A kitchen in a generic but pleasant luxury home. It's a kitchen with the expensive granite countertops from every Cribs episode ever. There is a nook. The coach sits in it, regarding his well-manicured backyard. He ponders the possibilities of the coming year, and makes some promises to himself.
(File photo of Coach Anonymous)
Maybe I'll do things differently this year. Really watch what I eat. Did you see yourself on the sideline on the highlights? Whew, thank God for loose jackets. Gonna run three miles a day. That's not a lot. You can do that, champ. Go buy some new shoes, get on that treadmill, take a turn around the block or two. Set a good example for the players.
A rustling from the counter interrupts his thoughts. A reedy, coughing voice, high and shrlll, speaks. Mariachi music plays in the background from somewhere.
You'll run around the block...OF CHEESE, FATTY. Ho, boy will you! You'll do laps around it, just dipping chip after chip into that nuke-orange pipe-clogger, won't you? I saw you last night when you got home. You sure did run the Oklahoma drill with that cake in the fridge, because it got into your mouth Sooner rather than later! I've got puns and enriched corn flour! YOU CAN'T RESIST EITHER, FATRICK TITZGERALD, COACH OF PORKWESTERN.
I'm just trying to make some changes, and--Jesus, you're disturbing. Your hands are the worst part. They can't even reach anything.
They reached your wife when she had me in her mouth last night.
Oh fine, we're now just doing that. Just sit there making fun of someone trying to change their life for the better. I'm going to be better in a lot of different ways in 2011. I'm going to go for it on 4th down a little more, now that we're talking about it. Field goals aren't everything.
HAHAAHA LISTEN TO YOURSELF. Field goals are the bowl of wrapped Hershey minis you hit with the fruit sitting two feet away. Seriously, that's how pathetic you are. Two feet between you and a reasonable choice, and you can't go 24 inches to make the right call. Wait, that's exactly what you do when you send out the kicker! Never mind, you probably shouldn't go for it. You'll just come up a few inches short, anyway, and doing that in the bedroom AND on the football field is just redundant, frankly.
It's also redundant because in both cases you let a 19 year old with "a big leg" take care of business when you should do it yourself.
My wife is not having an affair.
Well, I don't have eyes, but I hear things in this cabinet, pal, and if that's how you make a Panini when the kids are gone at noon-thirty on a Thursday, I'm never touching a sandwich again. But your pool has never been cleaner, coach, and there's something to be said for that going into another year of being too busy to have sex with your wife.
You're the meanest bag of chips I've ever met in my life.
No, go on. Seriously, I want to hear more of your plans.
Well, I was thinking about working fewer hours.
That's a great idea. No, go ahead and do it. You have no hobbies, you hate golf, and you like giving orders to people terrified of your every move. See how that goes in a Lowe's when you need an air filter. You'll end up testing out a hammer on an employee. Oh, hooooah, this is a great idea. You'll be like a chimp released into the sun for the first time after years in a medical facility. WHAT IS THAT BURNING THING IN THE SKY? AHAHAHAA no please, I want film of the first time you try to "relax." It'll be like watching a cat get bathed.
I could delegate.
Oh, helloooooo Hack Brown. Have you seen your assistants? Including your brother, who's in his 43rd straight week of "simulating" games on his XBox? And your special teams coach, who's like eight walking sexual harassment suits in one, and who at this very moment is trying to explain "If it's halfway in it doesn't count" to a particularly comely washing machine in the laundry room?
Is it illegal to harass machinery? I thought we could just limit it to that after that thing with the booster's daughter.
It's legal, but when the machines take over, it won't be, and you should be ready for that.
I...I guess I should just keep doing what I'm doing until I'm fired? Just being a miserable, fat, sleepless, control freak?
Is your name Les Miles, Mike Leach, or Nick Saban?
Saban doesn't count. His blood is acid or something. I saw him lick the moisture off a nearby air conditioning vent rather than leave the film room for a drink once, and then eat a fly off the wall.
Okay, but you're not the other guys? Then yeah. That's where you're at. But look at those countertops, pal!
They are nice.
Hey, it's not all nacho dust and butt-juice, buddy. It could be worse.
You're could be Derek Dooley.
Aww, Mean-ass Bag of Chips. You're the best.