Maureen Dowd's not the only one exploring the new and exciting world of drugs. Brady Hoke also decided to give marijuana the old college try, or at least Jane and I imagined he did:
When they passed me the jazz cigarette I tried to unroll it because I thought it was very fancy taffy from Mackinac Island.
But Coach Mattison, that ol' son of a gun, he showed me what the deal was. Maybe he learned about that sort of thing in the NFL, because at Ball State we stuck to more American pastimes, like binge drinking.
"Al left some good stuff," Greg said, which now explains the double-reverse against Notre Dame.
Of course, I'd heard rumors of the "sailor's basil" in San Diego. But I'd never tried it. I always thought that was for hippies and miscreants, like running backs who weigh under 220 or beating anyone within our division convincingly.
As I took my first puff, I was surprised as how smooth and pleasant it was, like a Domino's Sausage Crust Meat'zone with extra ranch dressing. What was so special about this supposed intoxicant?
I noticed that if I held it in for a few seconds, I felt even more euphoric, like how Mark Dantonio must feel whenever someone properly identifies where Michigan State is. I noticed that if I held it in for a few seconds, I felt even more euphoric, like how Mark Dantonio must feel whenever someone properly identifies where Michigan State is. I coughed a little, and Roy Manning laughed at me. He wasn't laughing when I made that asshole run back in 2002, i'll tell you that.
Then I started to feel a change. Everything became very slow, and very deliberate, like an Illinois-Purdue game played on a field made of oatmeal. I hadn't felt this funny since Devin threw a pick-six in his own damn end zone.Everything was hilarious. Real comedy, though. Maude type stuff. Not what you get today with your Twitters and your cables and whatever.
This was wrong. Like, "starting quarterback Joe Bauserman" wrong. I pondered the magnetic 2013 schedule on my office fridge for what felt like an eternity. One word stared back at me, and I felt my consciousness start to split.
"UConn," I heard myself say. "UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCONN." I said it until the word meant nothing. And everything. And back pain.
Greg put on a cassette tape to calm me down. Sure shootin', nothing eases the nerves better than the 1997 game against Iowa. Like watching a bunch of manly bears go up against each other in manly bear fashion. "MANBALL" I said, and then I said it again because it made my mouth feel good. Things were fine. I was in control. My body was the running game, and I had fixed it. So I took a second puff.
"Woo buddy," I said as I began to feel the high. Like Denard Robinson, I felt euphoric and elated, but like Denard Robinson, I dropped the joint right onto my new slacks. Don't worry though, these babies are scotch-guarded. Don't want to upset Mrs. Hoke - we all remember the Tomatillo Mild Salsa Incident.
This was my truest self. I pointed at different objects around the room. "Tremendous," I said to the lamp. "Tremendous," to the stapler. "Tre. Men. Dous," plastic thing that keeps my office chair from making dents in the carpet.
Everything is tremendous, and nothing is. Nothing is tremendous, because nothing is everything. I am I, and we are we, and we are Michigan.
Then I had to sit down for an interview.
Pretty much says it all right there. Go Blue. (hunts for Pizza House delivery menu)