Interview With Beck

From the Files of Lloyd
Meeting/Interview with Tim Beck, Offensive Coordinator, Nebraska
2 Nov 14
     I got the chance to talk to Tim Beck. He's been under a lot of criticism lately, and I wanted to get a chance to really get his thoughts on the matter. His responses in the local fishwrap and the nightly news have been too, circumspect, too tightly wound and delivered. I don't think the average fan is getting to see the real Tim Beck.
     I called in a favor. I helped him out with a little COINTELPRO operation that makes 'Spy-Gate' for the Patriots look like an episode of 'I Spy'. Not saying when or where it happened.
     I rolled to the rendezvous point. The local Kiddie Kasino on a school day is a great location. If you go to the upstairs area, you can survey anyone coming in, not that anyone does, and if anyone does come in, they are usually too focused on the flashing lights and the machines vomiting tickets to pay too much attention to anyone else.
     I grabbed a couple slices of Vals (bleh) and pop and sat him down. He was agitated, not his normal, 'I'm too busy to do this' agitation. He was looking as wound up as an old, 50's alien invasion robot toy and the spring was pulling on its housing. One more twist of the key, and Kapow.
     "So, Timmy, what's going on?" I asked in a clear, cool voice. I didn't want to be the one to push him over.
     "You know what, maan," he rasped. "This is the part of the job that sucks. You know what I mean?"
     "No. What sucks?"
     "We go out there, maan. My guys. We drop 35 points on Purdue. We Drop 42 on Rutgers and it's not good enough. Can't win, maan, you dig?"
       "Well, they did look kind of sloppy in both games."
     "You don't think I know that. Man, I got the best god-damned view in the house. I see stuff, maan, I see everything, dig?"
     "I get that. You know, the fans--"
     "The fans?" he spat. "You mean those jack-offs who sit around drinking their red beers and maybe devote a half-hour a day, make that an hour if they listen to Jack-Off and Suck-Me on the local sports radio show. Those guys, who think that because they've been sitting on their asses, flipping through the dial every Saturday, all of a sudden become gurus of football. Those guys?"
     "Well, yeah. But my point--"
     "Those guys can blow me. I'm out there, every freaking day, maan. Every day. You think I know what Mark Pelini does on game-day that makes it so he can't snap the fuckin' ball right. Never does it in practice. Never. Snaps as beautiful as you'll see. He's like John freakin' Fitzgerald in practice."
     "John Fitzgerald?"
     "Center for the Cowboys in the 70's. Shotgun City, baby."
     "Oh. OK. But what about the play-calling?"
     "Oh, maan, the play-calling. Some people are just never satisfied. Every time a play doesn't go right, it's my fault. I hear it, maan. Those same arm-chair coordinators are screaming at their fuckin' TV's every time I call a play that doesn't work out. I got two things to say about that. Every play. Every single play has got 11 kids that have to do enough to make it work. On the other side there are 11 kids doing their damndest to stop it. Then I've got a guy over in the other press box who is trying to keep his job by making me try to do my best. Riddle me this, maan. If Tommy sees Kenny on that pass that he threw to his bff, and Kenny takes it to the end-zone, then I'm a freakin' genius, right? But, noooo, Tommy misses, incomplete. And I'm the moron. I cant go out there and throw the fuckin' ball for him."
      "What was the other thing?"
     "Complaining about the O.C. is treated as a birthright, in Nebraska. Look into it, maan. Old-school La-Z-Boy coaches screamed at the T.V. whenever Tom (all praise be to his name) would run the option to the short side of the field...and it didn't work. I'm sure Billy Sodbuster, in Alda, used to pound the radio in his combine every time it was 3rd and greater than 15 and Tom (glory to his highest) would call the god-damned draw play."
     "You have to admit, though, the yardage hasn't --"
     "Fuck yards. The only people who cite yard stats are fantasy Jack-Offs and people who really don't get it."
     "Get what?"
     "Points is what wins the game. Points. If I get the ball at my own five, drive it all the way down to the opponent's five and come away with nothing, that is a failure. If I get the ball at their 20, and punch it in on the very next play, that is success. In one drive I get 90 yards. Big fuckin' deal, maan. That and three bucks will get me a mocha. Whoop-de-fuckin' do. In the other, I get points, seven of them. Look at it this way, maan. You're going to the moon. If you land on the moon, you're awesome. If you don't, nobody looks at the 238,000 miles you travelled and gives you a consolation prize. You don't get 4 points for getting into the red-zone."
     "Some people point at the compensation--"
     "Stop right there, maan. Yes, I get 700K to do what I do. I've got a good agent and a good sense of self worth. There are 120 guys with my job description. Narrow that down to the what, 66 guys in the power five conferences. Narrow that further to the 20 or so guys who are expected to keep their teams in the hunt, every single year. I figure I'm worth it, maan. Hell, I think the 700K might not be enough tom put up with all the bullshit. Maybe I should take that Kansas gig. I could get more cash, and have lower expectations."
     "You don't think the expectations, here, are justified?"
     "Expectations? Here? Justified? You tell me. A win isn't good enough. A good, win, 20+ points isn't good enough. Every little aspect is picked over and the fans forget that football is a dynamic, fluid game. Weird shit happens. I get that part, I know they want the best, but there are some fans out there that wouldn't be happy if we blew out Wisconsin  by 50 points and I arranged a orgy with the cheerleaders for them."
      The pizza was getting cold and the pop was getting low. I wanted to continue the conversation.
Part 2 to follow.