Making things right
These young folk today have no respect for the fine footballing tradition here at Penn State! Back when Coach Paterno and I started this program, there was zero tolerance for this kind of shenanigans (HT: Pitt Tribune-Review). In those days, you even stepped out of line one inch, ONE INCH, and we shipped you off to Ypers. Don't wear a tie to team dinner? Off you go! Here's your doughboy hat, enjoy giving Gerry the what-for. That'll teach 'em. Builds character! Discipline! And not to mention various resistances to outdoor allergens, which is so important more and more these days.
Now, we've got ten so-called men crawling back home to momma after pushing around a few poindexters at the local soda fountain! Feh! I'm not too concerned with the whole nature of the offense, but just the sheer disgrace of it all. That's not the kind of athlete we try to groom here at Penn State. All of this talk about administrators, governance oversight committees, and other arglebargles keeping the pencilneck set puttering around our factory. I can't do my job, we can't get to work, if every time I start calling for squat thrusts, I've got some argyle sweater set penny loafer type clearing his throat like a fancy lad. There's not going to be any sissy stuff like that in Ol' Flanky's house.
When these kids get back for summer practice, they're going to wish they never got caught. They're going to learn the true meaning of grit. They're going to be in the trenches. They are going to get nice and grimy in the noonday sun. Now, I can't ship them off to war like back in the old days, what with only these namby-pamby police actions lately, so I'm going to have to take the reins myself, pull tight, and make them beg for mercy. Joe's got the whole lot of them cleaning up the stadium and such, and I think that's a good start. The true fundamentals of this game can be found in a commitment to the custodial arts. Rockne knew it, Bryant knew it, and Coach knows it.
a misbalance of the posterior lumbars. Safety First.
That's just the start, in my book. If this lot of simpletons think they're balanced in my libros, they've got another thing coming! First things first, we're going to start at dawn with my old friend the 110 gasser. I think 5 or 6 of those bad boys ought to wake them right up. Then, it's straight to the old-standby, deep knee bends superseded by squat thrusts. I know all about your burpees, resistance ropes, and other new-age remedies, but I'm swearing by the standby. Served me well for nigh on 80 years, and I can leg press a Chevy Nova, I tell you. After that, we're going to work on our coordination by preparing lunch for the training table. Potatoes, carrots, rutebegas, and anything else I can get their peely little hands on. It's going to make quite a stew. Finally, I'm going to end with a nice 10 mile jog in full gear, no canteens, a little bit of rowing as I coxswain, leftovers for dinner, then everyone scrubs up for 5pm chapel. After asking sweet lord Jesus to forgive our accusers for touching themselves at night, its off to bed. Just before lights out at 7, everyone reports to Coach for one, swift strike to the solarplexus. That'll teach yinz, and it aids in nightime digestion.
Coach Murphy is America's oldest living strength coach. In his day, they trained by tilling fields alongside the oxen.