Secret Meeting with Lester Miles

Sometimes I keep secrets. Come on, guys in my position – basically the Chairman of the Board if you get my drift – have to keep things close to the vest.

Anywho, after some light yoga and meditation this morning (this is how I control my anger towards the press), I ventured on over to Bryant Hall for an important meeting. I decided for the good of both our souls, states, and football programs we really needed to make peace. Ok, this is actually bullshit. One of Cajun Potty Mouth’s minions set the meeting up. Lester and a couple of his assistants were waiting on me when I arrived. Made him wait something like 12 minutes so that he knows I’m important.

“Nick,” says Cajun Potty Mouth. It’s already all I can do not to bite my own leg off, but I don’t say anything at this obvious disrespect by not addressing me in the proper way. “I’m hungry.”

Ok, so I take him over to the cafeteria. This is like the peace talks at Camp David. I lead him and his pack around to show I’m in control. We get back to my office, where he directs his assistants to sit and they all do like dogs following around their owner. I mean, seriously, it was pathetic. Guy ate a salad instead of sausage and eggs. Must be a wuss.

“So Nick, I think you know why I’m here.” Actually, I had no freaking idea. “Lester, what the hell do you want?”

“I was hoping Mike left you some direction here.” Steak Boy? Are you kidding me? “What we like to do here is called cooperation – see, if you’ll give me a copy of your spring playbook, I’ll be sure to send you one of ours sometime in November. We’ve done this with Mike for the last four years – everything except that part where we send him a copy of ours. But I’ll be sure to do that this year.”

The coffee I was drinking came spouting right out of my nose. “Are you friggin kidding me Lester? My staff and I have a word for this: ‘siuya.’”

He said he didn’t know what this meant, was it a foreign word or something. Of course Lester is stupid and spouts off at the mouth constantly, and is a moron, but I digress. “Lester, it means, Stick It Up Your Ass.”

Lester got all fired up. F-you this, F-you that. You’re a F-er. I mean it was real poetry. Then all of a sudden he was crying, I mean bawlin. “King Nick, I’ve been winning with your players, and the fans want to beat ‘Bama more than anything this year, and Pete Carrol is getting all this attention at USC, and you’re back in the conference, and ..” I will spare you the mellow-drama. It was sad and pathetic. And sad.

This year we will not be “trading playbooks” with any other staffs in the conference. Given the way my boys were man-handled last year, it’s the only explanation I have for that record. Ok, that and shitty coaching. My boys are not losers.

Lester. Jester. Pumpkin Boy. Siuya. Roll Bama.