Nick Saban approaches the podium, looking drawn and fatigued. Cameras pop idly. The press conference begins.

Reporter one, wiping donut grease off chin: “Coach, how do you recover from a catastrophe like this?”

Coach Saban:“Changes in history usually occur after some kind of catastrophic event. It may be 9-11, which sort of changed the spirit of America relative to catastrophic events. Pearl Harbor kind of got us ready for World War II, or whatever, and that was a catastrophic event.”

Reporter two, putting down a cup of whole gravy: “Are you sure that’s the right phrasing?”

Coach Saban: “Look, I’m sure it’s the right phrasing. It’s just like the way I would describe John Parker Wilson’s play as ‘AIDS-y.” Which is not what I called it, by the way. I’m just saying that one could describe his play as being reminiscent of an autoimmune disease with no known cure that’s killed millions around the globe. You could say that, that’s all I’m saying.”

Reporter two: “Is that how you’d describe Wilson’s play? AIDS-y?”

Saban: (chuckles.)”No, no. It wasn’t AIDS-y at all. I would never say that about his play.”

Reporter two: “Then how would you describe it?”

Saban: “Holocaust-tastic. That’s the right word, I think.”

Reporter one, dumping the last salty powder from a family-sized bag of chips into his gullet: “Coach Saban, what about the play of your offensive line?”

Saban:”I’d like to say we were raped. Or gang-raped, as it were, like the women of Nanjing, China during the Japan-China conflict. Or perhaps overcome like the nation of Bangladesh in a floor, or like the people of Bhopal, India were when poison gas killed thousands. In fact, it was just like that. We went to sleep, and we never woke up just like those people.”

Reporter one, coughing up Dorito-dust: “Are you sure those are the right words?”

Saban: “Yes, actually. You might call it Bhopal-licious. But just like in Bhopal, or in Bangladesh, or even in the case of a gang-rape situation at sea with no hope of rescue, only the tough survive. I mean, look at those places now. They’re doing better than they ever have after disaster. That’s exactly what we’ll do…”

Reporter two: “…coach, I wanted to…”

Saban: “…wait, I’m not done. Take the Native Americans. Only the tough ones survived, and now they’re rolling in it with casinos and such. Rich Indians, the tough ones. That’s gonna be us. Right now, everyone’s stumbling around drunk on firewater and dying of smallpox, but lemme tell ya: we’ll be the ones with the chips and big teepees when this is over, y’all.”

Reporter three, finishing a three inch piece of brisket: “Um, coach, I think we might want to move on to a different line of questioning…”

Saban: “…or maybe like man versus bear fights. If you’re like me, you just get it into your blood after a while: a man, an unmuzzled bear, and a dimly lit pit filled with cash. There’s just nothing like it, really, especially when you’ve got an immigrant in there. You know, an illegal playing for a fake green card, or better yet for the lives of one of his kidnapped relatives. Whew, I tell you what: they’ll fight like crazy for their kidnapped family members.

Anyway, only the tough ones survive, and that’s what we’re talking about here. Toughness. We’ve just got to get tougher. Next question.”

Reporter three, gape-mouthed: “Um, coach…who was the best…um…bear fighter you’ve ever seen?”

Saban: “No question: Ed Orgeron. Any other questions? Any…”

The reporters sprint to their laptops, leaving Nick Saban in an empty room filled with chicken bones, snack wrappers, and empty Starbucks’ cups. Alabama’s PR man is in the corner with a can of gas and a match.

PR guy: “You mind if I…”

Saban: (shakes head) Go ahead. I don’t have time for this shit.