After reading the sports section, my wife is suggesting a drastic career change.
She wants me to become a bad college football coach. From there, the career trajectory involves lots of losing and a humiliating dismissal, cushioned slightly by a multi-million dollar buyout.
She believes we could survive on the $7.5 million that dearly departed Auburn coach Gene Chizik is getting paid to disappear. It would be tough, but we could squeak by on the $5 million that Tennessee is paying Derek Dooley. We could meet our obligations with the $2.5 million buyout Kentucky is giving Joker Phillips, although it might require moonlighting as a $535,000 University of Alabama president-turned-linguistics-professor-on-leave.
On the surface, this plan sounds ludicrous, but it has potential. We have great confidence that I can be a bad coach.
To that end, we are developing a losing strategy, a "process" as I like to call it. The process starts with an expectation for my student athletes to give 10 percent both on and off the field.
I will attempt to recruit head to head with the finest Ivy League coaches.
I will replace the strength training coach with a doughnut delivery van driver.
I will name a dance choreographer to defensive coordinator.
I will instruct the team doctor to prescribe medical marijuana to any player who exhibits aggression.
In pregame press conferences, I will swear on the athletic director's mother's grave that my team will trounce its opponent and then I will challenge the AD to fire me if I don't deliver.
I will use all our timeouts during the first drive.
My offense will go for it on every fourth down.
I will implement a strong running attack for the two-minute drill and put the fear of God into any halfback who steps out of bounds.
I will attempt the first 99-yard field goal in collegiate football history. If the kicker makes it, I will reward him by shifting him to the defensive line.
If, by some divine miracle, my offense reaches the red zone, we will punt.
When my defensive coordinator signals the secret code for blitz, I will make it clear by jumping up and down like a crazy man screaming "Blitz! Blitz!"
I will hire a small Cessna to tow a banner over the stadium that reads "Fire the Bum!"
If all else fails, I will rumble into the middle of a trustees meeting with a hoochie mama on the back of my Harley yelling "Roll Baby Roll!"
Yes, Southeastern Conference, I am on the market. If you need a bad coach to hire, fire and buy out for millions of dollars, I'm your man.
Executive Editor Scott Morris can be reached at 256-740-5721 or email@example.com