Notre Dame head coach Brian Kelly has, by now, parked his car at the corner of Guinness Road and Bushmill Way, after the Fighting Irish got a long overdue beatdown (35 – 21) from the Oklahoma Sooners in South Bend today.
Kelly will be well into his cups at O’Fuckme’s Irish Pub and wondering what the Hell he’s going to tell the Pope tomorrow morning, during their weekly day after chinwag.
The 3 – 2 Irish are already out of contention for a national championship, after going to the BCS title game last season. His Holiness will, no doubt, be livid and looking for answers.
Coach has an answer, and it’s a valid one. It might get him off the hook and put the blame of the university’s President. Or, the HOLY SHIT could hit the Holy Fuckin’ Fan. I would not want to be in Kelly’s position right now (… er, or… maybe I would ’cause Guinness is hard to come by in Yugoslavia).
The Irish came out of the gates looking like a bunch of alterboys who have been summoned to a dark room by a dozen priests who have been over sampling the latest batch of sacramental wine while debating exactly what is, and what is not, a sin of the flesh – that is to say, very nervous.
Notre Dame took the opening kickoff. Less than a minute later it was 7 – 0 Sooners, courtesy of a Corey Nelson pick-six.
Before the game was four minutes old the Sooners were up 14 – 0. Irish QB Tommy Reese was picked off for a second time and Oklahoma quickly turned the turnover into a 11 yard TD run by Damien Williams – yes, DAMIEN Williams
The Irish proved themselves worthy of their name by getting up and fighting but were bitch-slapped every time by the Sooners, who had not beaten Catholics since 1956.
It would have been a different game had Kelly won a protracted and ugly off season battle with school President Reverend John Jenkins.
Being a Catholic school, Notre Dame has a distinct advantage over all other football programs – they have a legion of scouts that covers every corner of the globe.
The day after the Irish got their asses stomped by ‘Bama in last season’s BCS championship game. Kelly got a call from one of his scouts in Germany. Coach didn’t want to take the call. He didn’t want to do anything but reach for another bottle of Kilkenny. But the Jesuit persisted until Kelly listened. The priest insisted that, given the 42 – 14 thrashing ‘Bama had administered to the Irish the night before, what he had just discovered must be considered a gift from God.
The priest/scout was running a combine that morning when a beast walked onto the field.
Less than a minute later everyone was slack-jawed watching the Teutonic footballing machine.
“He’s six foot 8, weighs 270 pounds, runs a 3.95 forty, can throw the ball 80 yards, and carry three linebackers 20 yards down the field into the end zone… while drinking a beer.” the priest told the coach.
“Fuck off,” was coach’s reply.
“I just emailed you the tapes,” laughed the priest
“That’s not a man,” said Kelly, after watching the tape. “That’s a fucking demon.”
The priest laughed, “No. Not a demon. He’s a man. But…”
“But what?” screamed Kelly.
“There is a problem.”
Coach didn’t think it was a problem. Coach didn’t have a fuckin’ clue. The priest hung up, crossed himself, prayed and giggled just a little.
The Teutonic God was everything the priest said and more.
Kelly ran the kid through a few drills. A half dozen ambulances were required to cart away the fallen. Coach got shitfaced. He called ‘Bama head coach Nick Sabin and yelled, “We’re gonna kick your fuckin’ Crimson asses, you slimy crocfucker.”
Everything was going fine and the Irish were on their way to a national title until Coach got a call from Jenkins’ office. “Coach… we have a problem with this new kid of yours.”
“That’s what the priest said, but I don’t see a problem. I see a national championship. You got a problem with that?”
“No, Coach, no problem there.”
“Then, what’s the problem?”
Jenkins instructed Kelly to join him in his office. Immediately. Coach did as he was told.
“Okay, Father,” said Kelly, upon his arrival.
“Coach… you’re a Catholic, right?” Coach was shocked. And puzzled. He replied in the affirmative. And waited.
“I think the boy is going to be trouble. A great deal of trouble,” said the Reverend. “Nothing but trouble, in fact.”
“Well, I’m just a simple football coach, Father, and I do not have The Gift. But I do know a thing or two about football, and there has never been anyone on God’s green Earth who can play football like that kid. Father,” Coach, pleaded, “How much trouble can one kid cause?”
Jenkins looked Heavenward, then closed his eyes. He scratched his head. He pulled a bottle of sacramental wine out of his drawer and took a long pull on it. “Coach… Coach, you do know what the boy’s name is, don’t you?”
“Of course I do,” Coach said, incredulously. “Martin. His name is Martin.”
The Reverend took another pull on his bottle of wine. “And his last name?”
“Luther,” said Kelly. “His last name is Luther.”
Silence filled the room. The priest took another big hit on his bottle. Coach stood there like a dumb animal.
“Does the name Martin Luther mean nothing to you, Brian?”
“It means a national championship is what it means!” Coach enthused. “And… wait a minute! Yes! Of course! The Reverend Doctor Martin Luther King Junior! Do you think his parents named him after Dr. King, Father?”
“Are you quite certain you’re a Catholic, Mr. Kelly.”
“Father,” Coach moaned, “that hurts. I’ve been a Catholic my whole life, cross my heart and hope to die.”
Jenkins shook his head. And took another deep glug of his rotten grape. He reached into his desk, pulled out a short stack of papers and handed them to Kelly. “Your boy, Martin Luther, has some demands. Ninety-five of them, to be exact. He nailed them to my door this morning.”
“Is it money? Does he want money. I know it’s against all the recruiting rules but we can still keep him happy and nobody ever needs to know about it.”
“No,” sighed the priest. “No, I’m afraid Martin Luther is not looking for indulgences, Coach. You’re 100% certain that you’re a Catholic?”
Eventually, Reverend Jenkins explained it all to Coach Kelly, who still didn’t think it was “that big a problem.”
But now… now Coach Kelly is faced with a cranium crunching conundrum: is he going to tell the Pope about all this on the morrow, and in that way absolve himself and shift the blame to Jenkins? It’s gonna be a long night for Coach Brian Kelly. Oh well… 88 bottles of beer on the wall…
88 bottles of beer….