Jim Leavitt is a legendarily intense man. Watch his large ears turn red on the sidelines, and you’ll see a man firmly in the grips of a rage that makes cardiologists around the nation smile with delight. (Yes, yes. Buy me another boat, sweet rageaholics.)

Leavitt is so intense he has no time for your…your…weak, human holidays. (HT: Troy.)

“I haven’t looked that far ahead. That’s probably wrong. That’s really the truth, too. That’s sad, isn’t it. I really haven’t. I’m really thinking — you don’t want to hear it — thinking about practice. I really have not thought about what we’re going to do Christmas Day or Christmas Eve. I did think about this: with the players leaving Friday, I thought it’d be a great time, because it’s so quiet, Friday and Saturday, getting some work done in the office with film. Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, would I come here and do some work? God, I hope not. I hope I don’t.

If you’ve watched Intervention and seen an addict who says something like “Hey, I’m sober today, but who knows about tomorrow?”…well, you know that is a clear sign that person will be shivering at a bus stop the next day even though it’s 80 degrees outside wearing the universal outfit of the Intervention junkie: an old t-shirt and sweatpants cut into shorts.

In other words: you know Leavitt’s going into the office those days, and you know he has no idea what his children want, what their names are, or even the color of their eyes. You might be able to actually just ploink him down into a strange house, give him random gifts, and he’d assume this was where he was supposed to be and begin jovially exchanging hugs. We hold that the results of this experiment would stand up even if he dropped Leavitt into an Asian, Hispanic, or Black household.