Updated: Wednesday, September 12, 2007

This mortgage crisis is definitely affecting my deal with Satan

Unbelievable. There used to be a time in this country when a man could make a deal, a verbal contract, possibly written in blood, and it could mean something. You'd look your partner square in the eye, and you'd make yourself a blood pact worth standing up for. Now? Forget about it. I mean, there used to be no question of terms, no options, no clauses, no caveats. You sign on the dotted line and you got yourself a deal for the duration of the terms, and if those terms just happened to be all of eternity, well, at least you knew you damn near meant it.

I'll be honest. Way back in 1995, I would have given anything to take Moeller's job, and we really did a number on Gary. Sure, a lot of guys were signing on with more new fangled dark religions like Pan, the goat God, that whole Xenu business, or even some of that crazy Santeria crap, but not me. Give me good 'ol Satan anytime if you're going to make a deal like I wanted to make, a real Faustian number, traditional, classic. That's the only way we do things in my house, and given the alums spoke so highly of him, I felt obliged to keep it in the family. If only he'd given me their rates!

He summons me into his office, you know, down there, and, don't get me wrong, it's nice and all, but the whole angle is to get you locked into the worst damn deal possible. He's got them slutty assistants tempting damn near everyone with their sins of the flesh, not to mention promises of eternal glory at his side, but basically, the whole place is so freaking hot you just want to sign whatever the hell he gives you and get the hell out of there. Down to business, I got this sweet low introductory rate, my credit rating got a super boost assisting at Michigan all those years, and the adjustable deals were so low, I couldn't resist! Besides, Satan is the best goddamn negotiator I have ever met. I almost had to give him the first born, but we'd agreed that he had the rights to the kids when I asked for a bitchin' Camaro back in '73.

So here's the deal, I get to be head coach of His football team on Earth, and in exchange for my eternal soul, I get to coach them to victory for all time...as long as I pay suitable tribute. We set the whole thing up fixed until I win the first national championship, and then we readjust according to the fed funds rate every so often, his call. Man, those first few years were great. I was kicking some ass and taking some names, it was downright unholy. Sure, we didn't win it all right away, but I got to kick the snot out of Ohio State 3 times in a row! 3 times! Hell yes! Hail Satan! But, then things got really silly real freaking fast.

1997. The team's is just on a tear. The boys run the table and are just plain unstoppable. We even won the Rose Bowl, the Rose Bowl of all places, that year and we're all thinking title all the way. Bullshit. That's what the coaches say, and I have to take a goddamn split title. Apparently, my arrangement didn't go over so well with some people, but they could kiss my ass for all I cared. I was going to come off a championship, ready to load up a kickass recruiting class, and that whole Satan business still fixed at that sweet low introductory rate. WRONG! "Read the fineprint," says the bifurcated bastard, "you won a national championship, time to pay up!" Half a championship, and he's counting it at the full price? To this I respond with a great big F U to the big man. That didn't go over so well, but Master must have had other things in mind, so he let it slide.

In hindsight, that was definitely not the case. You know the rest. 10-3, 10-2, 9-3..etc etc. Three-loss LLLoyd and so forth. You know why? Because that asshole Satan kept bumping my coupon payments, yet he still let me slide a couple of times. Son of a bitch just kept setting me up for the fall, and I never saw it coming. Now, this year, he tells me we got some kind of credit crunch and my tribute to His Darkness has tripled. Tripled! Eff that! I'm just calling this whole damn thing off. What's the worst that can happen? I'm coming off one of the best damn years ever, and I'm loaded up to make a real run at this....and you all know the rest.

Goddamn you Satan! I know, that's kind of the point, but Appalachian-fucking-State? And what the shit was that last week with Oregon?! You are just pantsing the everliving crap out of me you vindictive bastard! And, I will NOT take this business sitting down! I may be going down in a blaze of eternal hellfire, taking the wailing screams of hundreds of thousands with me, but I'm not doing it for you anymore, Lord Satan.

I'm doing it for me. I'm doing it for me.

Lloyd Carr is currently the head coach of the Michigan Wolverines. At least he'll have that bitching Camaro to fall back on.



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