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.
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.