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Today In T-Boone's Office: Part III

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Gundy.

Gundy!

GUNDY!

Sorry sir! Was just running a shammy over your Maybach and as I was sprinting in, I caught my femur in one of those wolverine traps you keep in the hallway. Why you gotta bait it with Skittles? They are so enticing.

Don't bleed on the alpaca. Now, did you park your I-ROC near my conveyance, Gundy? In the handicap space?

....Ummmm. No. No! Yeah. No. Nyyyyep.

You did, didn't you. That just beats all, shitbird.

I needed the space to take off the T-Top on my 'ROC. It's a fine day outside and I wanted to feel the wind in my visor. We're 6-0 and I can hardly believe it!

I feel drunk and giddy, sir!

I stood in the parking lot, lookin' up, with my head tilted back - like the first time I saw a tall building in Oklahoma City when I was 19 - I put out my arms akimbo, and I just was spinnin' and spinnin' round like Mary Tyler Moore in the opening sequence when she knows she's gonna make it after all and Lou Grant proves to be both a gruff but supportive mentor for this gutty girl with only a dream and some cheap eyeliner. Sometimes I wish I were still that guileless ingenue and that you were my Lou Grant, dispensing tough love with a warm hug, my face nestled in the crook of your shoulder, smelling your reassuring musk...

Sweet Virgin Mary in a Lane Bryant! You're babbling son. Yeah, things been lookin' up around here since I hired that bald Charlie Brown looking kid to run the offense and moved your office out to the Agronomy portables. Zip it with the Mary Tyler Moore shit.

Coach Holgorsen has been a fine addition to the staff and we have found the collaboration mutually productive as his presence has allowed me to focus on larger issues relevant to...

You're not allowed within 50 feet of Holgorosen's offense on the practice field and on game day your headset only carries tunes from the Mamas and The Papas...

...the progress of this offensive football team of which I am still the...

Last week we put you in an impromptu prison made of tackling dummies and water coolers when you tried to give a halftime speech in Lubbock. Kendall Hunter freed you during a TV time out in the 4th quarter...

...head coach and my leadership is unquestioned.

Moving on.

Nebraska is coming to town and their vaginas are aching real fierce. And Dr Tom's PHD ain't in gynecology. You get my drift, shitbird?

Ummm....you're suggesting Texas gave Nebraska gave chlamydia, sir? Cuz that's no big deal. There's an Indian fella at the student health center who will look at your peter and then you give you a shot. Voila! You can still go to the Delta Gamma crush party.

Listen closely as I translate: Nebraska invested a lot in that Texas game. They got whipped. They benched their QB. They are reeling. The Pelinis are reeling. The time is ripe for a coup de grace. Do you comprende?

Sir, you know I do not speak the French.

(sighs) Nebraska much sad. Nebraska come to Stillwater. Road game. Ambush. Cowboys prepared?

(Nods enthusiastically)

Don't just nod, Gundy. Give me verbal affirmation of your understanding.

Frankly, I have no idea what you're hinting at.

ARE. WE. GOING. TO. BEAT. NEBRASKA? Question mark? Exclamation point.

Nebraska! We play them this Saturday! I'm going!

I give up. Listen, one more order of business.

You want me to get you tickets, sir?

No, Gundy. I suspect I'll find some.

I want to caution you - don't mess with Weeden. I know he's your stepdad and you've had some rough moments, but Weeden is a good kid. A good 43 year old kid. So you need to stop writing things about him on the white board in team meetings or aiming the jugs machine at his F-150. In fact, there's no reason for you to talk to Weeden at all. Just show up, listen to the music we pipe in, and let your assistants do the coaching, OK? Leave Weeden alone. Got it?

Why so quiet? Are you crying again?

He won't have a catch with me. All I want is to do father-son things. Like go to the midget auto races in Enid. Or have a catch.

Fine. I'll talk to Weeden. Maybe he'll have a catch with you.

We're gonna make it after all, aren't we, sir?

....