T
TWBama
12:05 P.M. – Get to golf course. Take time.
Not because I’m not in a hurry. Because I’m about to play with all these slow f**ks, so I might as well get used to it.
12:10 P.M. – Walk up to registration table. Ask them who I’m paired with. Then tell them there is only one way Nick Saban is playing in this tournament. Whisper a name.
12:15 P.M. – Go outside. Wait for limo to arrive.
12:20 P.M. – Greet Gene Stallings.
12:21 P.M. – Commune with him. Silently.
12:22 P.M. – Ask him how he manages to look so pissed off all the time. Take thorough notes.
12:23 P.M. – Compliment Gene on his National Championship ring. Tell him how much better his ring is than mine.
Wait for him to imply that mine is better because it's newer. Then remind him that “Spiderman 3” was newer than “Spiderman 2.”
And at least “Spiderman 3” didn’t smell like corndogs.
12:25 P.M. – Walk back inside with Gene. Run into Pat Dye.
Huddle with Gene. Whisper. Nod.
Grab Gene’s right arm and b*tch-slap Pat Dye with it.
Ask Dye how it felt to be publicly b*tch-slapped by Gene Stallings again.
Wait for Dye to say that’s the first time he’s been publicly b*tch-slapped by Gene Stallings.
Then hand him game tapes of the ‘90, ‘91, and ‘92 Iron Bowls.
12:26 P.M. – High-five Gene. Head to course.
12:27 P.M. – Find gallery. Locate Auburn fan. Ask him/her if they hate me. Wait for them to say ‘Yes.’ Then step on their foot.
Not to be mean. To be sure.
12:28 P.M. – Step up to first tee.
Look at Tuberville.
Huddle with Gene.
Look back at Tuberville.
Whisper. Point. Laugh. Hit hole-in one.
2:28 P.M. – Complete front 9. Play like sh*t. Score a 10.
2:29 P.M. – Power nap.
2:30 P.M. – Get back to 10th hole. Step to tee. Wink at Spurrier. Hit hole-in-one.
2:31 P.M. – Announce that hole-in-ones will now be referred to as Sabans.
11th hole: Saban.
12th hole: Saban.
13th hole: Saban.
14th hole: Saban.
15th hole: Saban.
16th hole: Saban.
17th hole: Saban.
4:00 P.M. – Step to 18th tee. Ask scorekeeper how far ahead I am.
4:00:01 P.M. – Find out I’m still one stroke behind Gene Stallings. Get pissed. Throw driver. Into gallery. At nearest LSU fan.
If someone tells me I’ve played a great game anyway, stare at them.
Then tell them if Nick Saban were interested in playing great and coming in 2nd, he’d be the coach at Auburn.
4:01 P.M. – Break off tree branch. Morph it into 2007 Callaway FT-5 Driver.
4:02 P.M. – Step up to tee shot. Rotate head 180 degrees ala Linda Blair in 1973 film “The Exorcist.” Look back at Tuberville. Smirk. Then hit a Saban.
4:10 P.M. – Turn in scorecard. Congratulate Gene. Tell him, if he wants to, he can rename the hole-in-one. And call it a Stallings.
4:11 P.M. – Ask him how he was able to shoot an 18. Then watch him point to his ’92 ring, wink, and vanish in thin air ala Frodo in the 2001 film “Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring.”
4:12 P.M. – Go back to clubhouse. Steal Miles’ golf cart. With him in the passenger seat.
Do not look at cart path. Ever. Instead, stare at Miles the entire drive. Do not speak.
4:13 P.M. – Pull up to clubhouse. Look at golf shop kid. Tell him to put both bags in Nick Saban’s Mercedes. If Miles tells me I shouldn’t be able to take what’s his, laugh.
Then tell him to think of that golf bag as Louisiana.
Then tell him to think of the clubs as blue-chip football players.
Then tell him to think of the Callaway driver as Luther Davis.
Then ask him how many other clubs are in that bag.
Then wait for him to say ‘a lot.’
Then say ‘Exactly.’
4:14 P.M. – 100 pool laps.*
4:15 P.M. – 200 pool laps.*
4:16 P.M. – 3,000 pool laps.*
* - Not while swimming. While sprinting on top of water.
4:17 P.M. – Sauna.
4:18 P.M. – Steam Room.
4:19 P.M. – Hot Tub.
4:20 P.M. – Enter TV room. Change channel. With eyes.
Wait for someone to say ‘I was watching that.’ Then stare at them. Then use eyes to hit ‘SAP.’ Then wait for them begin speaking Spanish. Then tell them we don’t get Telemundo.
4:21 - 5:21 P.M. – Watch ‘Lonesome Dove.’ Twice.
5:22 P.M. – Take 15-minute hot shower.
5:30 P.M. – 6:30 P.M. – In post-tournament interviews, let all the other coaches compete for attention. Because the only thing Nick Saban competes for are National Championships.
6:35 P.M. – Meet back up with coaches. If we discuss dinner plans, tell everyone I’m in the mood for Mexican. If we discuss post-dinner cigars, remain quiet.
6:40 P.M. – Leave club. Ride only with Meyer.
6:45 P.M. – Pull up to red light next to car full of Tuberville, Miles, Richt, Fulmer, Nutt, and Spurrier. Along with Meyer, stare over at them. Then tell Meyer to gun it.
Flick them off on way down boulevard. Not to help them all have a reason to hate me. To help them all get used to coming in second.
6:50 P.M. – If Meyer stops at cigar shop, remain in the car. When he asks why, tell him if Nick Saban were interested in being surrounded by Cubans, he would’ve never left Miami.
7:00 P.M. – Arrive at on-the-water Mexican restaurant.
7:01 P.M. – Ask how long the wait is. When waiter says 15 minutes, dive in Gulf of Mexico. In Armani suit. Without getting wet.
7:02 P.M. – Do backstroke. While texting 5-stars.
7:06 P.M. – Arrive in Mexico. Eat. Ask for to-go box.
7:08 P.M. – Dive back in Gulf of Mexico. Do backstroke. While texting 5-stars. And holding to-go box.
7:12 P.M. – Arrive back at pier.
7:13 P.M. – Send text message Julio Jones telling him Nick Saban just did the backstroke. Across the Gulf of Mexico. In an Armani suit. Without using his hands. Or getting wet.
7:14 P.M. – Ask coaches how much longer their wait is. Laugh. Not because Nick Saban feels like being difficult. Because when Nick Saban says he’s in the mood for Mexican, he f**king means it.
7:15 P.M. – Hand to-go box to Fulmer. Not so I look polite. Because he looks hungry.
7:16 P.M. – Get to hotel room. Kick off shoes.
7:17-7:21 P.M. – Watch clock tick.
7:22 – Pick up phone. Call Kevin Steele.
Tell him I just watched 5 minutes go by in which Alabama did not get a 5-star commitment.
Which means I’m about to watch 5 months go by in which Kevin Steele does not get a paycheck.
7:23 P.M. – 10:23 P.M. – Get to work. Call shots. Dictate sh*t. World domination.
10:24 P.M. – Charge cell phone. With index finger.
10:25 P.M. – Call front desk. Place 4:00 AM wake-up call. For Kevin Steele’s house.
10:26 P.M. – Call front desk. Place 4:00 AM wake-up call. For Major Applewhite’s house.
10:27 P.M. – Call front-desk. Place 4:00 AM wake-up call. For White House.
10:28 P.M. – Call front desk. Place 4:00 AM wake-up call. This time, for my room.
And Miles’ room.
10:29 P.M. – 11:29 A.M. – Spend hour doing absolutely nothing.
Not so Nick Saban can finally spend an hour enjoying being lazy. So Nick Saban can finally spend an hour enjoying being Nick Saban.
11:30 – 11:50 P.M. – Watch entire “Sopranos” finale. Watch screen go black.
11:51 P.M. – Point finger at TV. Make screen come back up. Starring myself.
11:52 P.M. – Parallel park. Without using reverse. On first try.
11:53 P.M. – Walk in diner. Snap fingers. Change music from Journey to 1991 Metallica song “Enter Sandman.”
Walk up to table, wink at Carmela, and grab Tony’s plate of onion rings.
11:54 P.M. – Walk behind camera. Stare David Chase in the face. Then lift plate and b*tch-slap him in the face with it. Repeat process until unconscious.
Not because Nick Saban wants David Chase to know he didn’t like the ending of the Sopranos. Because Nick Saban wants David Chase to know what you really see before everything goes black: Nick Saban.
11:55 P.M. – Walk back to table. Wink at Meadow. Grab AJ’s p***y ass by the collar. Drag him out of the diner. Straight to Nick Saban Football Camp.
11:56 – 11:59 P.M. – Dominate AJ. Make him run stairs. And do drills. And do push-ups. And puke. And cry. All at the same time.
12:00 A.M. – Call Miles’ room.
Then ask him what time the clock just struck.
Then wait for him to say ‘midnight.’
Then say ‘Exactly.’
Hang up.
12:01 A.M. – See what else is on TV. Look for nice, relaxing movie to fall asleep early to.
12:02 A.M. – Order “300.”
12:59 A.M. – Finish "300." Then think about how if it starred Nick Saban, it would only need to be called “1.”
1:00 A.M. – Fall asleep early. Replace the kicking of puppies with the signing of five-stars.
Not because I’m not in a hurry. Because I’m about to play with all these slow f**ks, so I might as well get used to it.
12:10 P.M. – Walk up to registration table. Ask them who I’m paired with. Then tell them there is only one way Nick Saban is playing in this tournament. Whisper a name.
12:15 P.M. – Go outside. Wait for limo to arrive.
12:20 P.M. – Greet Gene Stallings.
12:21 P.M. – Commune with him. Silently.
12:22 P.M. – Ask him how he manages to look so pissed off all the time. Take thorough notes.
12:23 P.M. – Compliment Gene on his National Championship ring. Tell him how much better his ring is than mine.
Wait for him to imply that mine is better because it's newer. Then remind him that “Spiderman 3” was newer than “Spiderman 2.”
And at least “Spiderman 3” didn’t smell like corndogs.
12:25 P.M. – Walk back inside with Gene. Run into Pat Dye.
Huddle with Gene. Whisper. Nod.
Grab Gene’s right arm and b*tch-slap Pat Dye with it.
Ask Dye how it felt to be publicly b*tch-slapped by Gene Stallings again.
Wait for Dye to say that’s the first time he’s been publicly b*tch-slapped by Gene Stallings.
Then hand him game tapes of the ‘90, ‘91, and ‘92 Iron Bowls.
12:26 P.M. – High-five Gene. Head to course.
12:27 P.M. – Find gallery. Locate Auburn fan. Ask him/her if they hate me. Wait for them to say ‘Yes.’ Then step on their foot.
Not to be mean. To be sure.
12:28 P.M. – Step up to first tee.
Look at Tuberville.
Huddle with Gene.
Look back at Tuberville.
Whisper. Point. Laugh. Hit hole-in one.
2:28 P.M. – Complete front 9. Play like sh*t. Score a 10.
2:29 P.M. – Power nap.
2:30 P.M. – Get back to 10th hole. Step to tee. Wink at Spurrier. Hit hole-in-one.
2:31 P.M. – Announce that hole-in-ones will now be referred to as Sabans.
11th hole: Saban.
12th hole: Saban.
13th hole: Saban.
14th hole: Saban.
15th hole: Saban.
16th hole: Saban.
17th hole: Saban.
4:00 P.M. – Step to 18th tee. Ask scorekeeper how far ahead I am.
4:00:01 P.M. – Find out I’m still one stroke behind Gene Stallings. Get pissed. Throw driver. Into gallery. At nearest LSU fan.
If someone tells me I’ve played a great game anyway, stare at them.
Then tell them if Nick Saban were interested in playing great and coming in 2nd, he’d be the coach at Auburn.
4:01 P.M. – Break off tree branch. Morph it into 2007 Callaway FT-5 Driver.
4:02 P.M. – Step up to tee shot. Rotate head 180 degrees ala Linda Blair in 1973 film “The Exorcist.” Look back at Tuberville. Smirk. Then hit a Saban.
4:10 P.M. – Turn in scorecard. Congratulate Gene. Tell him, if he wants to, he can rename the hole-in-one. And call it a Stallings.
4:11 P.M. – Ask him how he was able to shoot an 18. Then watch him point to his ’92 ring, wink, and vanish in thin air ala Frodo in the 2001 film “Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring.”
4:12 P.M. – Go back to clubhouse. Steal Miles’ golf cart. With him in the passenger seat.
Do not look at cart path. Ever. Instead, stare at Miles the entire drive. Do not speak.
4:13 P.M. – Pull up to clubhouse. Look at golf shop kid. Tell him to put both bags in Nick Saban’s Mercedes. If Miles tells me I shouldn’t be able to take what’s his, laugh.
Then tell him to think of that golf bag as Louisiana.
Then tell him to think of the clubs as blue-chip football players.
Then tell him to think of the Callaway driver as Luther Davis.
Then ask him how many other clubs are in that bag.
Then wait for him to say ‘a lot.’
Then say ‘Exactly.’
4:14 P.M. – 100 pool laps.*
4:15 P.M. – 200 pool laps.*
4:16 P.M. – 3,000 pool laps.*
* - Not while swimming. While sprinting on top of water.
4:17 P.M. – Sauna.
4:18 P.M. – Steam Room.
4:19 P.M. – Hot Tub.
4:20 P.M. – Enter TV room. Change channel. With eyes.
Wait for someone to say ‘I was watching that.’ Then stare at them. Then use eyes to hit ‘SAP.’ Then wait for them begin speaking Spanish. Then tell them we don’t get Telemundo.
4:21 - 5:21 P.M. – Watch ‘Lonesome Dove.’ Twice.
5:22 P.M. – Take 15-minute hot shower.
5:30 P.M. – 6:30 P.M. – In post-tournament interviews, let all the other coaches compete for attention. Because the only thing Nick Saban competes for are National Championships.
6:35 P.M. – Meet back up with coaches. If we discuss dinner plans, tell everyone I’m in the mood for Mexican. If we discuss post-dinner cigars, remain quiet.
6:40 P.M. – Leave club. Ride only with Meyer.
6:45 P.M. – Pull up to red light next to car full of Tuberville, Miles, Richt, Fulmer, Nutt, and Spurrier. Along with Meyer, stare over at them. Then tell Meyer to gun it.
Flick them off on way down boulevard. Not to help them all have a reason to hate me. To help them all get used to coming in second.
6:50 P.M. – If Meyer stops at cigar shop, remain in the car. When he asks why, tell him if Nick Saban were interested in being surrounded by Cubans, he would’ve never left Miami.
7:00 P.M. – Arrive at on-the-water Mexican restaurant.
7:01 P.M. – Ask how long the wait is. When waiter says 15 minutes, dive in Gulf of Mexico. In Armani suit. Without getting wet.
7:02 P.M. – Do backstroke. While texting 5-stars.
7:06 P.M. – Arrive in Mexico. Eat. Ask for to-go box.
7:08 P.M. – Dive back in Gulf of Mexico. Do backstroke. While texting 5-stars. And holding to-go box.
7:12 P.M. – Arrive back at pier.
7:13 P.M. – Send text message Julio Jones telling him Nick Saban just did the backstroke. Across the Gulf of Mexico. In an Armani suit. Without using his hands. Or getting wet.
7:14 P.M. – Ask coaches how much longer their wait is. Laugh. Not because Nick Saban feels like being difficult. Because when Nick Saban says he’s in the mood for Mexican, he f**king means it.
7:15 P.M. – Hand to-go box to Fulmer. Not so I look polite. Because he looks hungry.
7:16 P.M. – Get to hotel room. Kick off shoes.
7:17-7:21 P.M. – Watch clock tick.
7:22 – Pick up phone. Call Kevin Steele.
Tell him I just watched 5 minutes go by in which Alabama did not get a 5-star commitment.
Which means I’m about to watch 5 months go by in which Kevin Steele does not get a paycheck.
7:23 P.M. – 10:23 P.M. – Get to work. Call shots. Dictate sh*t. World domination.
10:24 P.M. – Charge cell phone. With index finger.
10:25 P.M. – Call front desk. Place 4:00 AM wake-up call. For Kevin Steele’s house.
10:26 P.M. – Call front desk. Place 4:00 AM wake-up call. For Major Applewhite’s house.
10:27 P.M. – Call front-desk. Place 4:00 AM wake-up call. For White House.
10:28 P.M. – Call front desk. Place 4:00 AM wake-up call. This time, for my room.
And Miles’ room.
10:29 P.M. – 11:29 A.M. – Spend hour doing absolutely nothing.
Not so Nick Saban can finally spend an hour enjoying being lazy. So Nick Saban can finally spend an hour enjoying being Nick Saban.
11:30 – 11:50 P.M. – Watch entire “Sopranos” finale. Watch screen go black.
11:51 P.M. – Point finger at TV. Make screen come back up. Starring myself.
11:52 P.M. – Parallel park. Without using reverse. On first try.
11:53 P.M. – Walk in diner. Snap fingers. Change music from Journey to 1991 Metallica song “Enter Sandman.”
Walk up to table, wink at Carmela, and grab Tony’s plate of onion rings.
11:54 P.M. – Walk behind camera. Stare David Chase in the face. Then lift plate and b*tch-slap him in the face with it. Repeat process until unconscious.
Not because Nick Saban wants David Chase to know he didn’t like the ending of the Sopranos. Because Nick Saban wants David Chase to know what you really see before everything goes black: Nick Saban.
11:55 P.M. – Walk back to table. Wink at Meadow. Grab AJ’s p***y ass by the collar. Drag him out of the diner. Straight to Nick Saban Football Camp.
11:56 – 11:59 P.M. – Dominate AJ. Make him run stairs. And do drills. And do push-ups. And puke. And cry. All at the same time.
12:00 A.M. – Call Miles’ room.
Then ask him what time the clock just struck.
Then wait for him to say ‘midnight.’
Then say ‘Exactly.’
Hang up.
12:01 A.M. – See what else is on TV. Look for nice, relaxing movie to fall asleep early to.
12:02 A.M. – Order “300.”
12:59 A.M. – Finish "300." Then think about how if it starred Nick Saban, it would only need to be called “1.”
1:00 A.M. – Fall asleep early. Replace the kicking of puppies with the signing of five-stars.
