This campus business is rough
Don't get me started on all that tradition business. I understand that, that's what I'm here for, to be the man down here in Cali, The LAW, if I can be so bold. But, let me just begin by saying that while I respect an admire Coach Carroll for recognizing a talent such as myself, and bringing me out here to light up the Coliseum night in and night out, some of this stuff is just not rolling the way I thought it would.
Let's start with these so-called accommodations they had us set up in. I mean, shoot, son, almost none of them had any air-conditioning. I'm not even talking like, hey, they broke, I mean, that shit wasn't even standard in the first place. This is LA, is all I'm saying, and I've got to be rocking the AC if they expect this high-performance machine of mine to be running at top speed. Can't get overheated on me, come on now. They even paired me up with this pencil-necked busta from down the coast. Some OC whiteboy talking on and on all day about his film school. George Lucas posters all up in my 11 by 11 box. I mean, I like Halo and shit just like the rest of y'alls, but I'm gonna lightsaber his ass the next time I bring a girl back here to find him knee deep in that action-figure playset shit. That must have happened, like 6, 7 times this week before I hit Coach on his Blackberry. Seems like a bunch of my teammates were having similar altercations, and we got ourselves some housing upgrades real quick. Good luck with that box fan your mom's got you at Shop Rite, Star Wars.
While I can't exactly go into the details of my latest rooming situation at this time, I will say that it's clean as hell, and I'm staying with my boys on the team now. I've been hanging out with Marc Tyler, dicking him on the new Madden, and talking about how we're getting no respect on the practice fields. I mean, we the shit, right? All I hear during the week is Chauncey this or CJ that, and Marc hears me too. He's all like, we didn't come here to ride no pine like a sucker. I know I came here to get me some prime time, right? You hear me. Strap me on one of them visors and getting that PT with the Ones.
I mean, the football is hard enough, but now this campus stuff is getting real. I've got like classes and stuff coming up, and they like all over the place. I got to get me one of them golf carts, or acquire myself one of those bikes I see lying around all over the place. And the food? That spread is nasty, man! All this training table business is hurting my finer palate sensibilities. I mean, that smoked salmon is farm-raised, these bagels ain't got enough flax, and there certainly no Omega-3 hiding in my eggs. I sent one of those grad types away from his cancer-curing microscope and run some diagnostic shit for me. I heard he helped Reggie and Matt get some other fluids looked at, if you know what I mean. You sure as hell do. Yeah, we run this, what? Back to that dining situation, I don't know how these non-players are getting it done. I took a look at some of that chipped beef and ham sandwich they lining up for the rest of them and I'll like get me some real sandwich. I look around, and all we got is this west coast, greasy-ass In and Out shit 'round here. I heard the closest Panera is out in El Segundo, and the Ralph's, they don't even carry milk-fed veal all that regularly. Fuck that shit.
How you gonna keep running a top-flight program like this if you ain't got no flax? That's all I'm really saying man, I know you hear me. I'm Joe McKnight, RB1, son, and I've just got to know that y'all are taking good care of this scholarship you're extending. I could have gone to a lot of places, but I chose here. Sure, I could be out there earning like some guys I know, but I'm here, ready to earn me some of them trophies, some of them rings. So get me the rock, and where the fuck is that skinny whiteboy with my soy chai?