OlE MISS INSIDE INFO

[mannish]

Wednesdays With Ed (Coach O) - Be Of Good Cheer
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First of all, let me just say this. We've settled the
damn reading debate.

Before our game against Vanderbilt last week, I walked
right over to the damn Vanderbilt coach and I said
"Hey, Steve Martin! Get your ass over here, I got a
question."

So he comes over and I say "Is is it true that every
damn boy on your football team can read?" And he says,
"Why, yes, Coach Orgeron, all students at Vanderbilt
can read and write." Well, I figure he's taunting my
ass by throwing that writing in there on top of
reading. But just in case you wonder what reading has
to do with football, let me tell you it's NOT A DAMN
THING, because those reading-ass pansies from Vandy
felt the HOTTY-TODDY-GOD-ALMIGHTY wrath of the Ole
Miss Rebels upon them. We rolled up 177 yards on 'em,
and the Jerrell Powe Memorial 10-Man Defense held
their ass to 400 yards and WE INFLICTED DEFEAT upon
them and they will fear Ole Miss forever, and like I
told some of their players coming off the field, I
said "Hey, Smart Boy, I reckon you can read that
scoreboard." Then I told our gut-lacking Chancellor
the same damn thing, and if I ever am denied another
recruit for a FLIMSY-ASS excuse like not reading, I am
going to beat somebody into an early grave.

Of course, we played an early game and and I was fired
up like a big cross in downtown Oxford after that WIN,
so I decided I had time to drive over to Tuscaloosa
and scout our upcoming opponent. So I asked Lefty, our
NCAA compliance director, if it was OK to go and
live-scout the damn Alabama game and he said "YES SIR,
COACH O!" which is pretty much all he ever says since
the day I pulled his right arm off for telling me we
couldn't sign 175 players who are BY-GOD OLE MISS
MATERIAL in February.

I said "Good! I'm going to Tuscaloosa and you're
coming with me!" So we fire up one of the pickup
trucks that one of our millionaire boosters lets me
drive when we win a game (it only had 38 miles on it
before Saturday) and off we go. On the way to
Tuscaloosa, there's this little shack outside of
Okolona where they fry up a mean catfish mess, so I
called ahead and said "Coach O is coming through, but
I ain't got time to stop. I'll slow down as I pass by,
though, and I want EVERY DAMN OLE MISS-LOVIN EMPLOYEE
YOU GOT to throw catfish and hush puppies in the back
of the truck as I drive by. So that's what they do.
great big old buckets full of catfish going in the
truck. Some of the hush puppies missed and fell onto
Highway 6, but one of their damn busboys picks it up
and fires into the back of the truck from 60 yards
away, so I sling the door open and holler "YOU ARE
BY-GOD OLE MISS MATERIAL AND I'M A-OFFERIN' as we head
off towards Tuscaloosa. We picked him up on our way
back home, though, and you can REST BY-GOD ASSURED
that if Brent Schaeffer goes 3-for-damn-17 or whatever
the hell he was against Vanderbilt, I will put tht
hush-puppy slinging' sunuvabitch ON THE FIELD before
you can say three Hail Elis.

So we're going down the road and I keep asking Lefty
to reach back there and grab me some catfish and hush
puppies, partly because I'm hungry and partly because
if you ain't ever seen a one-armed man trying to open
a truck door and grab some greasy-ass hush puppies out
of the flatbed while travelling 90 miles an hour goin'
down Highway 82 then you DO NOT KNOW WHAT 'BY-GOD
FUNNY AS HELL' REALLY MEANS.

Anyway, we finally get to Tuscaloosa. We buy us a
couple of tickets for the Alabama game with Duke, but
I don't want to just go rolling into a seat, knowing
that there is no damn way to disguise my husky Cajun
manliness. So I put on some sunglasses and a parka and
I look for an inconspicuous place to watch the game.
"That ramp looks good," I think, so I head for the
ramp.

Well, I get up there and start watching and all of a
sudden, this damn woman, her face all painted red and
white, starts letting out a holler that I ain't heard
since alligator-mating time back in Bayou des
Cheveuax. As you know, I once set my own leg on fire
just because I wanted some toasted marshmellows, so I
don't scare easy. But this Ramp Lady makes me take a
step back or two. But after a while, I figure out that
she's not speaking in tongues, like I thought at
firsts, but it's some form of English and what she's
saying is "COOOOOACHHH SHUUUUULLLAAAA YOOOOOUUU ARE
AAAAA FREEEAKINNNN' IDJEEEEET!"

"So I go up and ask her 'Why the hell you sayin'
that?" and she says "'Cause I know every damn play we
are gonna run." Well, I don't say anything, but I'm
thinking "Holy Mother of Eli, this woman's got some
BY-GOD INSIDE INFORMATION.' So I figure I'm going to
find out what I can.'

"Well, we keep watching this game, and Alabama is also
playing one of those sorry-ass all-our-boys-can-read
teams, DUKE, and they are wallowing around, and this
Ramp Lady is wearin' Shula's ass out. The worst kind
of language and when Coach O is telling you that, you
know he don't mean Pluck and Grit. So she yells that
blue-ass language for about 58 minutes, then Alabama
scores five touchdowns in the last nine seconds or
some such crap and wins the damn game. I says to her,
"Honey, tell me about that offense," but she says "YOU
JUST WAIT A MINUTE" and then she starts yelling "HEY
DUKE, WE JUST BEAT THE HELL OUTTA YOU!!!" and then "WE
LOVE YOOOOOOUUUUU, COACH SHUUUUULAAAA!!!"

So I say "Look, honey, we got some catfish that's been
sitting in the back bed of a pickup truck for about 10
hours and I can send my boy Lefty here out to get a
case of Pabst Blue Ribbon and some Cheetos, which will
not only give us the joy of gettin' drunk but also the
PURE-DEE ENTERTAINMENT of watching him try to carry
all that crap under one arm. So you want to party or
what?"

So we head back to the truck, me and the Ramp Lady,
and I send Lefty off and I'm ready to get down to
business so I say "Tell me about that offense!" Well,"
she says, "we run No. 34 up the middle and when that
don't work, we either throw to the fullback or chuck
it downfield as far as we can."

Now, I've been in football a long time, so I know
there has got to be more to an offense than that. And
I HATE offense almost as bad as I HATE STARKVILLERS,
but even I would do a little somethin' different. I
figure they were just sand-bagging against that sorry
ass reading-and-writing Duke so as to BY GOD DECEIVE
COACH O. But this woman sees 'em every week. So I
figure I got to sweep her off her feet and get her to
talking and find out more.

I rip off my shirt and expose the hairy Cajun
manliness of my chest.

"Now tell me the rest!" I said.

"That's all there is, honey, but you sho' are cute!"
she says.

Well, I figure pretty quick that it's time to get the
hell out of there, so I fire up the truck. About that
time, Lefty's coming back with the beer, but I yell at
him "Hotty Toddy, son, my honor is at stake so you
gotta make a choice between that beer and your life,
and grab a-hold of this truck the best you can."

So we make our escape, pick up our hush-puppy slinging
signee on the way back and high-tail ourselves to
Oxford. Then we start our film study and damn if that
woman wasn't tellin' the truth about their offense all
along!

So BY GOD we are coming. We're coming early. We can't
wait BY GOD. I do not fear ALABAMA OR ANY OTHER DAMN
TEAM. I do not fear anything! Well, one thing -- I
fear hearing a voice coming down from the Ramp, sayin'
'"YOO HOO! EDDIE! REMEMBER ME!" That would frighten
any man. But BY GOD I will coach through it.

Mrs. O's Corner this week is called "Hedge Clippers
and The Cheating Husband" which is just one more
reason I'm glad I got out of Tuscaloosa when I did.

Be of good cheer.