Post Wisconsin

            Today was actually hot. Not like one of those 'Indian Summer' days, whatever that means. It wasn't Africa hot, but hot enough to make you question long pants, and consider inflicting your pasty legs on the public.

            Beads of sweat had collected in the middle of my back, and the hat was doing double duty in an oxymoronic sense. On the one hand, it was shielding my head from those terrible ultra-violet rays. On the other, it was capturing and retaining heat to the point where the sweat-band was earning hits title.

            I sought refuge from the sun and solace from the thirst by ducking into Jake's, of course. I caught sight of Lloyd. He was wearing a red t-shirt over his long-sleeved, white, dress shirt. As I got closer, I could see he had white lettering with '#Rileyaimfire' across his chest.

            I slid into the booth across from him, "A member of the Legion of Doom", I said to him. "Things aren't going better than expected, so off with their heads."

            "When things are going worse than expected, yes", he said in a really snooty air that reminded me of Niles from 'Frasier'.

            "What are your three tenants of coaching, that you always say, that regardless of how the players play, there are three things the coach and staff are always responsible for?"

            "Inspiration, preparation, and education," Lloyd replied, warily. "What are you getting at?"

            "I'm going to set aside the inherent futility of calling for a guy's head, six games into the gig. He wouldn't have taken it if the AD would have had him on a short leash. Nobody would have. The only way I see him getting booted before the end of two years is if Urban Meyer fakes another heart attack and decided to come here, because he likes a challenge."

            "If the sell-out streak ends, he's gone."

            "Nope," I said. "The boosters are all that stand between Riley and unemployment. Most of them are fat-cat businessmen that understand that you can't take over a struggling business, twist a few knobs, and punch a few buttons and voila, the magic happens. They are still on the hook for Bo for the next couple of years, $7.7 million, minus whatever chicken feed Youngstown State is paying him. Besides, knowing Bo, I bet he told Jim Tressel, 'Fuck 'em. I'll do it for the legal minimum of a teaching position, here. Make that ass-hat, Eichorst, swallow every last bit that I can', or something to that effect."

No shower, bleeding, arm in a brace, classic D-lineman

           "So, what, with these losses, it's better to cut now, than to see the program sink even further. When your revenue from bowl games disappears, you're really screwed."

            "Just to be clear," I said. "You're ok with paying $21 million to guys to not coach here, plus, whatever it would take to hire a new guy, who I'm sure would demand upwards of $5 million a year, and who might not be any better than Riley, because there are no guarantees."

            "Doesn't matter. Can him, now. Think toward the future."

            "Ha," I laughed right at him. "Think to the future? You're hilarious. You're not even giving this guy a chance. Not his recruits. Not his players recruited to run his system on either side of the ball. Not his players mentally, or emotionally, either. You always told me how the players loved Bo. How do you know that the lack of effort, lack of execution, lack of desire on the players' parts, isn't deliberate, in order to make Riley look bad?"

            "I don't think any of the kids are doing that," Lloyd said.

            "I don't either. I see a bunch of kids who are trying, really trying. In the fourth quarter, against Wisconsin, they kids on the sidelines were more animated than I have seen them in a long time. They wanted it, they were fired up, I think you have to chalk that up to 'Inspiration", right? They were believing they could win."

            "But they didn't."

            "No, you're right, there. They didn't. At the beginning of the year, who did you have picked to win this game?"

            "Wisconsin."

            "That's right, this and Michigan State were the two games that you said we had no chance of winning."

            "That's right. I didn't think we'd have Illinois or BYU on that list, either."

            "Fair enough. What about game-plan. How do you beat Wisconsin?"

            "You stop the run and make Stave beat you."

            "Exactly what I thought. After watching Melvin Gordon blow through the defense like a Mac truck, last year, and sit for the fourth quarter, I expected a big dose of the same stuff. The defense did stop the run, they made Stave throw the ball 50 times."

            "And they still lost."

            "But not due to preparation. They made Wisconsin do what they had to. They forced them to throw, which should have made it easier on the secondary."

            "The secondary is awful. They let down the front seven over and over."

How many times, this year?

            "I'm not going to disagree with you, there. Every one of the DB's that have gotten significant action, are Bo recruits. He runs a completely different scheme. These guys are having to unlearn one system, and learn another. The one positive that I saw on Saturday. There were actually passes broken up, not just by linebackers, but by the corners, as well. Three of those could have been picks. I don't know if the light-bulb is trying to switch on, but confidence is a big issue. Getting flagged for incidental contact on two key plays doesn't help that, either."

            "I will agree with you, there," Lloyd said. "Cockrell had just as much right to the ball as the receiver, he got there first, should not have been a flag on that. The one on Kalu was closer, but I don't think you can say that the receiver would have caught that had he not collided with Kalu."

            "Exactly. How about Riley getting a flag. It reminded me of Gene Hackman is "Hoosiers", telling the ref to kick him out. I bet he didn't swear, I bet he said something to question the ref's integrity without ever swearing. Something like, 'aren't you supposed to call it the same for both sides, or did you get a giant cheese gift basket delivered to your hotel room?'"

            "I will admit, it was kind of cool. Bo drew flags for stupid shit. Swinging his hat at refs, not letting stuff go, riding the side judge or the line judge when the umpire or back judge made the play. I think we're still feeling the effects of that. The Bo hangover. Refs call us tighter than they do other teams. Kondolo getting flagged for holding? All right, I can see that, but I saw Valentine and Collins taken down on several plays and no holding flags."

            "Let me summarize," I said. "The coaches have the players at a desire to play. They had the same game plan, a successful game plan, we got more yards on Wisconsin than anyone they've played except Alabama, more points, too. They are showing signs of improvement, signs that the light is turning on. That's all in coaching."

            "But he's still not winning, and that's the only stat that matters."

            I nodded. "You're right," I said. "A win is a win and a loss is a loss, this statistically bizarre season my continue with more crazy stuff. I guess what I'm trying to say is that since he's not going to get fired, for numerous reasons, maybe you should channel your energies, elsewhere. Instead of cheering for failure to confirm your bias, swallow the bitter pill and support the players, they need it. Or find a different hobby, like origami, or stamp collecting. Something that won't elevate your blood pressure."

            "I refuse to lower my standards and expectations, Lloyd said. Just then Jess brought me a drink I didn't order. She bent down, next to me and whispered in my ear.

            "From the hot chick at the end of the bar. She said to make sure you saw the card under the glass".

            I looked down into the swirling amber in the glass. The Kraken logo I had been seeing far too often undulated beneath the whiskey's oils. I craned my neck to see who Jess had called the "Hot Chick". The blonde driver held up her glass, made eye contact, tossed back her drink, put her glass on the bar and moved toward the side entrance.

            I tried to scooch out of the booth and around Jess to get to the door. I went out the front and hurried to the corner. I looked back toward the side entrance. I didn't see the girl and I scanned the street, looking for the car. She had given me the slip.

            I tried to walk up the street for a few blocks, seeing if I could spot her, or the car. I did see the Beemer, briefly, as it roared past me on 'P' street, doing about 50.

            At least she waved at me.