Jsc,
everything I've ever seen and heard says the best facilities in the country can be found at Oregon and LSU. I've seen LSU's and yeah, they're amazing. They certainly blow away USC's, for instance.
Oregon's though, with all that Nike money? Their facilities are just
ridiculous.
It always made me wonder, exactly how difficult would it be for schools like UCLA or Oregon to recruit
against USC?
Seems to me like it it ought to be a fairly easy sell, at least to the extent that these other programs should end up being closely competitive.
~Mike Bellotti sits on JaShaquellaya's couch, sharing some cool, refreshing grape soda with JaShaquellaya's mother, step mother, god mother, six uncles, three great aunts, one ex step dad and four random kids from the 'hood...who all have their hands out, looking to see what they can git from this slick talkin' Oregon dude~
"Look, JaShaq...can I call you JaShaq? Excellent. Look, here's the deal at Oregon. Sure, you could go to USC. We all know that.
But why would you want to? Seriously. First off, it's in the 'hood. It's full on ghetto. Nuthin' but blacks and Messicans. Rampant crime. Urban blight. It's a fuggen shithole. It's South Central, for god's sake!"
~Mike notices the room has suddenly become deathly silent. He looks up and notices eighteen pairs of folded arms. They're all lookin' at him like, "Oh no you di'int!"
"Fuck," he thinks to himself. "Back pedal mode, pronto!"~
"So, as a I was saying, it's about playing time, and preparing you to take that next step.
Sure, you could go to USC.
Eeeeeeeeeverybody goes to USC. What a bunch of sheep. You're not a sheep, are you, JackShack?
No, you're not. You're a full on baller!"
~the room explodes in a series of boisterous whoops, "hollah"s and creative and oddly perverse dance moves, considering the enormous size of most of the people huffing and puffing away with their bad selves.~
"Here's the shiznet, son. Did I say that right? Anyway, look. You're an all world linebacker right now. Sure, you're twenty years old but hey, shit happens and some people have to get held back a couple times, right?
I get that. Let's just say though that you hadn't gotten held back. Let's say you'd even gone to USC.
Maualuga, Cushing, Maiava, even that surfer bitch Clay Matthews. You're a STAR, son. You want your reps, right? You don't need those douches harshing your gig.
Now they've got Galippo, and guys like Jarvis Jones coming in. Serious bummer, I'd say.
Yeah, you could go there and deal with that primma donna crap or you could come to
Oregon.
Ever heard of Jonathan Stewart? Nick Reed? That big fuggen crazy Samoan nose tackle, the dude who's starring for the Baltimore Ravens now?
That could be YOU son, and it WILL be you because we're gonna let you come in and kick ass right away.
Also, USC has gunfights and liquor stores. (He turns to Momma Battleaxe.) Sorry, ma'am, I'm just thinking about your son's welfare here. Whoop whoop! (Mike raises the roof, very whitely. Grudgingly, Momma Battleaxe reciprocates with a half hearted whoop of her own.)
You know what Oregon has? Here, let me show you...
~he reaches into his Pee Chee folder and he pulls out some large, glossy pictures, which he spreads out on the dining room table~
Check this shit out.
This is
your Oregon...
~the room is filled with ooohs and aahs, like treasure seekers who just stumbled upon the Lost Big Fuggen Pile O' Treasure. Finally, the spell is broken and the room explodes in pertinent commentary~
"They got weed!"
"They got white women!"
"They got weed!"
"They got LOTSA white women!"
"They white women smoke weed!"
"Didja see the mutherfuckin' dubs on that motherfucker??"
~gently, one of JaShaquellaya's great aunts nudges him aside and whispers into his ear, "Playing time, baby boy. Playing time. The man says you can play, and go to The Show. You gonna buy your great auntie a new crib, ain't you?"
~JaShaquellaya waits for his erection to subside and then with a great big gold capped smile he turns his attention back to the strange white man sitting on his couch~
"Mr Oregon man, sheeeit, I don't know, man. You gotsta sweeten the pot a little, ya know, dawg?"
~Bellotti gets a serious look on his face. He weighs his options. His spies have already informed him that Pete Carroll is in a limo and headed over to this very house, right the fuck now. The decision is made. Yep, Mike, you gotta do it. Your ace in the hole, you gotta play it now.
Leaning back into his briefcase he pulls out one last picture. Smiling triumphantly at JaShaquellaya and the entire assembled throng he throws down his one, final picture...~
JaShaquelleya snatches the proffered LOI from Mike's hands.
"Fuck it. Gimme a pen. I'm down..."
