A playbook for Knoxville's new QB
by Scott McNutt
Come December, starting Knoxville quarterback Victor "The Bulldog" Ashe will head to the sidelines, and Knoxville's offense will get a new QB. But it'll be fourth-and-long with no time-outs remaining when quarterback Bill "The Pilot" Haslam lines up against Knoxville's formidable foes.
The Pilot's challenge will be to guide Knoxville into the end zone of financial stability. Opposing him is a daunting front line, which includes a foul-tempered, hard-pressing state economy and a hefty, stamina-taxing convention-center debt. As if those weren't scary enough, they're backed up in the linebacker positions by the raw strength and fluid quickness of KUB's backed-up sewers. (Remember, the sewers have regularly burst through the city's best blocks and disrupted our game plan. Not even The Bulldog could make headway against such opposition. Besides, they always play dirty.)
You might think that, with such intimidating threats stifling all scoring attempts up front, Knoxville would put the ball in the air. But the opposing secondary is smothering; it blankets the field like smog. Yes, the coverage is so intimidating, Knoxville always chokes.
So if the coach (that's us, if you haven't figured out the metaphor by now) doesn't send in the right play, quick—brrrhhhnt! Game's over, and Knoxville's lost.
But a last-gasp hope may remain. It's like this: Lame-duck quarterback Bulldog Ashe had a favorite play he used to run a lot. Frankly, he seemed to like it just because it was a flashy attention-getter. But he never took it for any big gains; he was just playing to the crowd.
You're probably familiar with the play. Over the years, The Bulldog hooked up with the likes of Tee Martin, Todd Helton, Chamique Holdsclaw, and Peyton Manning on it. He even huddled with coaches Pat Summitt and Phil Fulmer on its use. It is, of course, the old name-a-street-for-a-living-UT-athlete-or-coach option.
Now, it happens that into my possession have fallen some faxed copies of variations on this play. I can't reveal my source (hint: starts with "Z" and ends with "K"), and the mysterious other "coach" addressed in it remains unknown. But somebody has delved deep into the economic playbook to come up with some Hail-Mary desperation prayers for Knoxville. Without further ado then, here's the text of the fax:
"Coach, pull out all stops to make the pie higher. 'Backers stunting up the middle can only take you so far. Rotate every available sub into the mix. Special teams play will be critical. Like it or not, you'll have to rely on your line to bear the brunt of the attack. Some suggested plays:
Play No. 1 "Orange-crush: full-press coverage blintz": When everybody plays as a unit, this one is usually a steady gainer. What happens is, Council lines up in a 5-4 offset formation, and hands off the next street-renaming privilege to an ex-UT athlete who makes the biggest play for the city's team (you might consider setting minimum standards for what constitutes a "big play": say, at least $500,000).
Play No. 2 "Red dye #4, all go: field-stretching cork-puller on two" Ok, this is a trick play, a really tricky trick play. I don't normally recommend it. All I can say is, if you decide to run it, don't use any of your starters.
What happens is, some "walk-on players" will join in "pick-up" games with all athletes who currently own street names. The walk-on players then do some major trash-talking, to let the street-name owners know that special teams could make life tough on their streets if they don't start paying big bucks for good pass protection. Somebody doesn't take the hint? Lay a helmet into 'em.
Coach, you can see just how risky this play is. It's a gamble. It'd be easy for the opposition to run it back for a touchdown. But if everybody's on the same page, with hard work and a lot of luck, this one could be a big gainer for the city.
Play No. 3, "Orange sherbet: half-ass option, go fish off the deep end": Council lines up in standard formation. On the count of 7-2, they charge out of their blocks and change all streets named for living athletes back to their previous names. Then, on a 6-3 count, they tackle the shortest street on campus and pile on it all the names of the players knocked out of the game on the previous play. Each ensuing season, add the name of one new athlete to the street (or heck, 10 athletes, 20, 100—whatever feels right). Coach, execute this one with tenacity, discipline, and guts, and Knoxville may some day get into the Guinness Book of World Records.
Yeah, it'll be in the category of "City with the Dumbest Idea for Getting into the Guinness Book of World Records," and sure, it's dopey, but fans go crazy for the zany stuff. It can mean big bucks in endorsements and ticket sales. Seriously, this one could be what the bleacher bums have been screaming for all these years. It could turn out to be Knoxville's biggest scorer, its TD-generator, its Destination Attraction."
That's where it ends. It's unsigned. Admittedly, it could be a joke, an elaborate hoax. So scoff all you want. Just remember, we, the people, are supposed to be in charge of Team Knoxville. We're supposed to call the shots. We are supposed to be the coach. And we need the right play right now, or else The Pilot may have to run the option and pitch out chunks of the city to county quarterback Mike "The Mayor" Ragsdale.
If you don't want to see that, you better send in some plays of you own or else hope that one of these—can—go—All!—The!—Way!
October 9, 2003 * Vol. 13, No. 41
© 2003 Metro Pulse
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