Waiting for 4:15 tomorrow

Not that I have any plans in particular once I get back to the 'Nati, but what I'm currently doing (sitting in McGinnis doing laundry and finishing up work that stupid professors assigned for over break) sure as hell has to be worse than what lies ahead.

While I wait for the dryer to buzz:

- Charlie is gone; Saturday sealed it for him, and he knows it. It's sad to see him go, he definitely cared a lot more than the last coach (as shown by his relative recruiting rankings, and embracing the "intangibles" that come with being the Notre Dame coach) and - linked article notwithstanding - whined and complained a lot less than the guy before Ty. In the end though, the thought of having essentially the only sports team I even more than half a shit about anymore not being a laughingstock for the first time in my life outweighs any sympathy I have for the guy. Sorry Charlie, head coach at ND is a tough gig, you know it more than anyone.

In the mean time, my Christmas wishlist is as follows (in order):

1.) Urban Meyer (scumbag aside, the guy can coach. This one isn't happening though)
2.) Bob Stoops (With OU's lackluster season and a large number of upperclassman leaving in Norman, if there was ever a year I could see Stoops trying to get another gig, this would be it. The stars may have aligned here. I'm not holding my breath though).
3.) Brian Kelly (Personality of a wet rock, but has been doing alright at UC. I'm worried about his ability to recruit and questionable defenses, but he is today what Urban Meyer was in '04. We all know how that's turned out.
4.) Gruden (Loves Notre Dame and has the personality to bring in nearly any player he wants. I would not be sad about him coming.)
5.) Anyone else out there? Shanahan? Cowher? Didn't think so....

Anyone outside of that top 4 (barring a lottery ticket like Saban or Tressel) will probably at best be on the same level as what Weis has been able to do. I feel like Meyer, Stoops, Kelly, Gruden could get Notre Dame to consistent BCS/top-10 talk, which is right about where the program should be next year, regardless of who is on the sidelines.



- In my extreme state of boredom and procrastination the past few days, I've taken my annual venture off into poetry land. It's the one time of year that I try to act like a hipster coffee shop kid and snap my fingers (no Lil Jon, not like that) to some ole' Billy S. and such. This year, I've taken very fondly to Charles Bukowski. The guy is raw, direct, and just about exactly what I'm looking for at this point in my life (whatever the hell that means...).

A few favorites:

beer

I don't know how many bottles of beer
I have consumed while waiting for things
to get better
I dont know how much wine and whisky
and beer
mostly beer
I have consumed after
splits with women-
waiting for the phone to ring
waiting for the sound of footsteps,
and the phone to ring
waiting for the sounds of footsteps,
and the phone never rings
until much later
and the footsteps never arrive
until much later
when my stomach is coming up
out of my mouth
they arrive as fresh as spring flowers:
"what the hell have you done to yourself?
it will be 3 days before you can fuck me!"

the female is durable
she lives seven and one half years longer
than the male, and she drinks very little beer
because she knows its bad for the figure.

while we are going mad
they are out
dancing and laughing
with horney cowboys.

well, there's beer
sacks and sacks of empty beer bottles
and when you pick one up
the bottle fall through the wet bottom
of the paper sack
rolling
clanking
spilling gray wet ash
and stale beer,
or the sacks fall over at 4 a.m.
in the morning
making the only sound in your life.

beer
rivers and seas of beer
the radio singing love songs
as the phone remains silent
and the walls stand
straight up and down
and beer is all there is.


bluebird

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I'm not going
to let anybody see
you.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pur whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he's
in there.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to screw up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody's asleep.
I say, I know that you're there,
so don't be
sad.
then I put him back,
but he's singing a little
in there, I haven't quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it's nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don't
weep, do
you?