Dear Opponent: Colorado
This work of epistolary comedy is dedicated to the KillerFrog Fan Forum Literary Review Board.
With love,
T.
DISCLAIMER: THIS ARTICLE HAS BEEN WRITTEN FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY; ANY ATHLETIC WISDOM OR, INSIGHT OR KNOWLEDGEABILITY THEREIN, NOT DIRECTLY QUOTED BY MY COLLEAGUES, IS NOT ONLY PURELY ACCIDENTAL BUT UNFORTUNATE.
"I have come here to chew bubblegum and talk trash. And I'm all out of bubblegum."
--(Rowdy) Roddy Piper (slightly amended)
Dear Buffaloes,
The season is upon us. Welcome to the Fort. But be warned: the year, in Texas, is only theoretically nearing fall. Summer here is a jealous mistress, jealous as the angry ex that lets out the air of your tire, keying both doors while taking the time to ensure her initials in the hood lie immaculately scrawled and dotted. It's going to be hot, damned hot, and, having spent a year in your lovely state, I'm not sure your perfect weather has you prepared for what is coming.
In short, welcome to Hell.
And such a Hell it will be as never prophesied by John the Revelator. Here's my prophecy: By noon, Coach Prime's going to be prime rib, medium rare. And your mascot will stock the Reata for a full year or more (a restaurant you should totally visit, assuming you survive the first step out of the car--famous for its blackened buffalo ribeye).
And speaking of Coach Prime, he's not exactly the most devoted of leaders, is he? Knowing next to less than nothing about football, I have been tasked with reading about the man in preparation for this friendly, albeit frank, epistle, and I gotta ask: giving the boot to 50 players? I understand giving it to one or two of the troublesome types, maybe a dirty dozen if the case requires it. But 50--with scholarships? Having never met a prostitute in my life (or, at least, having never met a woman I owed money for the act) I can't, in honesty, impute that label to the man. But I've certainly read about a dozen trollops from the literature of at least as many countries who had more devotion to the utmost scoundrels than your coach seems to accord his own athletes.
He says what matters most to him is winning. But his strategy in achieving that goal strikes me as utterly perverse. Recently, during a Buffaloes' annual media conference, he said: "I don't care about culture. I don't even care if they like each other, I want to win . . . I have been on some teams where the quarterback didn't like the receiver, but they darn sure made harmony when the ball was snapped. And we're not like that, trust me, these kids are very fond of one another."
Are they now? All 75, who came from another school last year?
Last year was rough for you. I believe your record was 1-11. TCU went undefeated before suffering a humiliation, which I can't bear to recount here, at the National Championship. But we did make it to a National Championship. And we did it, at least partially, because Sonny Dykes, our first-year coach, did care about culture and did care about his players, both collectively and individually, and the dynamic between them. It would seem Coach Prime's primetime strategy is to recruit a fighting force of mercenaries whose on-field dynamic will be one of absolute self-interest, modeled after their leader. Who knows? It might work. But consider me skeptical. They're not professionals. They're still, at least theoretically, student-athletes. Nor are they action heroes. They need to believe they are not casually expendable.
But this moralizing is all for naught. They're going to fry before the half. We all are. The stench will be awful. Thank God my sense of smell is about as good as Stevie Wonder's eyesight.
It was a pleasure knowing you.
With best regards,
SI
P.S., When you do get the blackened buffalo rib eye, make sure to order it medium-rare and give my regards to Brandon Burrell if you are so fortunate as to be served by him.
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