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Open Yo Checkbook, Bitch: How WSU Tapped Mike Leach’s Ass

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It’s a true underdog story. Little Washington State University, the fightin’ Cougs, taking on the world and succeeding by landing Mike F**kin’ Leach, head football coach extraordinaire. Inspirational? Yes. Improbable? Certainly. Insane? Basically.

The high school nerd doesn’t just bag the prom queen this easily. There has to be some crazy shit going on behind the scenes. Naked pictures may have been exchanged, blackmail may have ensued, we don’t know for sure. But what we can safely assume is that there has never been a more exciting day in Wazzu history than November 30th, 2011. Never. Imagine if the local John Deere store had a going-out-of-business sale. Or if Oroweat decided to work exclusively with farmers on the Palouse. Those are the only banner events that I could see creating more excitement for the Crimson-and-Gray faithful than what occurred on Wednesday.

As a University of Washington alum and diehard Husky fan, I applaud the move made by our in-state rivals. Anytime you have a chance to catch the big fish — *cough* Tyrone Willingham *cough* — you have to capitalize. And that’s exactly what WSU did. Will it work out for them? Only time will tell. My honest opinion is that it will work in the short-term, but fail in the long-term. Why? It’s simple, really. Hiring a guy like Mike Leach to be your coach is like dating a smoking hot chick who happens to be crazy as all hell. Allow me to elaborate.

When you first meet a smoking hot chick who happens to be crazy as all hell, you couldn’t be more thrilled. Your friends are impressed, your dick is on high alert, and frankly, you don’t know she’s crazy yet. These are all great things. So what happens next? You go home, you make out, you have sex, and the next morning you find yourself handcuffed to the bed. What the hell is this, you think. How did this happen?

That’s when she walks into the room. Hey, girl, get me out of these handcuffs, you say. But she has your phone in her hand. And she’s scrolling through your texts. Oh god. This can’t be good. That’s when she snaps.

“Who are all these hos you’ve been texting with? I thought you were all about me!”

We just met last night, you explain. How could I have known we were going to meet? What the hell is wrong with you? Why are you doing this to me? That’s when you start to panic. Tears may ensue. It’s okay, just go with it. Sometimes it’s good to cry.

She throws your phone down. Damn it, you think. That was an iPhone 4S. Replacing that is gonna be a bitch. But whatever, you have bigger problems. Like survival. What the f**k is going on right now?!

“Alright, I’ll unlock you,” she says. You exhale. Saved. “But you should know that I’m pregnant. And it’s your baby.”

Now you’re sweating again. Is there any way for a girl to tell after one night if she’s pregnant? Do they have home test kits for that? Does it happen that fast? Think back to health class, think back to health class! She’s probably lying. But you can’t call her on it. She might kill you. You are in no position to argue. Get creative!

Well, you tell her, that’s great. Because I’ve always wanted to be a dad. And you’d make a great mom. And then you smile.

She smiles back. She unlocks you. You get dressed quicker than a kid in the Penn State locker room. You grab the remnants of your iPhone. You do the self-patdown: keys, phone (remnants of phone), wallet, you’re good. You turn. She’s sobbing. What the f**k.

Why are you crying, you ask.

“I know you’re gonna leave me. You’ll leave this apartment and I’ll never see you again. And you don’t understand. I love you. I love you so much!”

You start to think up a response. You stutter a bit. You try to choose your words carefully. You have it all figured out. And then the exact opposite of what you just thought in your head exits your lips.

“Chick, you are crazy.”

RUN! RUN! RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!!!

So yeah, that’s what I think when I picture the future of Mike Leach and WSU. It’ll be fun for a little while. But shit could turn sour real fast. And when it does, you might just find yourself strapped to a bed with no more iPhone. That’s not cool.

Oh, and what about Bill Moos asking you to open your checkbooks, Coug fans? That’s a little petty, don’t you think? It’s like if someone got you this great Christmas gift and immediately said, “You better hook me up next year, bro. I mean it. I went all out for this. Now it’s on you.” What the hell, dick. I didn’t ask for this. Thanks for delivering, but come on. You know I can’t afford more than a scarf and gloves. Damn.

And what’s Moos gonna spend your hard-earned wages on, anyway? Stadium’s already being renovated. Basketball program already has a good group in place. Baseball’s doing just fine. You’ve got a clothing deal with Nike (moved past the Russell Athletic debacle, I see). Is he going to improve your Title IX sports? Is he going to take Butch T. Coug to an expensive groomer? Will he build a statue in his own honor? Will he build a statue in Mike Leach’s honor?

Or will he use it on hookers and blow? That would be my guess. Hookers and blow. And you know where that money goes, right? Straight to the pocket of Venoy Overton. And Venoy? Where does his cash go? You guessed it, Coug fans. The University of Washington.

Boom. Served.

Enjoy Mike Leach. At least you can say you hit that.


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