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Tako Tuesdays Gets the Pac-12 Coaches Drunk

Bless you Steve Sarkisian. Blessings for your heart, and prayers for your liver.

BARTENDER! THIS MANY! I bet I'm the first one to make this joke. I'm amazing.
BARTENDER! THIS MANY! I bet I'm the first one to make this joke. I'm amazing.
Kirby Lee-USA TODAY Sports

Oh hey. You're all still here. Great. Let's get to work.

The football offseason has been taxing on all of us; we've spent our workdays pining for a crisp, fall walk across the Autzen footbridge, beard neatly trimmed, Fireball glowing in your belly like the warm embrace of a long-lost friend. We've dreamt of sweaty, muscular men throwing each other to the ground, though that has nothing to do with football. We've watched every hype video and highlight reel, listened to every interview and podcast. It was an immense burden to carry, and some just couldn't make it all the way to September.

One of those poor souls was USC head coach Steve Sarkisian, who made a damn brilliant fool of himself at the "Salute to Troy" kickoff event. Some call his slurred and obscenity-laden rant inappropriate, shameful, and disappointing.

I call it revolutionary.

Really, this nonsense should endure Sark to college football fans everywhere; who hasn't gotten bonkers on dark liquor and said some things they regretted later? I mean, I haven't. But I'm perfect, you shouldn't hold yourself to this standard. Sarkisian is a human being, one in an intensely high-pressure job that has broken men stronger than he. Going three drinks past the limit you set for yourself and cussing around old folks and kids is hardly an unforgivable offense. And frankly, it's something I'd prefer seeing in college football over far more nefarious acts like oversigning, pulling scholarship offers, and putting teenagers back in the game with concussion symptoms.

We've seen what Drunk Sark is capable of, but we know nothing about the bosses around the rest of the conference. So let's kick off the 2015 Tako Tuesdays season by posing this hypothetical: what do the other eleven Pac-12 coaches do when they're toasty drunk?


Mark Helfrich - Getting schwasty on white wine is an incredibly bad decision, but that's what people said about following Chip Kelly. Mark Helfrich does not meddle in the affairs of commoners. Helfrich after an entire magnum of chardonnay embodies peak Oregon coast chill: he invites kindly passersby to join him on his porch to watch the sunset, an unlit joint dangling from his mouth. He'll never light it up, because he'll fall asleep by 9:45 in an antique easy chair that's been in his family for sixty years. Two old cats curl up at his feet. He'll wake up in the morning with a splitting headache, but will get rid of it by jogging a 10K.

Gary Andersen - Andersen famously called every one of his Utah State players to tell them he was taking the Wisconsin job, and would do something similar were he to get wrecked on, let's say, Scotch and sodas. He would circulate the party, pulling each guest aside and checking in with them about anything and everything. Family, work, travel, marital intimacy issues. Nothing is off the table. If he corners you, you will talk to him until you say you need to go in the bathroom. You do not need to go to the bathroom, but you will tell him you do just to end the conversation. You will walk in the bathroom, close the door, and stand there for two minutes, just in case he's watching. What, I'm the only one that did this at parties all the time in college? Get off your high horse.

Jim Mora - If you think Jim Mora is doing anything on this bender but pooping in a paper bag, putting it on Dan Guerrero's doorstep, and lighting it on fire, then you need to rethink how you're watching UCLA football.

David Shaw - Being an employee of Stanford University, David Shaw is only legally allowed to drink small-lot pinot noir that has been aged in old-growth French oak barrels. David Shaw will drink two bottles of it, say polite goodbyes to the old white millionaires anxiously waiting for him to leave so they can go back to being racist, go home, and diagram power run plays on a chalkboard while smooth jazz plays on an old record player. David Shaw is the most uninteresting human being on the planet, and I promise this will be the most space I ever devote to him in this column.

Chris Peterson - After drinking far too may gin and tonics, Chris Peterson goes home and goes to sleep the same way he does every night: hugging a framed picture of Jared Zabransky and sobbing uncontrollably.

Mike Leach - Did you see The Hangover 2? The one in Thailand? That movie is based off the last time Mike Leach was allowed to drink Bacardi 151. That was one hell of a Yom Kippur.

Sonny Dykes - Like any good Texan, Sonny Dykes after demolishing an 18-pack of Lone Star wants to do one thing, and one thing only: shoot guns. This does not jive well in Berkeley, whose liberal-paranoid residents will call the cops if someone accidentally steps on bubble wrap. But Coach Dykes is cunning, and knows that controlling the sea is how you win any war. He takes his boat out through the golden gate, armed to the teeth, and pops off a couple hundred rounds at passing seagulls. It's a better stress reliever than SoulCycle, or dubstep yoga, or whatever the hell those tech-rich millenials are doing these days.

Todd Graham - I don't know if you've ever been hit over the head with a pool cue because your shirt is untucked. But you're about to. Tighten it up, hoss. There's an angry drunk white man with a hi-top fade, and he does not like the cut of your jib.

Rich Rodriguez - Getting tanked on blended margaritas and singing karaoke in an open Hawaiian shirt is the state sport of Arizona. Rich Rod's just trying to do his part.

Mike MacIntyre - Coach MacIntyre, he of the dramatic weight loss, immaculate hair, and commitment to looking like John Elway's older brother, couldn't have possibly dropped sixty pounds last year by drinking regularly. As it stands, his tolerance is way down. Give him a beer and a half, and he'll jump off a balcony into a kiddie pool.

Kyle Whittingham - Kyle Whittingham is Mormon. He is already in bed, feeling mischievous because he had San Pellegrino with dinner instead of flat water. In his front yard, Jim Mora is hiding behind a bush, bag in hand.

Tako Tuesdays is back. It must be football season.