Mike Leach, history is calling you. Your critics are still bugging you, you’re still pissing people off with your pithy genius attack, and you’ve already got your legendary media profile par excellence. Hell, you even got to do the weather forecast in Lubbock, and they don’t let just anyone man the blue screen there. What are you going to do with the rest of your life besides go 8-4, spin assistants into plum jobs, and continue the weird bit of solo performance art you call a career?

We know. Because we know your deepest desires. Partially because of our god-given clairvoyance, but also because it was in the New York Times Magazine:

As his team raced onto the field, he gazed into the stands filled with screaming fans and wondered about the several thousand “cadets” from Texas A.&M. clustered in one end zone. They wear military uniforms and buzz cuts, holler in unison and stand at attention the entire game. “How come they get to pretend they are soldiers?” he asked. “The thing is, they aren’t actually in the military. I ought to have Mike’s Pirate School. The freshmen, all they get is the bandanna. When you’re a senior, you get the sword and skull and crossbones. For homework, we’ll work pirate maneuvers and stuff like that.”

Mike Leach, destiny has answered your prayers: pirate school is real.

For Mike’s sake, though, let’s hope they leave out the sodomy. (Our readers scream: “But that’s the best part!!!” Yes, and that’s why you’re here.) If they don’t, though, and you end up on the scabbard side of the dagger, at least you’d discover how the Sam Houston States of the world feel when they stumble into Lubbock.


Pirate School: yours for the taking, Cap’n Leach. Yarr.