Wanted:

Sarcastic, quick-witted blogger seeks gainful opportunity with sound, stable successful college program.  No drama, no nonsense allowed. 

I have been a zealous fan before, can be again for the right team.

Serious inquiries only.  Contact Dogfan480618 @ FoxSports.com

The hottest news on the college coaching carousel is the Kentucky job, left open when Tubby Smith bolted for the still waters of Minnesota.  Speculation has been rampant.  Everyone from Calipari to Donavan to Pitino to Crean  to Izzo has been mentioned for the job.  Calipari and Pitino immediately took their names out of the mix.  Donavan has been quietly non-commital, fueling speculation that he may head to Lexington after this weekend's final four.  Lost in all of this is another coaching search, with all the drama, twists and turns we've come to expect from everyone's favorite soap opera, the Arkansas Razorbacks.

The Hogs fired coach Stan Heath Monday, after back-to-back trips to the NCAA tournament.  Heath arrived at Arkansas in the turmoil of the Nolan Richardson firing and subsequent racial discrimination lawsuit. (The suit has since been decided in the school's favor.)  Heath had done a good job of reviving a program that had fallen to shockingly low levels following Arkansas' incredible run in the '90's.  He brought in better athletes, a sense of discipline, and the man overflows with class.  Naturally, he wasn't a good fit on the Hill. 

The biggest problem with Heath was his bench coaching.  Whether it was his easy demeanor or lack of experience, the Hogs seldom responded in close games with the fire that was a trademark of Nolan's teams.  As usual the UA administration handled Heath's dismissal with total ineptitude.  It was leaked that if Heath didn't make the NCAA tournament this season, he would be let go.  It seemed a pretty safe bet at the time.  Arkansas was 16-12, and coming off an embarrasing home court loss to Tennessee, where the Razorbacks struggled to even inbound the ball against Tennesee's full-court press.

Then, lo and behold, the team pulled together and won five games in a row.  Two of the wins were against Vanderbilt, two more against Mississippi State.  It was just enough to get them a ticket to the dance, coming in by most people's opinion as the last and least deserving at-large team.  A blow-out at the hands of USC (how many times must one sad blogger type that phrase?) ended Arkansas' season.  But Heath had done the improbable, salvaging a lost season and doing what it was known he must do.  So naturally, Arkansas fired him anyway.

Enter Billy Gillispie.  Gillispie is the up and coming coach at Texas A&M, a future star in the coaching profession.  A Texas high school coaching legend, Gillispie had instantly turned UTEP, then A&M into winners.  In similar fashion to the way the Heath situation was handled, it was made known that Gillispie was AD Frank Broyles' #1 man.  Everyone was assured that Broyles wouldn't have fired Heath unless he was sure he could get his guy.  A&M fans, meanwhile were amazed and unbelieving that anyone would leave College Station and the plains of East Texas, with it's 12,000 seat field house, for Fayetteville, the Boston Mountains and  20,000 seat Walton Arena.  Arkansas' history of 6 Final Fours, 15 Sweet 16 appearances and almost 600 wins over the last quarter of the 20th century could in no way compare to back-to-back tourney appearances, culminating in a Sweet 16 appearance this year. 

Arkansas fans scoffed at the basketball newbie, seen as trying to reach for what they already have.  The A&M faithful scoffed at what they see as a delusional program living in the past, irrelevent to today's players and coaches.  And through it all Gillispie said nothing. 

It was reported that Gillispie was the choice, nothing.  It was reported that Arkansas would be willing to pay $1.6 million, nothing.  It was reported that A&M was willing to meet and exceed any offer the Hogs made, nothing.  The last report is that A&M has offered a 10 year deal at $2 million per.  Gillispie's response?  Nothing.  An Arkansas regent responded that money would not be an issue in the  Arkansas search.  Gillispie's response, you guessed it. Give the guy credit.  Not only has Gillispie made no comment, he hasn't even been available for a comment. 

The Houston Chronicle reported that several A&M regents had assured the paper that Gillispie was staying.  The story was quickly amended to say that Gillispie had not officially accepted anything, but the Aggie faithful were "confident".  Gillispie's response?  Nothing.

Gillispie's silence is the only thing keeping this story alive, and he could end speculation as quickly as Calipari and Pitino did in the Kentucky opening, as quickly as Bruce Pearl did with the Iowa job.  His silence must be unnerving to both sides. 

Bottom line - - Billy, you're quite the dancer, and we think you're one fine lookin' coach.  But we're lookin' to get hitched, and we're ready for a honeymoon you'll never forget.  It's time to say something.  So Billy, ... will you marry us?

EPILOGUE

I jumped in the Maverick and cranked over the short block V8.  She's 35 years old, doesn't always want to start.  But in the Spring, the warming weather usually convinces her to go.  I noticed the little bit of blue smoke, wondered if the rings were finally shot.

I pulled onto the South loop and caught I-80 West out of the city.  It was best that Pig and I not see each other right now.  After the ruckus at the bowling alley, he wasn't too happy with me.  Mrs. Jenkins was more than a little upset about the $100,000.  We had only managed to recover  $3200.  (I had kept $1500 that Pig didn't know about, figured I had earned it.  At least now I was square with the Dan.)

Pig had tried to soothe things over with the witch.  He got her to realize that she was willing to spend the money to get the kid back in the first place, so she was actually $3200 to the good.  I don't know if she really bought it.  She said she was taking her boy to the Lancaster Agency, the biggest group in town.  I heard he's projected as the #8 pick overall.  Oh well, easy come - easy go.  (Can't believe I just said that.)

I was enjoying the ride in the country.  The air was clean, and Spring was in bloom.  Calves frollicked in green fields, I almost wished I was back on the farm.  The city is no place for a hog.

I took the Ottowa exit and turned left on the overpass, wheeled into the truck stop and drove around to the back.  The big Buick was sitting in the shade of the restaurant, Dusty and Gowens were standing on the passenger side. Dusty was talking animatedly, Gowens was just listening.  I saw him hang his head.  His chest began to heave with sobs as he leaned into Dusty's shoulder, I figured they were talking about Rita.   I parked around the side, left them some space.  I blew my nose and wiped my eyes.  Nothing can get a Southern boy going like Momma.  I slipped on my shades and slipped out of the car.  I tried to be cool, walked around the corner to join them.

"Hello Hog, thanks for coming.  Del's got something he wants to tell you."  Gowens was wearing an open shirt.  His ribs were wrapped with an ace bandage and he was obviously moving with pain. 

"I guess you saved my life."  "Don't thank me, thank Dolly Madison."  He started to laugh, his ribs wouldn't let him.  "You gonna be alright?"

"Yeah, I'm alright.  Ten years in the League, I felt like this every Monday morning."  Gowens held out his hand.  We shook, he got in the Buick.  Dusty walked around to the driver side.  "This don't mean you ain't a racist, Hog."  Dusty grinned, moved behind the wheel, and they motored off.

I thought back to Pig's first meeting with Mrs. Jenkins.  It turned out this story really did have a prodigal son. 

Gowens still had a lot to answer for. To others, to himself.  I wasn't sure he could change, some folks are bad to the bone.  As I watched them disappear over the horizon,  I was reminded of a comment I left on one of Dudski's blogs, one of those rare moments of wisdom.  The flip side of judgment is redemption.

Easter Sunday was coming.  Man, when was the last time I went to church.

THE EXCITING CONCLUSION

The unmistakable rancid odor of pig entrails mixed with recycled cabbage could mean only one thing.  Pig was in the house.  I finally spotted him behind lane 18, sitting with Melda Jenkins.  They were huddled together laughing, neither seemed overly concerned with her boy's plight. 

Pig was made for a scene like this, he fit right in.  He was sporting a charcoal-gray Stetson with a black band, a purple plume rising eight inches above the headdress.  A three-quarter length black leather coat with a chinchilla collar partially covered a platinum 1" diameter chain hanging loosely around his neck.  "Hog, you remember Melda of course."

"Certainly.  Good evening Mrs. Jenkins, you look lovely tonight."  Who were we kidding?  "Pig, could I speak to you in private?"  We found a table against the far wall, I didn't wanna have to worry about what was going on behind us.  I proceeded to fill Pig in on my activities for the previous two days.  I told him what I knew about Gowens, about my meeting with Dusty.  About Rita.

Pig sat quiet for a couple of minutes.  "I'm sorry Hog, but there's no way he walks.  Gowens is going down for this.  Melda has arranged this meet with him, and I'm sitting on $100,000.  I've got Shooter and the Dan undercover, they're trying to locate the turd.  If we can rescue him and keep the money, fine.  Otherwise, we're paying the ransom. Either way, as soon as we get the kid outta here, Melda's calling the cops."

"I gave Dusty my word, FP." 

"That was a stupid thing to do cousin."  Pig looked at his watch.  "One a.m., time to go see Gowens."  I watched him make his way across the lobby, headed for the meet.  He stopped and huddled with Mrs. Jenkins.  I saw her hand him a small duffle bag, she was having a hard time letting it go.  After some serious words from her, he headed off, bag in hand.

I knew I had to act quickly, figured I had five minutes tops.  As I moved back into the crowd I felt a hand on my shoulder.  "What the hell is FP doing here?  That b%stard ain't never done nothin' but hate on me.  Are you double-crossing me Hog?"  It was Dusty. "I should have known better than to trust your sorry @ss.  The damn place is packed with bloggers.  The whole clique is here.  Shooter, the Dan, Pig, Demon...."

"Demon is here?   Where did you see him?" 

"He's in the pool room."  I jerked away from Dusty and headed for the pool tables, hoping my hunch was right.  The Twinkie wrappers in the Fatmobile could mean only one thing.

As I entered the room I saw her.  How could you miss her?  Bertha was bent over one end of the table, lining up a shot.  Her rear end was almost as wide as the table, and her skirt somehow miraculously managed to barely cover her huge butt.  Her fatty legs were covered with cellulite dimples, and her bare skin glowed an eerie purple-gray in the fluorescent light.  She was shooting nine-ball with HomersSports.  Demon was leaned against the wall, nursing a beer and disinterestedly watching. 

I ran to the snack bar for supplies.  "Leave it to a pig to think of food at a time like this."  Dusty was obviously still upset.  I huddled Demon and Homer together, told them I needed their help.  "Dusty, I figure you've got enough street smarts to follow my lead."  I headed for the back room, got there just in time to see FP enter.  The two goons followed him in, and a half dozen more thugs quickly piled into the room and closed the door behind them.  I swallowed hard.  Here we go.

I rapped on the door and one of the goons opened it a crack.  I shouldered my way in.  "A paaartyyyyy!!!"  Unfortunately for me,  my drunken act had finally grown stale.  One of the goons grabbed me and slammed me into the wall. He drove his knee into my gut, and I felt the pain shoot into my ribs.  Sucking for air, I sank to the ground and feigned passing out. Shooter and the Dan were in the back, four of the thugs surrounding them.  Gowens had produced the kid, and he and FP were huddled together, the duffle bag on the table between them.  It was now or never, the timing had to be perfect.

"NOW, HOMER!!"  The door opened a crack, and a Twinkie slid across the floor into the center of the room.  "FIRE IN THE HOLE!"  Pig's no dummy, he saw what was coming.  He grabbed the duffle bag, breaking  wind and jetting himself up to the ceiling.  All of the thugs looked up at FP in amazement.  Suddenly the door exploded off its hinges as Bertha burst into the room, hot on the trail of the Golden Sponge Cakes.  Demon, Homer and Dusty swarmed in behind her, fists flying. 

Bertha inhaled the Twinkie and looked up to see Gowens shove  Shooter, screaming in his face. She stormed his way.  Gowens had been a professional athlete, 6' 3" and 220 lbs of solid muscle.  His shoulders looked three feet wide and his biceps were like lead pipes.  I knew he had no chance. 

Bertha grabbed him by the neck and lifted him two feet off the ground.  She slammed him into the wall and he collapsed to the floor.  Placing her back against the wall, she slowly slid down on top of him.  The air escaping his lungs sounded like a balloon collapsing.  I had to act quickly, I figured he had about 5 seconds before he suffocated.  I reached into my pocket and rolled a fudge round toward Bertha.  She saw the snack cake rolling away from her and crawled after it. 

Demon and Homer had piled onto the biggest goon, looking like ants all over a bread crumb. Pig, meanwhile was fart-flying around the room with three or four of the thugs jumping and grabbing at the duffle bag.  One of them managed to grab a piece of it, and as FP jerked it away, the bag hit the ceiling fan and ripped open. $100 bills filled the air like confetti.  The crowd that had gathered at the open door to watch the melee saw the fluttering money and began pouring into the room.  The fighting ceased as bloggers and bowlers, players and pigs all scrambled after the cash.  I quietly surveyed the room.   Dusty and Gowens had vanished.

_________________________________

Next:  Epilogue

SOUTH CHICAGO

The south side of Chicago is the baddest part of town.  And if you go down there you better best beware of a man named.....

Redel Gowens.  Man, Hog.  You can sure make a mess of things.  It was almost midnight.  I had left Dusty and gone to my pen to crash.  Ten hours of sleep and a hot shower will do wonders.  I felt like a new pig. Only problem was I had the same old worries, and then some.  I couldn't get that old Jim Croce song out of my mind as I headed for South Chicago.

I had given Dusty my word, I'd help him get Rita's boy out of this.  Now all I had to do was figure out how.  Dusty had been helpful.  He told me that Gowens fancied himself as a great bowler.  The first black Kingpin, Tiger Woods of the gutter set.  "Find the right alley, you'll find Del."  It was a start.  I headed for the rough end of town, I had gotten the name of several lanes from the Yellow Book. 

I'd already eliminated three from my list when I pulled into the parking lot of "Pins and Needles".  The lot was full of classic '70's and '80's rides, all immaculate, all detailed to the max.  In the middle of the lot sat a '78 Buick Electra 225, mirrored windows, chrome shining even in the dull lighting. My heart started pumping a little harder, and I felt a copper taste coming up in my throat.  I took a couple of deep breaths to calm my nerves, and continued to cruise the lot. I couldn't believe what else I saw.  In a back corner was a '73 pea green Pinto Wagon, with worn out shocks and bald tires.  The Fatmobile!  I decided to leave the lot and walk up on foot.  I parked on the street, three blocks away.

I'm no master of disguise like Miracle, I had to improvise.  I grabbed a skull cap out of the glove box and pulled it down tight on my head.  I rolled up my sleeves to where the 480618 branded into my left arm would show, and slipped on a pair of cheap sunglasses.  Glancing in the mirror, I figured it was good enough. I felt for the brass knuckles I had taken from Pig's desk. I've never had any use for guns, why ask for trouble?  Right now I was questioning the wisdom in that.

As I approached the lot, I snuck a peak into the Fatmobile, the back seat was knee deep in Twinkie wrappers.  I was a little more cautious approaching the Buick.  The ways those windows were tinted, Gowens could be sitting inside watching me and I'd never know it.  Still,  I had to get a look.  Feigning a drunken walk, I staggered hard into Gowens' car.  No alarms, no doors flying open, whew.  I moved to the front of the car and peered hard through the windshield.  Nothing.  I figured it would be pressing my luck to jimmie the trunk, not anything left to do now but go inside.

The place was packed, shoulder to shoulder with players and playees.  I saw enough bling and fur to make me think I was walking into the set of that old Akroyd movie, "Dr. Detroit."  (Woop woop.)  I fought my way through the lobby and started scanning the lanes, looking for someone who would resemble a combination of Black Adonis and Count Chocula.  I finally spotted him on lane 37.  The gold incisors were unmistakeable.  I grabbed a seat at a table far enough away to go unnoticed. 

Gowens was pretty good.  I watched him throw five strikes in a row before getting a little too high into the head pin, leaving a split wider than his toothless grin.  He huddled  with the guys around him, wads of money being exchanged as bets were settled.  Then he slipped away, disappearing into a back room.  I wasn't sure the drunken swagger would work again, but it was all I had.  I approached the two goons guarding the door. "Ish dish where it's goin dowwwwn? (Hiccup)  I nneeed to sheee Delll."  The goons eyed each other, and amazingly stepped out of the way to let me enter.

I grabbed the doorknob, took a deep breath and plunged into the room.  Gowens was sitting at a table, playing Texas Hold'em  with ShooterB and the Dan!  They looked more surprised to see me than I was to see them.  Gowens turned to eye me, and I decided to continue my drunken charade. It had gotten me this far. 

"Appplle Shauussse and Chiiicken duuumplinsh , I wondered (hiccup) where you guuuysh wennnt."  Gowens looked at Shooter, Shooter  looked at the Dan.  The Dan looked at me and I looked at Gowens.  He didn't look happy.

"Is this slob with you?  No one just watches.  He's either in the game or out of the room."  I turned quickly and staggered back out of the room, left them all speechless.

What now?  I needed a plan.  And a prayer.  Wait!  Was that a hint of cabbage on the wind?

_____________________________

Next:  The exciting conclusion