A Phone Rings in the Lexington Best Western…

Billy Clyde [stares at the phone for a couple of rings like he doesn’t know what it is before finally picking up]: “Mmmmmm…yello.”

Larry Eustachy: [very animated, obviously still drunk from the night before] “WHAT’S…UP…BRUTHAH?!?”

BCG: “Oh, hey dude. You know…just shit and shit.”

LE: “Doood…what’s this shit I’m reading on the news about you getting fired?”

BCG: “Look, man, I don’t know. These hillbillies up here are about as ass-backwards as anyone I’ve ever met. Do you know that they had me playing in the old gym because the fucking high schools had to play in mine? Seriously, dude.”

LE: “Dude. What the fuck?”

BCG: “I know, right?”

[long pause as both tug off of lukewarm Keystone Lights]

LE: “What’s the deal for this weekend? We still headin’ over to Possum Kingdom?”

BCG: “I guess so. I tried to get mom to let me have the lakehouse for the weekend, but she’s got her friends coming over to smoke and play Skipbo. I can’t stand cigarette smoke.”

LE: “But we are still on for the field party, right? Didn’t you say one of your old Graford homeboys had a place we could wreck?”

BCG: “Oh, hells yeah, son. As long as you bring some back-up bitches, though. I drug Mineral Wells dry last time so we gots to get some extra cooze on the line if we are gonna do this thing Wildcat style. And don’t show up with any of those fat ones you had up in Ohio or wherever the fuck you were. Mooo…”

LE: “You know, I’ve been thinking. You and I both had pretty good things going. You ever thought of drying out for a couple of years and then cranking it back up once you actually did something with yourself? I mean, do you think we’ll still be doing this same shit in 10 years?”

BCG: “What the fuck are you talking about, dude? I’m still goin’ STRONG up here. I’m gonna fuck these bitches ’till they love me and when it’s all over I’m going to piss the bed and go back home. That’s the life of a head coach these days. Seriously…what would Eddie Sutton say if you heard all this fagtalk?”

LE: “Yeah, but maybe we should just tone it down for a bit, you know? Just to make it easier on ourselves. I’m still getting text messages asking me if you really passed out in a hotel fountain with a couple of coeds.”

BCG: “WORD?!? Dude, that was so ripped apart. The best part was when the cops came and tried to get us to come out of the water, I just whipped it out and pissed in their fountain. This old lady was watching the whole thing from behind the cops. Tell me what to do, shit.”

LE: “I guess you are right. So what now?”

BCG: “What now? I tell you what now. I got my money, and these guys have to pay me anyway because of my contract. See, that’s the thing…you get it in writing and you got ’em by the balls. I’m gonna be back on top next year, you’ll see. I’ll be swinging from the rafters at Rupp wearing nothing but my maroon tie that fatfuck Byrne gave me when I got hired at A&M. Hell, I may wrap it around my gear and let it hang to the ground so I can step on it from time to time for effect. You just get your junk ready for action this weekend. Don’t worry about rubbers, because we are riding bareback, homes.”

LE: “Speaking of…did you ever actually sign that contract?”

BCG “…of course, I signed it. Got it right…here…hold on, let me get it…”[rustling around, knocking over his pyramid of beer cans]: “Oh, shit. Dude, I gotta go.”

[dialtone]

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