SI Dialogues: We ARE The Champions
DISCLAIMER: THIS ARTICLE HAS BEEN WRITTEN FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY; ANY ATHLETIC WISDOM OR INSIGHT OR KNOWLEDGEABILITY THEREIN, NOT DIRECTLY QUOTED BY MY COLLEAGUES, IS NOT ONLY PURELY ACCIDENTAL BUT UNFORTUNATE.
At the office, Ye Olde Bull and Bush on Montgomery (76107)--please, no direct correspondence; all mail will be summarily returned--and Queen was on the box when The Barry Lewis, sadist he is, felt the need to say hello.
"Crikey! What?"
"That's no way to greet a friend."
"I agree, of course. What?"
"Are you busy?"
I gestured at my Guinness, and Paddy's on the rocks.
"Excellent. May I ask you a couple questions about how our season is going? Or going to be?"
"I am busy, Barry. I'm more than busy. I'm drinking."
"Mind if I join you?"
"I'll brain you if you do."
"Okay then. I'll take a Guinness."
"Boss!" I shouted.
"Hang on," The Boss said, as he was taking an order from someone else.
"Looks like he's busy and I'm drinking. You're screwed."
"He'll come by directly."
"What, Barry?"
"12 and 0."
"I know."
"I don't believe it."
"I do."
"You predicted it here. In October. October 10, 2022, to be exact. You said we would go undefeated. I want to know how you did that."
"I already told you, Barry, as you would know were you to click the link you just oracularly spoke. But if we are going to enter the realm of metafiction, with or without the approbation of our dear readers, I hope you don't mind if I interrupt this highly droll dialogue to give a tribute to someone."
"Excellent. Who might that be?"
"My friend Alex Kruz has a friend named Lane. Lane Schultz? Lane Stilts? Hang on."
I checked my phone.
"Lane Stults. He is evidently a member of my fan club."
"You need all the love you can get."
"Agreed."
"Are you done?"
"Indeed."
"Where were we?"
"You were celebrating my indisputable genius, Barry, in my knowing, before anyone else did, at the beginning of the season, we would go undefeated, though it was never officially recorded until October 10."
"Oh yes. But first I need a beer. Boss!"
"His name is Bruce."
"Bruce!"
"Springsteen."
"Bruce Springsteen!"
At which point the Boss appeared in his bearded glory. "I like a B.S., but I'm actually a B.A. Bruce Alford."
"Mr. Alford," Barry began, "may I request a Guinness like my friend . . ."
"Acquaintance."
" . . . here?"
"Full or half?"
"Full. So, SI, recognizing your method is faith, I'd like to know what you predict for the postseason Frogs."
"We will be champions, of course."
"Big 12 Champions?"
"No, Barry. Champions."
At which point Barry's eyes lit so brightly they were indistinguishable from the rim of his pint.
"You mean . . . Natty?"
"If you insist on calling it that. You say Natty and I think a beer. Or better yet, a certain Natalie. Or better even, a certain Natalie and a beer. I prefer to call it the National Championship. TCU Horned Frogs. National Collegiate Football Champions."
"You're certain of this?"
"Veritably."
"How?"
"Heart, Barry. We have the most to prove."
"You don't think Michigan or Georgia have as much to prove? Or USC?"
"I don't know who any of them are. But I know who we are. And that's more than enough."
"So a lot of people are going to be gambling on the next three games. The Big 12 Championship. The Semifinal. And the National Championship."
"If you say so."
"And you think they should put money on the Frogs."
"All the money on the Frogs. On all three games. They'll make a fortune and they can share it with me and I'll have a paid tab for life."
"And what if you're wrong?"
"No dough, no blow. Like the Horned Frogs, I have nothing to lose and everything to gain. Probably why I'm a Frog myself."
"If we win a Natty . . . "
"National Championship."
" . . . National Championship, it will be the first time since 1938."
"And the first time until next year, when we win it again."
"I hope you're right, SI. I hope you're right."
"Let's make this clear, Barry. I'm always right. Always."
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