re: So you step into the elevator with Saban

I would act like I didn't have a clue who he is and he isn't worth my time.

It would have to piss him off if to be treated like a regular person.

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Two first team, including Freshman of the Year.

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How many were Shula's?

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How many were Shula's?

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Why don't you stop asking questions and look it up yourself?

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Why don't you stop asking questions and look it up yourself?

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i know and u know the answers. I'm trying to make a point. 2008 Bama was loaded with Shula's talent. We all know he couldn't coach but I'm tired of hearing how Saban didnt' have talent when he inherited talent just like he did at LSU. I'm not saying the man can't coach. I'm just sick of the hero-worship and selective memory.

I push the emergency stop button and whirl around at him, glaring. Then I take off my shirt and show him my back-sized Bear tattoo, and then ask him if he'd like to know where my uncle had him tattooed. "Just like you in real life, his tattoo of you seems bigger when it's fired up!"

Then I move towards him, and he's all angry and defensive, like a caged serval or something. That's how I like my lil' fellas. Then I kneel down on the floor in front of the buttons and I recite a poem I wrote. Then I show him my boot knife and I cry and I cry and I cry, and I tell him that when his plane landed, I smelled honeysuckle and meatloaf.

I tell him my hopes and fears and dreams and these things I call freams, and I open my soul to THE PROCESS and tell him before he came it was called THE ABSCESS but he came and took away our ABS.

I show him my pocket schedule and my folded up and me-scented FORBES cover and my Spring Game receipt, and my wedding ring which fits over both my ring and middle finger, so it's "8" which is Julio who he recruited and then I show him my "Recruiting National Champs" ring, which is just a Funyun around my hoojiblies.

I tell him of the tears, and of the despair, and of the carefully-maintained goatees and thousands of dip-filled SOLO cups. I tell him about him. About me. ABOUT US.

I let him know that when the security guards get the door open, their tasers won't work because I've been electrified since he was hired, and prove it when I urinate a little in excitement and it crackles as it hits the air, and makes my hair stand on end.

Then I prostrate myself before him and lick those little manshoes, because they have walked on the Ground of Truth, upon the Path of Relative To My Own Self-Determination, and they have run with a rumble to let the world know that WE ARE BACK.

hurts my head

I felt it had just the right amount of obnoxious brightness to it.

I would ask him something important! Coach, why do your fans walk around with toilet paper rolls? Are they like boy scouts? Allways prepared...or was it something they ate?

I don't know how this thread has lasted so long. You all do realize that none of you would ever be allowed to be on this elevator,right? Ya'll would need to take the stairs.