Hornius Emeritus
2,500+ Posts
George S. Muschamp Addresses the Team in the locker room before the Red River Shootout.
"*****Warning! The Language is Rough!******
*****Warning! The Language is Rough!*****
*****Warning! The Language is Rough!*****
"Be seated.
Men, this stuff that some sources sling around about Longhorns laying down for this game, not wanting to rumble, is a crock of ********. Longhorns love to rumble, traditionally. All real Longhorns love the sting and clash of football.
You are here today for three reasons. First, you are here to defend your state and your university.
Second, you are here for your own self-respect, because you would not want to be anywhere else.
Third, you are here because you are real men and all real men like to rumble.
When you, here, everyone of you, were kids, you all admired the champion marble player, the fastest runner, the toughest boxer, the big league ball players, and the All-American football players. Longhorns love a winner. Longhorns will not tolerate a loser. Longhorns despise cowards. Longhorns play to win all of the time.
I wouldn't give a hoot in hell for a man who lost and laughed. That's why Longhorns never have accepted a loss; for the very idea of losing is hateful to a true Longhorn.
You are not all going to play. Only fifty percent of you right here today will play in this game. “Did not participate” must not be feared. “Did not participate,” in time, comes to all men.
Yes, every player is nervous when it comes to the Red River Shootout. If he says he's not, he's a liar. And some players are cowards but they play the same as the brave players or they get the hell slammed out of them watching players play who are just as nervous as they are. The real hero is the player who plays even though he is nervous. Some players get over their nervousness in a minute under game conditions. For some, it takes an hour. For some, it takes days. And, for some, it takes puking in the tunnel before the game.
But a real player will never let his fear of failure overpower his honor, his sense of duty to his university, and his innate manhood.
Football is the most magnificent competition in which a human being can indulge. It brings out all that is best and it removes all that is base. Longhorns pride themselves on being Real Men and they ARE Real Men.
Remember that the Sooners are just as nervous as you are, and probably more so. They are not supermen. All through the offseason, you have bitched about what you call "chicken **** drilling". That, like everything else in this game, has a definite purpose. That purpose is alertness. Alertness must be bred into every play. I don't give a **** for a player who's not always on his toes. You men are players or you wouldn't be here. You are ready for what's to come. And a player must be alert at all times if he expects to stay make tackles behind the line of scrimmage. If you're not alert, sometime, a Sooner sonofabitch is going to sneak up behind you and beat YOU to the line of scrimmage ---- and with a mouthful of loose teeth.
A team is a small army. It lives, sleeps, eats, and fights as an army. This individual writing stuff for the Saturday Evening Post don't know any more about real football under fire than they know about screwing! We have the finest food, the finest equipment, the best spirit, and the best players in the world. Why, by God, I actually pity those poor Sooner sons-of-******* we're going up against. By God, I do.
My players don't surrender, and I don't want to hear of any player on my defense being unable to continue unless he suffers a broken neck and broken leg on the same play. Even if you are hit, you can still fight back.
That's not just ******** either. The kind of man that I want on my team is just like the lieutenant I read about in Iraq, who, with a rpg launcher against his chest, jerked off his helmet, swept the RPG launcher aside with one hand, and busted the hell out of the Al Qaeda bastard with his helmet. Then he jumped on the gun and went out and killed another terrorist before they knew what the hell was coming off. And, all of that time, this man had a bullet through a lung.
There was a real man!
All of the real heroes are not storybook Heisman candidates, either. Every single player on this team plays a vital role. Don't ever let up. Don't ever think that your job is unimportant. Every man has a job to do and he must do it. Every man is a vital link in the great chain. What if every truck driver suddenly decided that he didn't like the smell of Sooners, turned yellow, and jumped headlong into a ditch? The cowardly bastard could say, 'Hell, they won't miss me, just one player among 85 scholarship players.' But, what if every player thought that way? Where in the hell would he be now? What would our state, our loved ones, our homes, even the world, be like? Covered in crimson and cream, is what! No, Goddamnit, Longhorns don't think like that.
Every player does his job. Every player serves the whole. Every squad, every unit, is important in the vast scheme of this game. The equipment managers are needed to supply the helmets and jockstraps to keep advancing. The Quarterbacks are needed to throw the hell out of the ball all over the field. Every last player on special teams has a job to do, even the one who plays scout teams. Each player must not think only of himself, but also of his buddy playing beside him. We don't want yellow cowards on this Longhorn team . They should have their scholarships withdrawn, like rats. If not, they will go home after this game and breed more cowards. The brave players will breed more brave players. Kill off the Goddamned cowards and we will have a state filled with brave men.
One of the bravest men that I ever saw was a fellow on top of a cell phone tower in the midst of a furious thunderstorm in Alabama. I stopped and asked what the hell he was doing up there at a time like that. He answered, 'Fixing the tower, Sir.' I asked, 'Isn't that a little unhealthy right about now?' He answered, 'Yes Sir, but the Goddamned tower has to be fixed.' I asked, 'Doesn't the smell of Crimson Tide fans bother you?' And he answered, 'No, Sir, but you sure as hell do!' Now, there was a real man. There was a man who devoted all he had to his assignment, no matter how seemingly insignificant his assignment might appear at the time, no matter how great the odds.
And you should have seen those trucks and those fans on the highway to Dallas yesterday! Those drivers were magnificent. All day and all night they rolled down that son-of-a-bitching highway, never stopping, never faltering from their course, the smell of kolaches and Carls Corner all around them all of the time. They got through on good old Texas guts. Many of those fans drove for over four consecutive hours. These fans weren't players, but they knew they had a job to do. They did it, and in one hell of a way they did it. They were part of a team. Without team effort, without them, the game would have been lost. All of the links in the chain pulled together and the chain became unbreakable.
Don't forget, you players don't know that I'm here. No mention of that fact is to be made in any articles. The world is not supposed to know what the hell happened to me. I'm not supposed to be coaching this team. Hell, I'm not even supposed to be here in Dallas. I'm supposed to still be in Auburn, Alabama. Let the first ******** to find out be the Goddamned Sooners.
Some day I want to see them raise up on their piss-soaked hind legs and howl, 'Jesus Christ, it's the Goddamned Longhorns again and that son-of-a-*******- ***** Muschamp'. We want to get the hell over there. The quicker we clean up this Goddamned mess, the quicker we can take a little jaunt against the purple pissing Red Raiders and clean out their nest in Lubbock, too. Beforethe Goddamned Mizzouri Tigers get all of the credit. Sure, we want to go home. We want this game over with. The quickest way to get it over with is to go get the ******** who piss on our state with their presence. The quicker they are whipped, the quicker we can go home. The shortest way home is through Dallas and Lubbock. And when we get to the Orange Bowl, I am personally going to take a leak on that that paper hanging son-of-a- *****, Mark May. Just like I'd shoot a snake!
When a player is lying in a field, if he just stays there all day, a Sooner will eventually fall on him. The hell with that idea. The hell with taking it. My players don't go backwards. I don't want them to. Backwards is for mama's boys! Keep moving. And don't give the Sooners time to regroup. We'll win this game, but we'll win it only by fighting and by showing the Sooners that we've got more guts than they have; or ever will have. We're not going to just shoot the sons-of-*******, we're going to rip out their living Goddamned guts and use them to grease to make sausages in the parking lot at the tailgate after the game. We're going to crush those lousy Sooner ******** by the bushel-*******-basket.
Football is a bloody, messy business. You've got to spill their blood, or they will spill yours. Rip them up the belly. Shoot the gaps. When Sooner fans are cheering all around you and you wipe the dirt off your face and realize that instead of dirt it's the blood and guts of what once was a teammate beside you, you'll know what to do!
I don't want to hear any player saying, 'I am holding my position.' We are not holding a Goddamned thing. Let the Sooners do that. We are advancing constantly and we are not interested in holding onto anything, except the enemy's balls. We are going to twist his balls and kick the living **** out of him all of the time. Our basic plan of operation is to advance and to keep on advancing regardless of whether we have to go over, under, or through the line of scrimmage. We are going to go through that line like crap through a goose; like **** through a tin horn!
From time to time there will be some complaints that we are pushing our team too hard. I don't give a good ******* about such complaints. I believe in the old and sound rule that an ounce of sweat will save a gallon of blood. The harder WE push, the more Sooners we will crush. The more Sooners we crush, the fewer of our players will be injured. Pushing means fewer casualties. I want you all to remember that.
There is one great thing that you Longhorns will all be able to say after this game is over and you are home once again. You may be thankful that twenty years from now when you are sitting by the fireplace with your grandson on your knee and he asks you what you did in to beat the Sooners in Dallas.
You WON'T have to cough, shift him to the other knee and say, 'Well, your Granddaddy stayed out in the parking lot and ate bratwurst at the tailgate.' No, Sir, you can look him straight in the eye and say, 'Son, your Granddaddy played on the Texas goddamned Longhorns under a Son-of a-Goddamned-***** named Will Muschamp!'
That is all.
"*****Warning! The Language is Rough!******
*****Warning! The Language is Rough!*****
*****Warning! The Language is Rough!*****
"Be seated.
Men, this stuff that some sources sling around about Longhorns laying down for this game, not wanting to rumble, is a crock of ********. Longhorns love to rumble, traditionally. All real Longhorns love the sting and clash of football.
You are here today for three reasons. First, you are here to defend your state and your university.
Second, you are here for your own self-respect, because you would not want to be anywhere else.
Third, you are here because you are real men and all real men like to rumble.
When you, here, everyone of you, were kids, you all admired the champion marble player, the fastest runner, the toughest boxer, the big league ball players, and the All-American football players. Longhorns love a winner. Longhorns will not tolerate a loser. Longhorns despise cowards. Longhorns play to win all of the time.
I wouldn't give a hoot in hell for a man who lost and laughed. That's why Longhorns never have accepted a loss; for the very idea of losing is hateful to a true Longhorn.
You are not all going to play. Only fifty percent of you right here today will play in this game. “Did not participate” must not be feared. “Did not participate,” in time, comes to all men.
Yes, every player is nervous when it comes to the Red River Shootout. If he says he's not, he's a liar. And some players are cowards but they play the same as the brave players or they get the hell slammed out of them watching players play who are just as nervous as they are. The real hero is the player who plays even though he is nervous. Some players get over their nervousness in a minute under game conditions. For some, it takes an hour. For some, it takes days. And, for some, it takes puking in the tunnel before the game.
But a real player will never let his fear of failure overpower his honor, his sense of duty to his university, and his innate manhood.
Football is the most magnificent competition in which a human being can indulge. It brings out all that is best and it removes all that is base. Longhorns pride themselves on being Real Men and they ARE Real Men.
Remember that the Sooners are just as nervous as you are, and probably more so. They are not supermen. All through the offseason, you have bitched about what you call "chicken **** drilling". That, like everything else in this game, has a definite purpose. That purpose is alertness. Alertness must be bred into every play. I don't give a **** for a player who's not always on his toes. You men are players or you wouldn't be here. You are ready for what's to come. And a player must be alert at all times if he expects to stay make tackles behind the line of scrimmage. If you're not alert, sometime, a Sooner sonofabitch is going to sneak up behind you and beat YOU to the line of scrimmage ---- and with a mouthful of loose teeth.
A team is a small army. It lives, sleeps, eats, and fights as an army. This individual writing stuff for the Saturday Evening Post don't know any more about real football under fire than they know about screwing! We have the finest food, the finest equipment, the best spirit, and the best players in the world. Why, by God, I actually pity those poor Sooner sons-of-******* we're going up against. By God, I do.
My players don't surrender, and I don't want to hear of any player on my defense being unable to continue unless he suffers a broken neck and broken leg on the same play. Even if you are hit, you can still fight back.
That's not just ******** either. The kind of man that I want on my team is just like the lieutenant I read about in Iraq, who, with a rpg launcher against his chest, jerked off his helmet, swept the RPG launcher aside with one hand, and busted the hell out of the Al Qaeda bastard with his helmet. Then he jumped on the gun and went out and killed another terrorist before they knew what the hell was coming off. And, all of that time, this man had a bullet through a lung.
There was a real man!
All of the real heroes are not storybook Heisman candidates, either. Every single player on this team plays a vital role. Don't ever let up. Don't ever think that your job is unimportant. Every man has a job to do and he must do it. Every man is a vital link in the great chain. What if every truck driver suddenly decided that he didn't like the smell of Sooners, turned yellow, and jumped headlong into a ditch? The cowardly bastard could say, 'Hell, they won't miss me, just one player among 85 scholarship players.' But, what if every player thought that way? Where in the hell would he be now? What would our state, our loved ones, our homes, even the world, be like? Covered in crimson and cream, is what! No, Goddamnit, Longhorns don't think like that.
Every player does his job. Every player serves the whole. Every squad, every unit, is important in the vast scheme of this game. The equipment managers are needed to supply the helmets and jockstraps to keep advancing. The Quarterbacks are needed to throw the hell out of the ball all over the field. Every last player on special teams has a job to do, even the one who plays scout teams. Each player must not think only of himself, but also of his buddy playing beside him. We don't want yellow cowards on this Longhorn team . They should have their scholarships withdrawn, like rats. If not, they will go home after this game and breed more cowards. The brave players will breed more brave players. Kill off the Goddamned cowards and we will have a state filled with brave men.
One of the bravest men that I ever saw was a fellow on top of a cell phone tower in the midst of a furious thunderstorm in Alabama. I stopped and asked what the hell he was doing up there at a time like that. He answered, 'Fixing the tower, Sir.' I asked, 'Isn't that a little unhealthy right about now?' He answered, 'Yes Sir, but the Goddamned tower has to be fixed.' I asked, 'Doesn't the smell of Crimson Tide fans bother you?' And he answered, 'No, Sir, but you sure as hell do!' Now, there was a real man. There was a man who devoted all he had to his assignment, no matter how seemingly insignificant his assignment might appear at the time, no matter how great the odds.
And you should have seen those trucks and those fans on the highway to Dallas yesterday! Those drivers were magnificent. All day and all night they rolled down that son-of-a-bitching highway, never stopping, never faltering from their course, the smell of kolaches and Carls Corner all around them all of the time. They got through on good old Texas guts. Many of those fans drove for over four consecutive hours. These fans weren't players, but they knew they had a job to do. They did it, and in one hell of a way they did it. They were part of a team. Without team effort, without them, the game would have been lost. All of the links in the chain pulled together and the chain became unbreakable.
Don't forget, you players don't know that I'm here. No mention of that fact is to be made in any articles. The world is not supposed to know what the hell happened to me. I'm not supposed to be coaching this team. Hell, I'm not even supposed to be here in Dallas. I'm supposed to still be in Auburn, Alabama. Let the first ******** to find out be the Goddamned Sooners.
Some day I want to see them raise up on their piss-soaked hind legs and howl, 'Jesus Christ, it's the Goddamned Longhorns again and that son-of-a-*******- ***** Muschamp'. We want to get the hell over there. The quicker we clean up this Goddamned mess, the quicker we can take a little jaunt against the purple pissing Red Raiders and clean out their nest in Lubbock, too. Beforethe Goddamned Mizzouri Tigers get all of the credit. Sure, we want to go home. We want this game over with. The quickest way to get it over with is to go get the ******** who piss on our state with their presence. The quicker they are whipped, the quicker we can go home. The shortest way home is through Dallas and Lubbock. And when we get to the Orange Bowl, I am personally going to take a leak on that that paper hanging son-of-a- *****, Mark May. Just like I'd shoot a snake!
When a player is lying in a field, if he just stays there all day, a Sooner will eventually fall on him. The hell with that idea. The hell with taking it. My players don't go backwards. I don't want them to. Backwards is for mama's boys! Keep moving. And don't give the Sooners time to regroup. We'll win this game, but we'll win it only by fighting and by showing the Sooners that we've got more guts than they have; or ever will have. We're not going to just shoot the sons-of-*******, we're going to rip out their living Goddamned guts and use them to grease to make sausages in the parking lot at the tailgate after the game. We're going to crush those lousy Sooner ******** by the bushel-*******-basket.
Football is a bloody, messy business. You've got to spill their blood, or they will spill yours. Rip them up the belly. Shoot the gaps. When Sooner fans are cheering all around you and you wipe the dirt off your face and realize that instead of dirt it's the blood and guts of what once was a teammate beside you, you'll know what to do!
I don't want to hear any player saying, 'I am holding my position.' We are not holding a Goddamned thing. Let the Sooners do that. We are advancing constantly and we are not interested in holding onto anything, except the enemy's balls. We are going to twist his balls and kick the living **** out of him all of the time. Our basic plan of operation is to advance and to keep on advancing regardless of whether we have to go over, under, or through the line of scrimmage. We are going to go through that line like crap through a goose; like **** through a tin horn!
From time to time there will be some complaints that we are pushing our team too hard. I don't give a good ******* about such complaints. I believe in the old and sound rule that an ounce of sweat will save a gallon of blood. The harder WE push, the more Sooners we will crush. The more Sooners we crush, the fewer of our players will be injured. Pushing means fewer casualties. I want you all to remember that.
There is one great thing that you Longhorns will all be able to say after this game is over and you are home once again. You may be thankful that twenty years from now when you are sitting by the fireplace with your grandson on your knee and he asks you what you did in to beat the Sooners in Dallas.
You WON'T have to cough, shift him to the other knee and say, 'Well, your Granddaddy stayed out in the parking lot and ate bratwurst at the tailgate.' No, Sir, you can look him straight in the eye and say, 'Son, your Granddaddy played on the Texas goddamned Longhorns under a Son-of a-Goddamned-***** named Will Muschamp!'
That is all.
