Editors Note:


EDITOR'S NOTE: Fresh off a three year managerial stint, your friendly neighborhood lenslinger is back on the street and under heavy deadline. As the numbing effects of his self-imposed containment wear off, vexing reflections and pithy epistles are sure to follow...

Tuesday, September 25, 2007

Apoplexy in Orange

As a heterosexual Southern male who still doesn't get society's fascination with organized athletics, I don't shoot alot of sports. But even a Philistine like myself has covered an after-game press conference or two. Usually they're pretty routine; someone sweaty in a bright costume laments or jubilates his team's performance as assorted reporters hang on his every cliche. From where I squat, it's quite drab duty. Unless of course, one of the coaches in question gets a little testy - a common enough occurence in the world of arrested testosterone and matching outfits. Mike Gundy, however, has taken the post-game tantrum to a whole new level, and I salute him. Outraged over a newspaper article criticizing one of his quarterbacks, Gundy cast aside all decorum and turned anger into performance art. The inevitable clip of his wrath and spittle quickly hit the internets, attracting the attention of even the most ardent non-sports fans (like me). Thank you, Coach Gundy. Not only have you provided a nation of laptop addicts with infinite giggles, you justified my derision of team athletics and allowed the entire writing staff of Saturday Night Live to take the rest of the week off. For that, you deserve some time off yourself - or at the very least - a deep tissue massage. For all I know, your rant was more than just - but at this point that hardly matters. What does matter is you've snapped me out of my funk, for there's nothing more entertaining than a grown man dressed in orange on the verge of defecation. Now, hit the showers. Please.

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