEY DUKE, WE JUST BEAT THE HE11 OUTTA YOU!!!" and then "WE LOVE YOOOOOOUUUUU, COACH SHUUUUULAAAA!!!"
So I say "Look, honey, we got some catfish that's been sitting in the back bed of a pickup truck for about 10 hours and I can send my boy Lefty here out to get a case of Pabst Blue Ribbon and some Cheetos, which will not only give us the joy of gettin' drunk but also the PURE-DEE ENTERTAINMENT of watching him try to carry all that crap under one arm. So you want to party or what?"
So we head back to the truck, me and the Ramp Lady, and I send Lefty off and I'm ready to get down to business so I say "Tell me about that offense!" Well," she says, "we run No. 34 up the middle and when that don't work, we either throw to the fullback or chuck it downfield as far as we can."
Now, I've been in football a long time, so I know there has got to be more to an offense than that. And I HATE offense almost as bad as I HATE STARKVILLERS, but even I would do a little somethin' different. I figure they were just sand-bagging against that sorry azz reading-and-writing Duke so as to BY GOD DECEIVE COACH O. But this woman sees 'em every week. So I figure I got to sweep her off her feet and get her to talking and find out more.
I rip off my shirt and expose the hairy Cajun manliness of my chest.
"Now tell me the rest!" I said.
"That's all there is, honey, but you sho' are cute!" she says.
Well, I figure pretty quick that it's time to get the he11 out of there, so I fire up the truck. About that time, Lefty's coming back with the beer, but I yell at him "Hotty Toddy, son, my honor is at stake so you gotta make a choice between that beer and your life, and grab a-hold of this truck the best you can."
So we make our escape, pick up our hush-puppy slinging signee on the way back and high-tail ourselves to Oxford. Then we start our film study and d@mn if that woman wasn't tellin' the truth about their offense all along!
So BY GOD we are coming. We're coming early. We can't wait BY GOD. I do not fear ALABAMA OR ANY OTHER D@MN TEAM. I do not fear anything! Well, one thing -- I fear hearing a voice coming down from the Ramp, sayin' '"YOO HOO! EDDIE! REMEMBER ME!" That would frighten any man. But BY GOD I will coach through it.
Mrs. O's Corner this week is called "Hedge Clippers and The Cheating Husband" which is just one more reason I'm glad I got out of Tuscaloosa when I did.
Be of good cheer.
Before our game against Vanderbilt last week, I walked right over to the d@mn Vanderbilt coach and I said "Hey, Steve Martin! Get your azz over here, I got a question."
So he comes over and I say "Is is it true that every d@mn boy on your football team can read?" And he says, "Why, yes, Coach Orgeron, all students at Vanderbilt can read and write." Well, I figure he's taunting my azz by throwing that writing in there on top of reading. But just in case you wonder what reading has to do with football, let me tell you it's NOT A D@MN THING, because those reading-azz pansies from Vandy felt the HOTTY-TODDY-GOD-ALMIGHTY wrath of the Ole Miss Rebels upon them. We rolled up 177 yards on 'em, and the Jerrell Powe Memorial 10-Man Defense held their azz to 400 yards and WE INFLICTED DEFEAT upon them and they will fear Ole Miss forever, and like I told some of their players coming off the field, I said "Hey, Smart Boy, I reckon you can read that scoreboard." Then I told our gut-lacking Chancellor the same d@mn thing, and if I ever am denied another recruit for a FLIMSY-AZZ excuse like not reading, I am going to beat somebody into an early grave.
Of course, we played an early game and and I was fired up like a big cross in downtown Oxford after that WIN, so I decided I had time to drive over to Tuscaloosa and scout our upcoming opponent. So I asked Lefty, our NCAA compliance director, if it was OK to go and live-scout the d@mn Alabama game and he said "YES SIR, COACH O!" which is pretty much all he ever says since the day I pulled his right arm off for telling me we couldn't sign 175 players who are BY-GOD OLE MISS MATERIAL in February.
I said "Good! I'm going to Tuscaloosa and you're coming with me!" So we fire up one of the pickup trucks that one of our millionaire boosters lets me drive when we win a game (it only had 38 miles on it before Saturday) and off we go. On the way to Tuscaloosa, there's this little shack outside of Okolona where they fry up a mean catfish mess, so I called ahead and said "Coach O is coming through, but I ain't got time to stop. I'll slow down as I pass by, though, and I want EVERY D@MN OLE MISS-LOVIN EMPLOYEE YOU GOT to throw catfish and hush puppies in the back of the truck as I drive by. So that's what they do. great big old buckets full of catfish going in the truck. Some of the hush puppies missed and fell onto Highway 6, but one of their d@mn busboys picks it up and fires into the back of the truck from 60 yards away, so I sling the door open and holler "YOU ARE BY-GOD OLE MISS MATERIAL AND I'M A-OFFERIN' as we head off towards Tuscaloosa. We picked him up on our way back home, though, and you can REST BY-GOD ASSURED that if Brent Schaeffer goes 3-for-d@mn-17 or whatever the he11 he was against Vanderbilt, I will put tht hush-puppy slinging' sunuvab!tch ON THE FIELD before you can say three Hail Elis.
So we're going down the road and I keep asking Lefty to reach back there and grab me some catfish and hush puppies, partly because I'm hungry and partly because if you ain't ever seen a one-armed man trying to open a truck door and grab some greasy-azz hush puppies out of the flatbed while travelling 90 miles an hour goin' down Highway 82 then you DO NOT KNOW WHAT 'BY-GOD FUNNY AS HE11 REALLY MEANS.
Anyway, we finally get to Tuscaloosa. We buy us a couple of tickets for the Alabama game with Duke, but I don't want to just go rolling into a seat, knowing that there is no d@mn way to disguise my husky Cajun manliness. So I put on some sunglasses and a parka and I look for an inconspicuous place to watch the game. "That ramp looks good," I think, so I head for the ramp.
Well, I get up there and start watching and all of a sudden, this d@mn woman, her face all painted red and white, starts letting out a holler that I ain't heard since alligator-mating time back in Bayou des Cheveuax. As you know, I once set my own leg on fire just because I wanted some toasted marshmellows, so I don't scare easy. But this Ramp Lady makes me take a step back or two. But after a while, I figure out that she's not speaking in tongues, like I thought at firsts, but it's some form of English and what she's saying is "COOOOOACHHH SHUUUUULLLAAAA YOOOOOUUU ARE AAAAA FREEEAKINNNN' IDJEEEEET!"
"So I go up and ask her 'Why the he11 you sayin' that?" and she says "'Cause I know every d@mn play we are gonna run." Well, I don't say anything, but I'm thinking "Holy Mother of Eli, this woman's got some BY-GOD INSIDE INFORMATION.' So I figure I'm going to find out what I can.'
"Well, we keep watching this game, and Alabama is also playing one of those sorry-azz all-our-boys-can-read teams, DUKE, and they are wallowing around, and this Ramp Lady is wearin' Shula's azz out. The worst kind of language and when Coach O is telling you that, you know he don't mean Pluck and Grit. So she yells that blue-azz language for about 58 minutes, then Alabama scores five touchdowns in the last nine seconds or some such crap and wins the d@mn game. I says to her, "Honey, tell me about that offense," but she says "YOU JUST WAIT A MINUTE" and then she starts yelling "HEY DUKE, WE JUST BEAT THE HE11 OUTTA YOU!!!" and then "WE LOVE YOOOOOOUUUUU, COACH SHUUUUULAAAA!!!"
So I say "Look, honey, we got some catfish that's been sitting in the back bed of a pickup truck for about 10 hours and I can send my boy Lefty here out to get a case of Pabst Blue Ribbon and some Cheetos, which will not only give us the joy of gettin' drunk but also the PURE-DEE ENTERTAINMENT of watching him try to carry all that crap under one arm. So you want to party or what?"
So we head back to the truck, me and the Ramp Lady, and I send Lefty off and I'm ready to get down to business so I say "Tell me about that offense!" Well," she says, "we run No. 34 up the middle and when that don't work, we either throw to the fullback or chuck it downfield as far as we can."
Now, I've been in football a long time, so I know there has got to be more to an offense than that. And I HATE offense almost as bad as I HATE STARKVILLERS, but even I would do a little somethin' different. I figure they were just sand-bagging against that sorry azz reading-and-writing Duke so as to BY GOD DECEIVE COACH O. But this woman sees 'em every week. So I figure I got to sweep her off her feet and get her to talking and find out more.
I rip off my shirt and expose the hairy Cajun manliness of my chest.
"Now tell me the rest!" I said.
"That's all there is, honey, but you sho' are cute!" she says.
Well, I figure pretty quick that it's time to get the he11 out of there, so I fire up the truck. About that time, Lefty's coming back with the beer, but I yell at him "Hotty Toddy, son, my honor is at stake so you gotta make a choice between that beer and your life, and grab a-hold of this truck the best you can."
So we make our escape, pick up our hush-puppy slinging signee on the way back and high-tail ourselves to Oxford. Then we start our film study and d@mn if that woman wasn't tellin' the truth about their offense all along!
So BY GOD we are coming. We're coming early. We can't wait BY GOD. I do not fear ALABAMA OR ANY OTHER D@MN TEAM. I do not fear anything! Well, one thing -- I fear hearing a voice coming down from the Ramp, sayin' '"YOO HOO! EDDIE! REMEMBER ME!" That would frighten any man. But BY GOD I will coach through it.
Mrs. O's Corner this week is called "Hedge Clippers and The Cheating Husband" which is just one more reason I'm glad I got out of Tuscaloosa when I did.
Be of good cheer.
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