Pelini V. Osborne: A Steel Caged (Imaginary) Death Match

Posted: December 7, 2011 in Sports
Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

It’s no secret that Bo Pelini has been looked at for other coaching jobs than his current position at the University of Nebraska.  It’s no secret that, deep down, he’s an Ohio State guy.  It’s also no secret that any coach with a love of winning, a desire to cash out checks big enough to make Publisher’s Clearing House look like pansies, and the seemingly innate coaching desire to head back to one’s alma mater have led Husker fans to worry about Bo and the Buckeyes of Ohio State.

We worried that when Tressel eventually decided to hang up his sweater vest and put on, well, another sweater vest as he shambled off into the retirement community for legendary coaches, Bo would be one of the top candidates to jump in and fill the void.  After all, Husker fans said through mouths full of chewed fingernails, Bo’s name is one of those that just keeps cropping up whenever a big name coaching position shows up.

Then, before the season started, Tressel ended up retiring.  It turns out that, despite the appearance of a bible salesman, Tressel was dirtier than a truckstop restroom.  Instead of selling back textbooks for cash his players were selling signed playbooks for a stash.  (*Author’s note: not entirely accurate, but I can’t resist letting out my inner Don King on occasion.  A quick side note: is there a bigger rip off on the planet than selling back your textbooks to your college?  I feel less disgruntled when I’m paying taxes than when I handed in $200 worth of unnecessary books and got back 50 bucks.  Seriously, meth costs less per ounce than a textbook on MLA guidelines for an English course.)

When Tressel got booted. . .er. . .”retired” earlier this year I was legitimately concerned that Pelini might have been in the running for the job of his dreams.

Fortunately, the Ohio State job has since been taken.  Inner-city Meyer decided that his family was only important for a year and has tossed them by the wayside in an effort to chase that inevitable dream: another pseudo-heart attack and more recruits turned NFL (*Author’s note: and/or Ohio Penal League All-Stars) stars.

Even though reverse-Rural Meyer got the job, Bo’s name came up once again.  A local reporter for the Buckeyes, Jeff Rapp, reported that Pelini had been interviewed for the position.  He also reported that, upon hearing of Pelini’s alleged contact with Ohio State, athletic director (*Author’s note: and full-time Husker Jesus) Tom Osborne got into a verbal confrontation with Pelini.

Rapp ultimately retracted this story after getting a phone call from Pelini (*Author’s note: we’ll set the over/under on f-bombs at 28) and both Osborne and Pelini denied that any such altercation had occurred.

But the possibilities of this entire scenario got my mind churning.

What if this had happened?  What might it have looked like. . .

Fade in:

Bo is bench pressing a Honda Accord in his office.  He’s chewing straight razors and Warhead sour candies while lifting.  On the wall is a poster of Mac Brown with a variety of darts thrown into it and a neon sign proclaiming “Don’t point the finger, point the thumb.”

Bo –  Ten million. . .ten million and one. . .ten million and two.

The phone rings.  Bo, wearing a headset like he does on the sidelines picks up the phone.

BoThe BCS that’s why they made that call, this is the Casa de Bo and I’m always ready to help unlessyou’reamemberofthelocalmediainwhichcasepissoff.

He sits bolt upright.  Nodding intently.

Bo – Yes.  Yes, I’m very interested.  I’ll be there immediately.

He pushes a button on his headset and screams with vein-popping, eye-exploding vehemence.

Bo-  COTTON?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!  BARNEY!?!?!?!?!?!!?!?!  Yeah, are you there?  Good.  Hold all my calls and cancel all my meetings.  I’m getting the hell out of dodge.

He tosses the headset down like he’s moments away from verbally flagellating Taylor Martinez after a fumble, leaps to his feet and throws on a crewneck sweatshirt.  He slams his hand onto a red button on his desk and the chalkboard on his wall spins around to reveal a fireman’s pole.  He leaps onto it and slides down out of sight.

Cut to:  The outside of Memorial Stadium

The wall of the East stadium shifts ever so slightly to reveal a secret tunnel.  The Bomobile, a tax-payer-paid-for Lexus SUV, comes rocketing out of the secret lair and hits the ground peeling out.

Cut to:  The Lincoln Municipal Airport, a Secret Airplane Hangar Located on the Edge of the Tarmac

A sleek private jet is idling.  The Bomobile comes fishtailing around the corner and slides to a screeching halt at the foot of the jet.  Bo leaps out and strides purposefully to the plane.  He stops at the foot of the ramp to board the plane.

Bo–  There’s. . .something. . .not quite right. I can’t quite put my don’t-point-the-finger-point-the thumb on it.  My Spider sense hasn’t tingled this bad since before the start of the Michigan game.

He pensively pulls out a piece of Big Red and puts it into his mouth.  Bo climbs on board.

Bo–  Here goes nothing.

CUT TO: Interior — a Plane so Lavish it makes the Taj Mahal look like a trailer.  That’s used as a meth lab.  (*Author’s note: which means it’s almost as gaudy and over the top as the Husker mens basketball’s practice facility.)

From the wall, Bo grabs another headset and pushes a button on it.

Bo–  Pilot, take me to Columbus, Ohio.  It’s time to execute the Jet offensive.  Begin operation: Get the Buck out of town.

Across the plane a chair slowly spins around.  A beam of blinding light shines throughout the cabin.  A choir of angels suddenly begins singing.  A capella.  Perfectly.

Bo shields his eyes from the light and leans back.

T.O.–  (In a thunderous, sonorous voice that is auditorially identical to someone performing a perfect drum roll on a timpani) BO!

Bo–  Wha–, who–?!?! 

T.O.–  (Still booming)  Bo!  It is I.

Bo–  Who are you?!?  Did Carl put you up to this?

T.O.–  I am the Memorial Stadium Messiah.  The standard, the inescapable destiny of winning that–

Bo–  (interrupting)  Mack Brown?

T.O.–  He who walks behind the rows. . .of seats in west stadium.  In my personal skybox.  A man who put this University on the map based on dignity, integrity, and personal strength.

Bo–  Larry the Cable Guy?  Is that you?  I already told you, I just don’t find you that funny.  I mean, why do you have a southern accent?  I just don’t ge–

T.O.–  It’s Tom frigging Osborne, Bo.  F-ing A!  You’re lucky you have a damn good blitz package, you moron.

The light dims a bit and Osborne is revealed.

He levitates from his chair and glides across to where Bo is standing dumbfounded.  He grabs a bottled water from out of the mini-fridge, turns it into wine, and takes a drink.

Bo–  (Stammering.  Clearly rattled) Well, hey, coach.  How are you?  I wasn’t going to Columbus.  Er, I mean. . .I was just. . .ummm. . .have I ever told you how nice that Just for Men Gel: Touch of Gray is working for you?

T.O.–  (Ominously)  Columbus?

Bo–  Ummm. . .Columbus Scotus has some decent prospects this year.

T.O.–  You’re taking a private plane to Columbus, Nebraska?  Seems like a bit of a waste of University funds, doesn’t it?  Or were you, perhaps, flying somewhere else?  Tell me the truth, Marcus.

Bo sighs heavily and sits down with his arms crossed, pouting.

Bo–  No.

T.O.–  C’mon. . .

Bo–  I don’t want to.

T.O.–  I’ll give you a fresh pack of Big Red, Bo. . .

Bo leans forward, tempted.

T.O.–  (Sing-songy) I’ll let you cuss out a refereeeeeeeyeee. . .

Bo breaks down, snatches the gum from T.O.’s hand and relents.

Bo–  Alright.  Alright!  I was going to Columbus Ohio.  They have this really cool job opening there.  I’ll be back by curfew, I promise.

T.O.–  Now, Bo, what do you think will happen if you go to Ohio State?  You’ll start off there with an unlimited budget, fertile recruiting base, and your family close by.  But that isn’t what you want, Bo.

Bo–  (confused) Yeah. . .I kind of do.

T.O.–  (in a perfect Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi mindtrick voice) That isn’t the job you’re looking for.

Bo–  That isn’t the job I’m looking for, Obi-Wan Osborni.

T.O.–  That’s right, young Paduan.

At the entrance of the plane, a hooded figure comes gliding in.  Bo and T.O. turn and look.  The cloaked figure steps forward and extends a withered hand.

Cloaked Figure–  Bo. . .

Bo–  Who–who are you?  What do you want?

The cloaked figure lifts his head and two withered, beady, conniving eyes are revealed.  The cloaked figure speaks with an ominous, vile, rasping lisp.

Lou Holtz–  Bo. . .come to the dark side. 

He holds out a hand and Bo reflexively steps towards him.  T.O. sticks out his arm and holds Bo back.

T.O.–  Ahhh, Darth Holtz.  I see you’re here to try to corrupt another of my young warriors.  But why Ohio State?

Darth Holtz–  I don’t really care where he goes.  Asth long asth it’sth to the dark side.  I’ve arranged an interview and you will be leaving shortly.  I will turn you to the dark side, Bo.  I can feel the hate rising within you.  Good.  Use it.  I will teach you how to use it like I did with Pete Carroll, Lane Kiffin, OJ, Jim Tressel, Bill Callahan, Jamarcus Russell and Thunder Collins.  Oh, and Tim Tebow.

T.O. and Bo–  (In unison, shocked) Tebow?!?!

Darth Holtz–  Just you wait. . .

T.O.–  He won’t be turning to the dark side, Darth Holtz.  The program in Columbus is rebuilding right now.  It’s far from done.

Darth Holtz–  Now witness the firepower of this fully armed and operational football program!

Darth Holtz turns on a T.V. set to show highlights of Braxton Miller shredding the Husker defense like someone trying to dry off after a bath with kleenex.

Bo–  (whispering) It’s beautiful. . .


T.O. stands up, suddenly agile and full of his 3-National-Title-Wins-energy.  He pushes a button on the side of the plane and the floor pulls back to reveal a gigantic, bottomless chasm.  Kind of like the one in Return of the Jedi.  (*Author’s note: what a strange coincidence that is)

T.O. Grabs Darth Holtz and picks him up like a limp, 135-year-old piece of garbage.  Holding him high above his halo’d head, The Memorial Stadium Messiah throws the evil emperor over the edge to his doom.

T.O.–  Notre Dame still sucks.  Eat this, “Dr.” Lou.

As Lou falls to his demise, the balance in the force shifts once more from dark to light.  He lisps his way all the way out of sight, howling like a pruny, ancient wolf in its final death throes.

Bo shakes his head, as if to clear out the cobwebs for a moment.

Bo-  What am I doing?  I like Nebraska.  They like me.  Why break up a good thing.  You’re right, Mr. Osborne.  I’ll leave that job up to some over-hyped, overpaid idiot, convict-loving maniac. 

He picks up the phone.

Bo– Hey, Urban?  It’s Bo.  I have a job for you.

(Author’s note: I know. . .I know.  That was utterly ridiculous and insane.  If you’ve actually read this far, thanks for doing so.  Here’s why I picked Lou Holtz to play the role of the evil emperor: 1.  I can’t stand him.  And ESPN execs love him so much that they’re constantly trotting him out like some Pampers wearing trophy hound at the Westminster Dog Show and 2.  He looks like the emperor.  To be more accurate, he looks like the emperor would if he paid Tan World for the deluxe package and came down with a massive case of cataracts.  Here’s a visual comparison.



  1. Schnizz says:

    err, no saber fight anywhere in here. I don’t think bo will leave here until he win the rose bowl or something of that equivalent.

  2. Sue Tolles says:

    you didn’t write in the “Holtz lisp”.

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