My sit-down interview that is not imagined (here's lookin' at you, Clemson fans!) began with a schooling from Will Muschamp and was supposed to continue with a chat about the offense with Greg Davis and Major Applewhite. Unfortunately, what was intended to be a brief and innocuous interlude took on a life of its own. If Part 2 is still to follow, then this is Part 1.5. Is it Saturday yet? I'm losing it... I've lost my mind.

PB: [as Muschamp exits, the room temperature noticeably rises several degrees]  Okaaaaay, then!  [laughs awkwardly. Brown, Applewhite, and Davis sit silently.]  Hey now: the rest of this interview doesn't entail me dressing up as Ruffin McNeil, does it? [awkward laugh, part two. more silence.]  Yikes... Not Fletch fans, I see.

Major Applewhite:  No, no.  [in best Harry S. Truman voice]  I'm trying to quit.  [all laugh hysterically]

Mack Brown:  [resignedly]  Now wait just a second, Major. I didn't want to do this, but... [pauses for dramatic effect]  I'm afraid I'm going to have to pull rank on you. I'm with the mattress police.  [another round of laughter from all]

PB: [after waiting for everyone to settle down]  Okay guys, well I do want to get to the offense vs Tech here in a moment, but I thought...  [trying not to laugh]  I thought we'd start with another story I've been working on...

Applewhite:  [eagerly]  The off-track betting in the Himalayas? [the laughter peaks]

Mack:  It's a smaller story, but I know you've been following it!  [howling fills the room]

Greg Davis:  [to Mack and Applewhite]  Why don't you two go down to the gym and pump each other!  [all laughter immediately ceases, a deafening silence filling the room]  Wait, what? No! Hey, come on! It's from Fletch!

Mack:  [shaking head in disappointment]  Not funny, Greg.

Applewhite:  Not funny at all.

Timing is everything.

Applewhite:  Like zero points against OU with Vince Young bad!  [more uncontrollable laughter from all but Davis, who pouts.]

Mack:  Okay, okay.  [restoring order]  We all have our bad moments we could talk about.  Greg's not the only one here with demons.  [pats Davis on leg]

Davis:  THANK YOU. I was about to--

Mack:  [cutting him off]  And I'm proud of him. For not being ashamed to admit to me that he had syphilis.  [totally deadpan, as Applewhite and PB die from laughter]  It takes a lot for a man to admit where he got it from...  [trying not to laugh, but losing it]  and how he got it. 

Applewhite:  [between heaves of laughter]  Look at you today, Greg. You look just wonderful. The nose looks normal again. The face has come back into shape. You're not drooling anymore. [feet-stomping laughter]

PB:  [carried away, rising from his chair as if to make a speech]  And hats off to Mrs. Greg Davis, huh? Because that whole experience...  [grabs a stapler to use as a prop microphone]  The three weeks she stayed at Trembling Hills has paid off. No more alcohol or sedatives in her life...

Davis:  [interrupts, his voice solemn and hushed]  Peter...  [looks down at the floor]  My wife passed on from...  [total silence]  Marla fought so hard to stop drinking... [trails off. Applewhite pats him consolingly on the back]

PB:  [beyond ashamed]  Oh my God....  Coach... Coach,  I'm really, really sorry.  I had no idea. Please forgive me.

Davis:  [finally looking up from the floor]  Wooooooo - gotcha!  [pointing and laughing at PB]  Oh my!! The look on your face!

Mack:  [hooting, Mack-clapping]  Marla?!?  Of all the names you could have made up!  [still Mack-clappping]  It took all I had not to laugh and give you away!

Applewhite:  Me too! "She fought so hard..."  Killed me! Oh but so worth it! His face went entirely white!  [the coaches exchange high fives, laughing wildly]

Mack:  [exaggerated mocking voice]  Coach... Coach...  Please forgive me, Coach!  [Applewhite rolls off his chair, clutching his abdomen as he laughs.]

PB:  [trying to be heard over the cackling]  I THINK I'M READY TO TALK ABOUT FOOTBALL.

Davis:  [between heaves of laughter]  Sure, sure. Just as soon as we check the flourocarbon output!  [Applewhite is laughing so hard he's crying]

PB:  [totally flustered]  That doesn't even remotely make sense!

Mack:  [slapping both knees as he laughs]  Flourocarbons! Amazing!

PB:  [with indignation, as the coaches wipe away laugh-tears and strive for composure]  Absolutely. Un-be-lievable.  You're all damn lucky Muschamp isn't still here.

Muschamp:  [a surprise response from down the hallway, sounding in no mood for juvenile games]  I don't know about this...

PB:  [as the other three coaches scramble for their chairs like teenage boys trying not to be caught in a girls' dormitory, PB calls out smugly]  A little louder?  [inviting the no-nonsense coach to come regulate]  You don't know what? 

Muschamp:  [Brown, Davis, and Applewhite sit rigidly in their chairs, afraid to breathe, as Muschamp pokes his head into the office, scowling]  Are these guys giving you trouble, Blog Guy?

PB: [triumphantly]  They are.

Muschamp:  [looking and sounding angrier by the moment]  I... I don't know...  [the other coaches are too afraid to look]

PB:  [expectantly]  You don't know what?

Muschamp:  I don't know...  that that's even a crime these days. There've been a lot of changes in the law!  [all but PB erupt in laughter]

Mack:  [leaping up, Mack-clapping at over 95 CPMs]  Hoooooo!  [high-fiving a beaming Muschamp]  Touuuuuuuchdown!  Texas 6,  Blog Guy 0.

Coaches:  [in unison, and clearly not for the first time]  'TIL GA-BRIEL. BLOWS. HIS. HORRRRRRRN!

Muschamp:  [high-stepping around the perimeter of the room]  WE MUST PROTECT THIS HOUSE!

Coaches:  [now huddling together]  WHOSE HOUSE?!

Muschamp:  [breaks suddenly from huddle, charges to within an inch of PB's face, and screams violently]  OUR HOUSE!

Other Coaches:  [louder]  WHOSE HOUSE?!!

Muschamp: [smearing black sun-shield across his face like war paint, his lips quiver with intensity as he screams at PB]  OUR!!  HOUSE!!  [urine now gushing down the side of his leg, PB weeps.]   Peeeee! B!  Peeeee! B!  [Muschamp starts a taunting chant, which the others quickly join. the train is officially off the tracks.]

Davis:  [just as the coaches' hysteria peaks]  LET'S DO THE TOMAHAWK CHOP!  [begins prancing in small circles, chopping the air on each down beat as though at an Florida State game]  WHOAAAA-OH-WAH-AH-OHHH!  [chop. chop.]  WAH-AH-OHH! OH! WAH-AH-OH!  [Davis gets through four full iterations of the chant before realizing no one has joined him. the others stare disgustedly]

Applewhite:  [shaking head]  Jesus, Greg.  I wasn't sure anything could kill that rally. And then... wow.  What in the hell possesed you to do that?? Wait. Don't answer. I don't wanna know.  [departs in stunned disbelief]

Muschamp:  [wiping war paint from face]  I... I'm going to be sick.  [pauses by the door as he leaves, looking back towards Davis with a sneer]  Fire Greg Davis.  [marches away]

Mack:  I've done a lot for you, Greg. And you know I'd do almost anything.  [walking away]  But not that.  Not that, Greg.

Davis:  [slumps into a chair, sitting silent and motionless for several minutes. finally, he looks over at PB.]  You wanna talk about the game?

PB:  [not fully emerged from post-trauma shock]  I just...  I...  I just wet myself.

Davis:  [after thinking for several minutes]  You know, what, PB?  [looking up towards nothing in particular]  Some days... you're the guy who killed the party with a call to do the Chop. And some days... well, some days it's you with the wet pants.  [a hint of a smile]  But some days... It's good... 'cause some days you're not.

PB: [five minutes later]  That...  What you just said...  [pauses, trying to find the right words]  That may be the single stupidest thing I have ever heard anyone say in my entire life.  [shakes head and chuckles]  And yet... somehow, it was just the right thing to say.

Davis: [quietly]  It's something my Aunt Marla would have said.

PB: This time I believe you. Now let's talk about how you're gonna score points on Saturday.