[Minnesota coach Tim Brewster is walking down the hall of a Wisconsin high school, talking with the high school's head coach]
Heh heh heh, you got it, coach!
Quarterback? Coach, don't you have about 17 quarterbacks? Your returning starter is only a sophomore, and your son is a freshman, right?
Well coach, I can tell you my quarterback ain't the next Vince Yo
Heh heh, absolutely coach! Well, my quarterback is a junior, he's 6'4", 220, arm like a Howitzer, runs like a meth addict being chased by
Um, I don't know if he knows it off the top of his head, but I'm sure he can read a road atlas
Well, I can't get you the quarterback, but I'll bring you that safety. Sit tight.
What are you doing in the hallowed GOPHER NATION WIN PASADENA halls of this fine institution of FIGHT TRY WIN FIGHT learning?
[Pleasantries continue; meanwhile, in a dorm room at the University of Minnesota]
Sold! Woo! EYE ELL ELL! EYE EN EYE!
[Meanwhile, back at the high school]
So then I told Vince's mom that I was Supreme Allied Commander of the North Altantic Treaty FIGHT TRY WIN WIN FIGHT
Why, hello son! What's that? But, why would you... I don't understand... This makes WIN FIGHT HARD TRY no sense... Well [sniffle] if that's your choice [hangs up phone]
That was my son Clint. He's decided to transfer away from Minn
FIGHT FIGHT TRY FIGHT PASADENA WIN kind sir, I am going to need to meet that quarterback...