Friday, February 8, 2008


You've heard all sorts of yarns and tales this week about Bob Knight - or "Coach K" as he is affectionately known. Most of it is about the legacy he leaves behind him. Some claim he was a very, very great man who did very, very great things yet was, sadly, misunderstood. Others contend that he was a huge fucking asshole sometimes mistaken for something else. I don’t know anything about any of that. What I do know is that Coach K was, if nothing else, 100% dickcheese.

Judgements about things like whether or not and to what degree Coach K was a huge fucking asshole aside, everyone around town agrees that he was a master of a zenmaster motivator and teacher. Pretty much almost like a non-fiction Yoda. While widely lauded for keeping his cool when an out of control hippie referee threw a chair at him simply because he asked for clarification of a rule (a stupid rule to begin with), perhaps Coach K’s greatest act of selflessness and goodwill towards his fellow man came when Zeke Thomas had some diarrhea type issues during a game one night. Coach K stayed behind long after everyone else had gone home and, on his hands and knees, cleaned up all the Zeke dookie which covered the entirety of the locker room floor.

Much like I felt when the lovable Woody Hayes passed on, I'm now wishing that I could have had the honor of meeting Coach K before he died. One thing is certain, though. Each time I catch a glimpse of the shit collected on the wad of toilet paper that I’ve just used to wipe my ass, I’ll remember you, Coach K. Rest in peace, dickcheese. And may God’s love be with you.

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