I know it’s a little late to toss my socks into the NFL coaching rodeo, but I’ve been smashing the tape all offseason and I think every franchise out there has missed out on a chance to hire someone like me: AN ABSOLUTE DRAGON OF A COMPETITOR. I know other coaches and GMs try to convince fans that they got what it takes to bend the river…
But you take all those guys and you welcome them to the hippodrome? Folks, those guys won’t know whether to poop or wind their watches. Me, I’m packed different. You hire me as your front admiral and I’ll tell you what: MY TEAM WILL BE A PACK OF CLUMP DOGS.
You heard me right. We’re not gonna mess around, if you’ll pardon my Flemish. We’re gonna be true clump dogs. Mud hounds. Bog predators. You clump at us? We’re gonna clump right backatcha A THOUSAND TIMES HARDER. You spit in our faces? We eat spit for breakfast. We LIVE on spit. For us the spit is where the grind lies.
Because I’m not gonna let just anyone play for MY football team. You want on my team, you better be ready to CRADLE THE BEEF. You better be ready to gas up and take the guy across the line from you to the candy store, if you get my drift. I want guys with great diagonal-ity. Our defensive philosophy will be FORCE MAJOR. Our offensive philosophy will be CHUNKAGE. If you wanna beat us, you better be ready for a chunkoff. Because my guys are gonna get their chunks, and they’ll pickle roses before they let you get any chunks of your own. Believe that. Some coaches out there … they really want jobs.
Well guess what? I DOUBLE really want a job, and this game is won in what I like to call “The Desire Depot.” THE FRICK YOU THINK OF THAT?
We’re gonna explode you like a diaper full of loose stool. You think you can explode us? Well that won’t be so easy when my clump dogs are chewin’ your fannies down into the turf. These boys of mine … they’re ALL BONE NO FOAM. They will get down in the muck with you and then lick you in the mouth. They will jack up your keisters and send you runnin’ home to your auntie! They will come at you like RAIN. They will bring the pliers to you All. Day. Long.
Because that’s how I’m gonna train them. No days off. No nights off. No twilights off. No off days off. Christmas? What’s Christmas? The only Christmas this team celebrates will be HITMAS. Every morning, the day before the next morning, my guys will come into the facility, grab an oatbag, pick themselves up by their jockstraps, and start layin’ some rack. I will teach them that grit coarsens grit, and they will take that lesson right to the crunchbasket. And they’ll know that me and my coaches—Coach Funton, Coach Skurr, Coach Rungdong, Coach De’Plattisonio, Coach Ai, Coach Limbuck, and Coach Swayne—will be right there in the mineshaft with them. After all, you can’t make hay without KICKIN’ GRASS!
My men will be bastard swords. They will be powerful clump dogs, ready to throw down haunches anytime you look them dead in the nose. They will be hard comers. They will be feral seagulls, flyin’ high over their prey with RAW EYESHINE. You wanna eat our tank? I don’t think so. WE ARE THE TANK EATERS. We know the balloon. We have the pineapples. Try to ladle our gravy, buddy. Just try it. Uh uh. Won’t be happening. We are gonna chomp your bellies off and then go home to kiss our wives.
That’s the kinda team I’m gonna build. You listening, NFL?