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I like the idea of Jacket's story ending with Smart dropping his coffee cup and running out after Richt, who's limping down the street. Richt stops when Greyson Lambert pulls up, he pulls a comb out his pocket and slicks his hair up like every other Miami douche bag, drops his copy of Vince Dooley's biography on the ground , and then gets into the car.

My guess is you'll never hear from him again.
 
Allen Koholic said:
I like the idea of Jacket's story ending with Smart dropping his coffee cup and running out after Richt, who's limping down the street. Richt stops when Greyson Lambert pulls up, he pulls a comb out his pocket and slicks his hair up like every other Miami douche bag, drops his copy of Vince Dooley's biography on the ground , and then gets into the car.

My guess is you'll never hear from him again.
Click to expand...
NevinShapiro.jpg
 
The Jacket said:
I enjoyed your post and I am not trying to go off-topic, but this gave me a vision or a hallucination. Years from now, Mark Richt has retired from coaching and hosts a local Atlanta sports radio show called "Radio Retirement with Reverend Richt" which doesn't so much talk about football, really, as it does life lessons and being a good man - or woman, the Reverend doesn't judge anyone who's straight, white, right with the Lord.

One day, 11AM ticks on and past but the show doesn't begin on 690 The Man (the new, only sports station in town, owned, funded, hosted, produced and listened-to exclusively by Steak Shapiro from the basement of his new restaurant "Leaf" located at the corner of Peachtree and an actual, rotting tree somewhere in the deep recesses of the North Georgia forest.) Instead, all that can be heard is a replay of Chuck Dowdle's live (horrifically botched) cryogenesis attempt. Shapiro rushes in a panic to a nearby motel to call his own cellphone and find out why his Personal Lord and Savior is not on the air, but it will be years before anyone discovers his body and no one will attempt to figure out what happened (He hadn't actually gone to a motel a all, he had jumped on a baby bear's back and was attempting to turn its ear like a car key when its mother knocked him off. She probably would have left him alive if he hadn't smeared himself with Boston cream.)

Meanwhile, far away, a press conference begins on Channel 2 with none other than Mark Richt seated before a familiar red backdrop and a dark, shapeless hovering presence over his shoulder. The Reverend speaks, barely in a whisper, and explains that his reasons for cancelling the show and appearing before us in a form we can comprehend are two-fold: First, to publicly plead not-guilty to the charges of his involvement in a failed Ponzi scheme wherein he received millions of dollars from Athens residents, promising a return on investment in the form of a Brand New Ford F-150. "I did all of this," he explains "but I have never felt guilty. And I have never failed." The figure behind him begins to stir, stifling the cries of souls lost, trapped somewhere in a place beyond salvation.

"Second," Richt says, as the abyss blooms around him "as I speak, Brand New Ford F-150's are being unloaded into the patches of dead grass at every trailer, home and hole in Clarke County as promised, one for every man, woman, child and preserved fetus in a Smuckers jar." And it's true. Hundreds of thousands of trucks are delivered that day. But there is no further explanation, and Richt is not seen after he introduces the living shadow behind him as Ed Tolley who only says "It is not a crime to not be very good," before enveloping the screen in pitch. And then silence. Richt is not seen or heard from again.

Later in the year, the leaves have changed and begun to fall. It's Saturday in Athens. A much-hyped season opener has been scheduled against the Miami Hurricanes, but both the barking crowd and team are baffled when the Canes never emerge from the locker room. It is 7:59 PM ET when the confused visage of Mark Jones appears from the booth on screens tuned to ESPN2. He glances off-camera and presumably intends to express his bewilderment, but just before he has the opportunity to open his mouth, the clock hits 8:00. All at once, thousands and thousands of bright red SuperCrews detonate, fire and anguish ripping through every square inch of the cesspool of the south.

And that's it. Richt vanishes forever after giving the world an explosive enema.
Click to expand...
Are you Mark Frost or David Lynch?
 
The Jacket said:
I enjoyed your post and I am not trying to go off-topic, but this gave me a vision or a hallucination. Years from now, Mark Richt has retired from coaching and hosts a local Atlanta sports radio show called "Radio Retirement with Reverend Richt" which doesn't so much talk about football, really, as it does life lessons and being a good man - or woman, the Reverend doesn't judge anyone who's straight, white, right with the Lord.

One day, 11AM ticks on and past but the show doesn't begin on 690 The Man (the new, only sports station in town, owned, funded, hosted, produced and listened-to exclusively by Steak Shapiro from the basement of his new restaurant "Leaf" located at the corner of Peachtree and an actual, rotting tree somewhere in the deep recesses of the North Georgia forest.) Instead, all that can be heard is a replay of Chuck Dowdle's live (horrifically botched) cryogenesis attempt. Shapiro rushes in a panic to a nearby motel to call his own cellphone and find out why his Personal Lord and Savior is not on the air, but it will be years before anyone discovers his body and no one will attempt to figure out what happened (He hadn't actually gone to a motel a all, he had jumped on a baby bear's back and was attempting to turn its ear like a car key when its mother knocked him off. She probably would have left him alive if he hadn't smeared himself with Boston cream.)

Meanwhile, far away, a press conference begins on Channel 2 with none other than Mark Richt seated before a familiar red backdrop and a dark, shapeless hovering presence over his shoulder. The Reverend speaks, barely in a whisper, and explains that his reasons for cancelling the show and appearing before us in a form we can comprehend are two-fold: First, to publicly plead not-guilty to the charges of his involvement in a failed Ponzi scheme wherein he received millions of dollars from Athens residents, promising a return on investment in the form of a Brand New Ford F-150. "I did all of this," he explains "but I have never felt guilty. And I have never failed." The figure behind him begins to stir, stifling the cries of souls lost, trapped somewhere in a place beyond salvation.

"Second," Richt says, as the abyss blooms around him "as I speak, Brand New Ford F-150's are being unloaded into the patches of dead grass at every trailer, home and hole in Clarke County as promised, one for every man, woman, child and preserved fetus in a Smuckers jar." And it's true. Hundreds of thousands of trucks are delivered that day. But there is no further explanation, and Richt is not seen after he introduces the living shadow behind him as Ed Tolley who only says "It is not a crime to not be very good," before enveloping the screen in pitch. And then silence. Richt is not seen or heard from again.

Later in the year, the leaves have changed and begun to fall. It's Saturday in Athens. A much-hyped season opener has been scheduled against the Miami Hurricanes, but both the barking crowd and team are baffled when the Canes never emerge from the locker room. It is 7:59 PM ET when the confused visage of Mark Jones appears from the booth on screens tuned to ESPN2. He glances off-camera and presumably intends to express his bewilderment, but just before he has the opportunity to open his mouth, the clock hits 8:00. All at once, thousands and thousands of bright red SuperCrews detonate, fire and anguish ripping through every square inch of the cesspool of the south.

And that's it. Richt vanishes forever after giving the world an explosive enema.
Click to expand...

Hall of fame worthy.
 
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