Thursday Pregame Pep Talk

Herb Brooksy13 years ago

Alright boys, the front office has decided to make some moves and bring me in. Clearly, in the past y’all have just not been getting it done. Some of you still have 1-6 years left here and we want to make sure we get the absolute most production out of you. You might be questioning my background and I’m ok with that. I’ve studied Lombardi, Landry, Knight, Torre, La Russa, Krzyzewski, Saban, and my namesake Herb Brooks for years. Oh, a hockey coach? He beat the fucking Russians with a group of twenty-something college kids, what the fuck have you done lately? With this infinite wisdom of coaches who have coached up talentless dickheads and turned them in to winners I believe I can help you guys rebound. Let’s be honest, we’re all tired of hearing about how “back in my day the girls were hotter, pledges were hazed harder, and the chapter was run better than this current shit-show.”

First of all, it was. So don’t even give me the business about how it wasn’t. We’re here to change this stigma so why don’t you take a seat over there and tune in to the words I preach and get started on practicing them.

I’m sick and fucking tired of you guys comparing yourselves to the undesirables (those whose acronym will not be spoken). You need to ask yourself what good does it do to compare yourself to someone you’re already ahead of in the game of life? Nothing. Abso-fucking-lutely nothing. You want a measuring stick? Take a look at your prominent alums, your parents, that chapter on campus that when asked “Ok, well who is the second best chapter on campus?” during rush, everyone responds with “them.” Those are who you are competing with, the champions. It’s a tall task but I believe you can accomplish this, bringing back respectability to the fraternity institution with stronger character, better parties, and hotter slam-pieces.

Tonight is Thursday night, this is when your week starts. This is when you throw your inhibitions to the wind, this is when you start the prowl for the sorostitute whose morals decided to take a vacation, and you thank your body you have great fucking genes and can battle through the limitless concoction of alcohol and party treats like George Jung. There are no excuses tonight for not going all out. What’s that? You have a Friday class? Oh, I’m sorry that excuse is overplayed more than the shitacular playlist that is repeated on the top 20 on 20. Have you forgotten that you pay that tenured nitwit some call your professor? He’s not that stoic, if he was he’d be out doing what he teaches and not being a dick that counts attendance as 15% of your grade; instead he’s stuck reading a textbook written by other nitwits that want to train you to think like them. Fuck that, you’re you. You’re going out, you have a pledge that will sign you in to class, and if it’s a test, well you have that test-bank at the house that is so ancient even Thomas Jefferson used it to write the fucking constitution of the United States of America. All you need to do is make a physical appearance in your seat and breeze through that mind-dumbing dribble that you copy on to a scantron. Just be sure to not be a total fucking moron and color in the right bubbles.

Peyton Manning has been said to spend more time in the film room than any other quarterback in the league, that’s why he’s one of the best. You need to take this approach, figure out what you’re doing early, no one likes the people that are indecisive about what their plans are. This leads to a failed night of continuously playing catch-up, it also leads to game-changing errors like a dead cell phone. How are you going to get that number if your phone’s playing Gaddafi with you? These are fucking mental mistakes and are inexcusable. Do not let this happen to you. I swear to Rick Perry’s hair if you come back and let something like this happen I will send you back to pledgeship so fast you won’t feel your bows or toes for the rest of the year. Figure it out.

Now that you’ve figured out where you’re going, figure out who’s going to be there. If you’re going somewhere that you’re going to get ego-fellated by fellow brethren and former shackbroads then you’re golden, new ones are going to jump on you cause you’re a better commodity than oil in the Middle East in that place. Girls fucking love celebrities, be one. If you plan to go to some other place than the aforementioned establishment, then re-think your fucking decision. There is absolutely no reason to place yourself in an environment where you have to work to make your presence known. You don’t get to be CEO of your father’s business because of fucking hard work; it’s because of fucking nepotism. Always use this to your advantage.

Now that you’ve pre-planned your activities it’s time to pre-game the pre-game, get a pledge to pick you up a three oh of Nattys and start pounding. It’s at this crucial point that you figure out your post-game routine. As many optimistic thinkers before you or I have thought, you will be going home with that new mattress pad at the end of the evening. This is your goal. However, based upon unforeseen circumstances this is not always the end result. What’s that? You never go home empty? Yeah, and Tom Brady never fucked below a 10 before he got to Michigan. Fuck you. This is when you figure out where the post-game is going to be and have made sure to have the pledges stock it with enough booze for an open-bar wedding. Running out of beer at late-nights? Another, fucking, mental mistake. Don’t let it happen. This is also when you need to have on speed dial your trick or treater. He’ll only trick you when you drop the ball and can’t clarify what you need or where to bring it. Figure it out.

Now that you’ve got the brews flowing, the destination located, and the late night ready to jam you’re ready to hit the field. I’m not going to sit here and hold your hand through this ordeal. This is where the playmakers shine, the night’s going to throw a lot of obstacles and momentum shifters but I have faith in you that you can battle through these and right yourself to bringing home the slam trophy. There are no excuses tonight, go hard, and if you wind up bitching out early, you better be sure there’s a damn good fucking story behind it and photos that will ruin your presidential run in 15 years.

Place your trust in me to give you the X’s and O’s game plan and as long as you have at least some mental competence you should have no problem following through. Then again, that’s placing a lot of fucking faith in someone from a pledge class that throws terrible fucking parties, paints guts with nothing more than 6’s, and can’t handle themselves after two brews. Pick your head up and go rock the fucking night.

If you’re unsure of any of this or need any help with in-game situations or other circumstances be sure to come by my office for a more in-depth diagram and we’ll work on it during the week in practice.