Semi-Tough by Dan Jenkins Page A

wall, banged his fist on the table, and said, "Isn't this the super -est place in the whole world? Broadway, I'll lick you yet."
     
    So anyhow Barb's off with Burt Danby now and some other advertising nitwits, and Shake is either asleep or reading, and who I basically have on my mind is Shoat Cooper.
    I'll tell you something. The great miracle of our age is that the Giants are in the Super Bowl with Shoat Cooper for a head coach. Him being the coach was a stroke of genius on the part of Burt Danby, by the way.
    When me and Shake were drafted, the head coach was Doyt Elkins, of course, who had originally been hired by the Maras, the old organization. I thought Doyt was a pretty good coach, considering that he only communicated with the players by memo.
    We could have done all right with Doyt. But he went to the Cowboys and took the whole staff with him, except for the head scout, which was none other than Shoat Cooper .
    Burt Danby didn't even look for anybody else. He said the press liked Shoat because they got drunk together. Besides, Burt said, he was sick of coaches who made the game so mysterious.
    When Burt announced that Shoat had the job at a press conference, he said, "God, I'm just so up to here with zig-outs and fly patterns. I mean, the way they all talk, they just practically make me do a total face-down in the old salad. Shoat Cooper keeps its simple. And lake it from an old advertising cock that if no one knows what you're saying , you couldn't sell welfare in Harlem ."
    What Burt didn't add was that Shoat Cooper came cheap.
    I'm not sure where to begin to describe the country sumbitch.
    Shoat's big. He doesn't have much hair left. He looks like he's got about twelve six-packs of Pearl in his belly. And he's always looking around for somewhere to spit.
    He's got a slow, deep, country voice. A husky kind of voice, like somebody who just woke up, or like a deputy sheriff talking to a spook who forgot to park his pickup truck between the white lines.
    I don't think I've ever seen Shoat act like he's excited.
    The one time back during the regular season when we were behind, which was at a halftime when the Redskins had us down by thirty to fourteen on some lucky passes, Shoat Cooper just acted like nothing was any different.
    When we all walked into the locker room at Yankee Stadium and slammed our hats down, there was Shoat on a little stool in front of the blackboard, looking down at the floor.
    Everybody was bitching and moaning for a few minutes, those that hadn't peed yet or done various things. Finally we plunked down and got quiet and looked at him.
    Shoat sat there, chewing on a toothpick, and then he got around to telling us about the first half.
    "Well, defense," he groaned slowly. "Seemed to me like you all just kind of stood around and let 'em eat the apple off your head."
    Then he spit.
    Nobody said anything back for a minute or so and then Puddin Patterson said, "They stuntin', Coach. On Blast and Cutback, that fuckin' Seventy-six is comin' from somewhere and I can't get a piece of him."
    Shoat said hmmmmm.
    Puddin said, "I believe we can catch 'em, coach. We gonna roll like a big wheel this half."
    Shoat said, "Well, we ain't gonna catch nobody unless our defense gets together and decides that they ain't gonna let 'em piss another drop."
    Shoat said for the defense to go down to the other end of the locker room and get their problems worked out.
    T.J. Lambert drew himself up and said, "Awright, defense. We got to screw our navels to the ground now and get them tootie fruities."
    The defense moved away as T.J. hiked his leg and cut a big one.
    Puddin Patterson said, "Coach, where that Seventy - six comin' from?"
    Shoat looked at the floor for a while and then he said, I tell you what let's do, Puddin. Let's you just go out there this half and concentrate on tryin' to hit ever su mbitch that's wearin' a different colored shirt."
    Shoat's idea for the second half was for Hose Manning to throw a couple of