Allen Smith: I don’t believe it, Terrence! We made it to the field of 64! It took beating Winthrop to do it, but we’re in the tournament for real now!
Terrence Calvin: Yup.
Smith: Oh, man. We’ve got Duke next. A one seed. Coach K. All that tradition. They’re a powerhouse, man.
Smith: Think we can beat them?
Calvin: You never know, man.
Smith: Yeah, but a sixteen seed has never beaten a one seed. It’s gonna be tough.
Smith: You think Coach Ivory has something up his sleeve?
Calvin: I don’t know. What do I look like? The sleeve inspector?
(door flies open)
Coach Ivory: Great win, boys! Great win! You proved you belong in this tournament, and I couldn’t be prouder of you!
Smith: Thanks, Coach.
Coach Ivory: But we can’t be satisfied. We didn’t come all this way just to bow down for Duke, did we?
Coach Ivory: I know it’s a quick turnaround, and I know the odds are stacked against us. But men, I believe you can bat this Duke team. I really do. And I’ve asked someone very special to come in today and help you believe it too.
Ryan: HOW THE FUCK YOU DOIN’, BOYS?
Smith: Hey, that’s coach Rex Ryan of the Jets!
Ryan: You’re goddamn right it is! My name is Rex Ryan, and I love HARD TACKLIN’ AND SOFT PUSSYCHEWIN’!
Calvin: Did he say “pussychew”?
Ryan: Oh, men. MEN. Men, I feel fucking GREAT today! Doctors put a ring around my stomach the other day. And pretty soon, they’re gonna have to put a ring around my cock! BECAUSE COACH RYAN IS GETTING’ ON THE FUCKHORSE AGAIN! You believe that! I lost 16 pounds today alone, and that was just after taking a shit and cleanin’ my bellybutton! HOO WEE, I FEEL GREAT! The key with these stomach staples, men, is portion control. That’s why I start every day with a burritoita, instead of my traditional whole burro.
Smith: You used to eat whole donkeys for breakfast?
Ryan: Goddamn right! BECAUSE REX RYAN LOVES STARTIN’ HIS DAY WITH A BIG PIECE OF ASS! Now, first order of business: NICKNAMES. Smith, your new nickname is Smitty!
Smith: People call me that already.
Ryan: Then your new nickname is… THE SPANIARD.
Smith: But I’m not Spanish.
Ryan: Roll with it! Who else we got on this roster here? Lebaron Weathers? What is that, like LeBron’s name if he were a World War 2 fighter pilot? Weathers, your new nickname is Dawn Patrol! Tyree Glass, your new nickname is After Burner! Smith, your new NEW nickname is 1941! I love video games where I get to bomb things!
(nibbles on stalk of endive wrapped in bacon)
Ryan: Who else we got here? Savalance Townsend? Goddamn son, that sounds like the name of a dragon, or some kind of giant lizard. Townsend, your new name is HYDRA, because I want you to get extra head! Now, gentlemen, Coach Ivory here… is that right? Your name is Ivory?
Coach Ivory: Yes.
Ryan: Well, you are the LEAST ivory fucker I’ve ever seen! You’re about as ivory as octopus ink, fella! I love it! Coach Ivory, your new nickname is White Darkness. Now, next order of business: bounties! Men, these little Duke faggots look like real slimy bags of shit! So I’m personally donating my freezer full of Omaha Steaks (which I’m no longer supposed to eat, at least on Tuesdays) to the first player that trips this little Scheyer fucker and causes him to break his goddamn nose on the court!
(takes very tiny sip of drinkable peach yogurt, then much bigger sip)
Coach Ivory: We’d prefer to win without any shady doings, Coach.
Ryan: Nothing’s shady if you’re doing it to that dirty Polack and his flock of Hitler Youth! FUCK THEM INTO THE GROUND! Now, next order of business: THUGGING. Men, I understand this… basketball game you play… doesn’t allow for blitzin’ or tacklin’ or doin’ that thing where you knock the fucking sperm out of a guy taking a pass over the middle. Sounds like fucking ladies’ brunch to me, but it’s a free country. But Coach White Darkness here says you all get FIVE fouls a game. Is that right?
(licks sugar off of graham cracker)
Ryan: Well men, I want you to use those fouls to ATTACK! ATTACK ATTACK ATTACK ATTACK ATTACK ATTACK! ATTACK! You have five fouls, men. The first one should take off an arm. The second should take off a titty. The third should take that pristine cunt’s head right off!
Smith: What about the other two fouls?
Ryan: Save those for the cockpunchin’. Now, men. MEN. You and I know no one gives you a prayer in hell of winning this game you’re gonna play. They’re Duke, with all their fancy All-Americans and dipshit fans who chant math problems and all that queerness. They didn’t even respect you enough to keep you out of that retard play-in game. You are just a name on a sheet to millions of people. An item to be instantly crossed off. You don’t even get your own line on the bracket. You have to share it with those LOSERS from Winthrop Waitering School. You are an afterthought, that’s for goddamn sure.
(opens fresh bag of sugar snap peas, dips them in Skippy)
But when I look around this room, I don’t see a bunch of afterthoughts. I see MEN. I see fucking WINNERS. Do you believe me when I tell you you’re winners?
Ryan: Oh, that is some fucking weak BULLSHIT. I TELL YOU BOYS YOU’RE AL WINNERS, AND YOU’RE GONNA SALUTE THAT WITH SOME LIMPDICK AFFIRMATION? WHERE ARE YOUR FUCKING BALLS? 1941, YOU GOT BALLS?
Ryan: Take ‘em out!
Ryan: Come on, it’s a locker room! Everyone’s seen your speed bag already. Whip it out.
(cooks egg white omelet with six kinds of bacon inside)
Smith: Well, okay. (takes out balls)
Ryan: Look at those balls, men.
(takes out tape measure)
Roughly seven inches around. Hanging about three inches down from the groin. I think if you measure those Duke boys’ nuts, you’ll find roughly the same measurements. It’s no different. They’re the same balls you’re used to back in Old Hickory.
Smith: Pine Bluff.
Ryan: Whatever. But you know what those Duke boys don’t have? They don’t have this.
(grabs Smith’s penis with one hand, nibbles on cheddar rice cake with other)
Smith: Hey, that’s my penis!
Ryan: Take a good look, men. Because those white boys at Duke don’t have the fucking deer legs you men have. I can guarantee you that. YOU MEN HAVE THEM OUTCOCKED AT EVERY TURN. Look at this python. 1941, I bet you do some serious damage with this fucker, don’t you?
Smith: Well, I…
Ryan: Oh! Oh! Ol’ 1941 USES HIS B12 TO CARPET BOMB SOME CARPET! THAT IS FUCKING GREAT HUSTLE!
(lets go of penis, slaps Smith on the ass, hard)
Ryan: Men, no one believes in you. Hell, I didn’t even know you were a fucking school until White Darkness called me and offered me free first class airfare and luxury accommodations. But just because everyone else believe that doesn’t mean you have to. FUCK EVERYONE ELSE. Only the men in this room know what you’re truly capable of. And I say, from the looks of ya, that you have everything you need to take those little Blue Homos and POUND THEIR FUCKING ASSES. Do you believe me?
Ryan: You are fucking WINNERS. You are going to take your five fouls and you are going LAY DOWN THE FUCKING HAMMER OF THE GODS ON THOSE PIECES OF SHIT. You are fucking LIONS. You will hunt them down and snap their necks with your mighty lion jaws. And then you will bury your face in their fucking warm blood. They won’t know what’s coming. They won’t know a fucking locomotive is coming out of that dressing room, ready to run their asses right off the fucking track. They won’t know they’re about to go down the way no fucking one seed has EVER gone down. Only you know that. Right here. Right now. DO YOU BELIEVE ME?
Ryan: ARE YOU GONNA TIE THOSE DAISIES TO A POST AND BLOW THEM TO FUCKING JESUS?
Ryan: FUCKING BRING IT IN.
(everyone brings it in)
Ryan: Men, you going to fucking WIN. And then we’re all going out for fucking SALAD AND MINERAL WATER… AND ANAL!
Ryan: FUCKING LIONS ON THREE! ONE TWO THREE!
Ryan: Hoo wee! That was good. Now I gotta drink a fucking protein shake.
Smith: I think we can beat Duke, Terrence.