Apologies for the delays, but we had to wait in a hospital with a friend who turned out to be fine. We did get to hang out in an Atlanta ER all night, though, and that will certainly fill your ghoulish imagery tank for months with ease. Oh, and we got to read on our phone about this astonishing story.
We would bet that this involved Dana Holgorsen wanting to play Space Chess for money, or maybe demanding that they open a baccarat table on the ceiling. Why on the ceiling? WHY NOT, HAYSEED CASINO MANAGER I'M DANA FUCKING HOLGORSEN, BARBARIAN KING OF THE LOW PLAINS, POINTS-SHEPHERD OF VALDOSTA, AND SEX-CAESAR OF THE TULSA METROPOLITAN AREA. Fear him, and serve him another drink while you get busy nailing a quality gaming table to the ceiling to make this magic happen.
Multiple sources told the Charleston Daily Mail Holgorsen was removed from Mardi Gras Casino & Resort after 3 a.m. May 18. Holgorsen had been at a Mountaineer Athletic Club function earlier in the day in Logan before spending the evening at the casino with other university representatives.
Holgorsen's behavior allegedly reached a point that necessitated involvement from on-site security, sources said. Holgorsen was escorted out of the casino with the episode caught on surveillance. University representatives who were with Holgorsen were said to have then intervened. No arrest was made.
The less spicy rumor is that Holgorsen was cut off by the bartender, did not like this, and then made such a blue stink about it that casino management was alerted. Let he who is without a record of being thrown out of casinos and bars cast the first stone, because those places are way too touchy about things like our habit of throwing every third card dealt over our shoulder for good luck and pouring one out on the table for our dead homies. We're not gonna judge, man.
What we will say is that Bill Stewart has never set foot in a casino. Nope, those pits of electronic devilment have nothing for an old mountain man like himself. Neon gives the pleurisy, and those whirring bells and fooferaw have nothing on the thrills of an old mumblety-peg game done beneath the moonlight in a West Virginia holler. Bill Stewart won the West Virginia job that way, actually, and he'll tell you the tale of his pocket-knife wizardry sometime after everyone figures out what the hell to do about their coaching heir-apparent turning into Li'l Wayne in one of nature's wilder and more wonderful casinos.
A closing note about that casino. This is from their website:
After a day in our fast-paced, exciting West Virginia casino, lounge by the pool or soak your aching muscles in the Jacuzzi.
Dude, what the fuck kind of gambling are you doing where you're going to get sore? Are bear wrestling, Virginia Branding, caber-tusslin', and mineshaft swandive survival all actual games at this casino? Since there is a dog track, are YOU the one trying to outrun the dogs? If any of these is true, this is officially the greatest casino on the planet, and Holgorsen's excitement was totally understandable.
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