The guys we want to be absolute skirt-thieves really aren't:
--Pete Carroll, who'd invite you over for some macrobiotic dinner, a gentle round of Pilates, and then a night hike through the canyon capped with a really great Willamette Valley Pinot Noir they only make thirty bottles of a year and some quality chundle-rubbin' in the hot tub while Thievery Corporation plays in the background.
--The Orgeron, who'd bust your door down drunk and pantsless, but in an irresistably charming way.
--Urban Meyer, who would text his way into your heart with relentless intensity.
--Rich Rodriguez, author and creator of the unstoppable spread option. (If anyone should be a playa, it's the guy who invented the spread option. )
--And lastly, Alvin Wyatt, Bethune-Cookman coach, purveyor of the "Wyattbone" offense, and best-dressed coach in the NCAA. If anything screams instant and reckless sex, it's a man who runs the Wyattbone straight up the middle for a score.
Come on go with me...come on over to my plaaaaace...
But Glen Mason? That's just incongruous and wrong. We like our womanizers slick and obvious, and our homosexuals FLAAAAMING. We insist on some surefire certainties in our lives, like [NAME REDACTED] blowing fourth quarter leads and headbutting coke machines, for instance. It just helps us sleep through the sounds of the screaming lambs in our head at night.