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[Brian Kelly kneels on the floor in the backroom of a Miami brothel. Laying beneath him, on top of a chalk pentagram and surrounded by candles, is a terrified Cuban hooker. Kelly, red-faced and furious, as always, slices his hand using a dagger with a gaudily bejeweled handle, and spreads a streak of blood under each eye.]
Hooker: [crying, heaving] Aye dios mio. Santa Maria dios mio.
Brian Kelly: SHUT UP YOU DUMB HOOKER! I’M TRYING TO MAKE A GODDAMN HUMAN SACRIFICE TO THE DEVIL OVER HERE!
Hooker: [crying] Dios te salve, Maria. Llena eres de gracia: El Señor es contigo…
Kelly: ARE YOU KIDDING ME!?!?! THIS ISN’T WHAT I SIGNED UP FOR WHEN I RECRUITED YOU FOR THIS HUMAN SACRIFICE! FUCKING GET. IT. TOGETHER! YOU’RE GODDAMN PATHETIC! FUCK IT! I’M SACRIFICING ANYWAY!
[Kelly raises the dagger over his head and begins chanting in Latin. The hooker is terrified. A wind from nowhere begins to swirl around the room. A stench of sulfur fills the air. The hooker is still terrified. Kelly’s bright red face begins to shake with laughter. His eyes are alight with rage.]
Kelly: I HAVE DONE YOUR BIDDING SWEET DARK PRINCE! PROMISED MY SOUL TO YOU! DEFILED GOD’S FOOTBALL PROGRAM AND SACRIFICED LIVES IN MY UNHOLY QUEST FOR A NATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP. NOW I GIVE YOU THIS ONE LAST BLOOD SACRIFICE!
[As Kelly is about the plunge the dagger into the hooker a deep, dark voice bellows from nothingness.]
[Kelly stops himself]
Kelly: DARK LORD? IS THAT YOU? SHOW YOURSELF!
[Flames explode from the corner of the room. Kelly shields his eyes from the brightness. The hooker screams. No one notices. As the flames die down Kelly can make out a shadowy figure through the smoke.]
Voice: Hell son, you were about to make yourself quite a mess, weren’t ya?
Kelly: WHO IS THAT!?! WHO ARE YOU!
[The figure walks through the smoke. It’s Nick Saban.]
Kelly: SABAN!?!?! WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE!?! GET YOUR OWN HOOKER TO KILL! THIS ONE’S MINE!
Saban: [laughs] Whoa whoa whoa there, son. Slow down.
Kelly: WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE SABAN!?!
Saban: You still don’t know?
[Confused, and enraged by his own confusion, Kelly does the only thing he knows to do when he doesn’t understand what is happening. He screams.]
Kelly (cont.): GAAARRRGHGHGHSLSLSLLLLLLLL!!!!!!!!!!
[Kelly’s face has gone from red to purple]
Saban: [laughs again] Okay okay. Calm down.
[Kelly takes a moment to collect himself, but can’t, and screams again.]
Saban: I know champ, let it out. You feel better? I’m just gonna go ahead and explain myself. I’m not here to kill a hooker. Well, I mean, I’m probably going to kill a hooker while I’m here. Me at a brothel’s sorta like being at a grocery store and remembering that you’re out of creamer, ya know? Might as well pick some up while you’re there. But the actual reason I’m here is because you called me here.
Kelly: BU…BUT…I DIDN’T CALL YOU!!!!
Saban: [devilishly grinning] You called Satan didn’t ya? Well, here I am.
Kelly: YOU’RE THE DEVIL!?!
Saban: You’re surprised?
Kelly: BUT I SOLD MY SOUL TO THE DEVIL FOR A NATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP! THE TERMS WERE THAT I HAD TO DO IT WITH GOD’S TEAM! DEFILING THE PROGRAM FOREVER! AND IF I DID THEN I’D BECOME THE MOST REVERED COACH IN COLLEGE FOOTBALL, EVEN THOUGH I’M A MOUTH BREATHING, SCREAM TALKING, PURPLE FACED ASSCLOWN! AND THAT IF I LOST I’D BE BANISHED STRAIGHT TO HELL TO BE…
Saban: Yeah yeah you’d be banished straight to hell to have Ty Cobb sodomize you with his bat for all eternity while you coached a team of mentally handicapped football players who made fundamental mistakes on every play but you couldn’t yell at them because I cut out your vocal chords with O.J. Simpson’s knife. I know, okay, my sports attorney Bobby Kardashian filled me in on all the details.
Kelly: BUT I’M PLAYING YOU FOR THE CHAMPIONSHIP! WHY ARE YOU TRYING TO STOP ME?!? THIS ISN’T FAIR!
Saban: Fair? Son, I’m the devil. I’m a total dick. Blame it on my own vanity. Do you understand how handsome I look wearing a visor, holding up a crystal ball? You know I invented the visor? Needed a hat that didn’t get in the way of my horns. Goddammit I love visors.
Kelly: WHY DID YOU DO THIS TO ME!
Saban: Why wouldn’t I? It’s a win-win for me. If I win people will continue to worship me, plus then I own your soul. If you win then I’ve officially tarnished Notre Dame, God’s exalted football program, by getting them to win a national championship with one of the most unethical, uncaring, dickbags in the sport. The kind of guy who thinks practice film is more important than the life of a kid. HOT DAMN I did some good work if I do say so myself.
Kelly: WHAT DO YOU HAVE AGAINST NOTRE DAME?
Saban: Hell, all God’s enemies hate Notre Dame. After Lou Holtz won their last title I was so pissed I gave him Alzheimer’s on the spot. You know that poor bastard tried to make pasta in the toilet last week? With a space heater and elbow macaroni. Sad, really. Anyway, ever since Holtz left Notre Dame different demons and false deities have been trying to ruin the program. The Flying Spaghetti Monster was the one who put Charlie Weiss in charge. Things were going great too, until Weiss devoured that poor Spaghetti Monster in one of his famed hunger blackouts. That’s eighty pounds of Spaghetti! He’s a gluttonous fuck, isn’t he? Can’t wait to get my hands on him in the afterlife, though I doubt I can top the degrading pain he already feels coaching Kansas football…
Kelly: YOU SON OF A BITCH! YOU’VE RUINED ME!
Saban: Well you could always go out there and win. That’d at least postpone your terrible fate for a while. Of course, that requires beating me, the Master of Darkness, and I am a clever S-O-B. You wanna know how totally complete my mastery of football is? Once, I took a crap and BOOM, Pete Carroll.
[Suddenly several hookers in the hallway start screaming. Saban and Kelly look towards the door, confused. Then there is a long, shrill, banshee-like hell shriek. Saban puts his head in his hands.]
Saban (cont.): Oh no…
Kelly: WHAT!?! WHAT IS IT!?!
[The door to the backroom bursts open. Hovering in the doorway, blackout drunk and covered in blood, is Kristen Saban.]
Kristen: AHAHAHAHAHAHA! DAAADDDDDYYYYYYYY! IIIIIIIII’MMMM HUNNNGRRRRYY!
Saban: Goddammit Kristen can’t you see I’m here on fucking business!
Kristen: BUT DAAAAADDDYYYYY!!! I’M HUNGRY NOW AND ALL THE BOYS AT THE BAR WERE MEAN TO ME SO I HAD TO MURDER THEM BECAUSE I WAS REALLY UPSET YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND AND I GOT BLOOD ON MY SHOES AND I NEED YOU TO TAKE CARE OF IT BECAUSE THE POLICE WERE REALLY MAD IT’S SO UNFAIR THEY WEREN’T EVEN LISTENING TO ME EXPLAIN THEY WERE JUST CLEANING UP ALL THE BODIES AND PUKING AND TRYING TO ARREST ME! JUST GIVE ME FOOD PLEASE DADDY PLEASE!
Saban: Fine! Take the hooker!
[The Cuban hooker screams]
Kristen: YUM! I’ve so got the drunchies I don’t even care right now. It’s whatever. I probably shouldn’t even. Oops!
[Kristen unhinges her jaw and swallows the screaming hooker in one gulp.]
Kristen (cont.): She would’ve been way better with ranch. But I’m glad I didn’t have any ranch, because that’s like, that makes late night eating worse. I’m glad I didn’t eat that hooker with ranch…but I kinda wish I did. It would’ve been so good. Whatever. Daddy let’s go!
Saban: I’m in the middle of something pumpkin.
[Kristen stomps her foot.]
Saban: Gimme one goddamn minute! Sometimes I wish I had never fucked that jackal!
Kristen: I knew you hated mom! That’s why you always say I’m adopted!
Saban: I say you’re adopted because I don’t feel like explaining on an ESPN Sunday Conversation why I put my dick in a wild dog! “I’m the devil and I do what I want” probably won’t fly! Now get in the car! I’ll just be a minute.
[Kristen flies out of the room. Hooker screams are once again heard from the hallways.]
Kelly: YOU PEOPLE ARE MONSTERS!
Saban: Yeah, I know. I’m Nick Saban. I’m the goddamned devil. But even I have to admit, she’s a spoiled brat. [laughs] ‘Course you raise ‘em on puppy veal and smoothies made from the menstruation of European royalty and they aren’t gonna exactly grow up to be too modest. Amiright? Well anyway, I’ll see you on the field, Brian. Good luck.
Kelly: GOD HELP ME!
Saban: Oh, God isn’t gonna help you. He’s a hands off, free will sorta guy. Me? Hell, I’ll get a 17-year-old addicted to blow and blackmail him until he commits just to recruit a punter. Saban style.
[Saban disappears in an explosion of fire. Kelly watches helplessly, getting more and more worked up until his face turns purple again.]
[Kelly passes out from lack of oxygen]
Image via USA Today