Archive For The “Class of 2019” Category
The businesswoman who looked suspiciously like Nicki Minaj was packing her suitcase.
Art sighed, again.
“We’re done here,” the businesswoman said. We can stop the work. Fordham’s won. Head coach Joe Moorhead won the Patriot League last year, the Patsy Points this year, and, for all we know, has won the annual Patriot League head coaching marble championship, too.”
“THIS IS A JOB WE NEED TO DO TO THE FINISH,” Art said ominously. One more squad, one more final revision, and we’re done for another year. Coach Moorhead certainly seems like he has a lot of marbles in his pocket, but we need to figure out exactly how many.”
“All I know is I’m fairly certain you’ll find something bad to say about THIS class too,” the businesswoman said.
“You know me well,” Art said.
The businesswoman who looked suspiciously like Nicki Minaj broke out the pink champale, something that made Art very angry.
“What the eff… are you doing?” he angrily asked.
“Aren’t we done?” she said, almost levitating off the ground.
“NO!” Art said. “There are two teams left to do. I know these have been a grind – and it’s taken us an unnaturally long time to do these – but there’s really only two left.”
Art looked at the spreadsheets again, his eyes uncomfortably glancing at the bottom drawer where he knew the Corvousier was kept.
“Two more,” he said as much to himself as he did the businesswoman with the champale. “Two more, then we can get to our summer plans.”
The businesswoman sighed. “Bucknell,” she said.
“Yes, Bucknell,” Art said. “The surprise of 2014, the team that was one play away from knocking off the eventual champions. While they won’t be anyone’s surprise team in 2015, what is a bit of a surprise is their overall Patsy Rating. It’s been their best in a while. A… LONG… while.”
When Georgetown’s envelope appeared at the Committee’s relatively empty offices, the businesswoman who looked suspiciously like Nicki Minaj was shocked.
That’s because the envelope looked like someone had stuffed a copy of War and Peace inside of it.
“There’s no question that this is unusual,” Art told her. “I remember the days when the Battleship Grey’s entire recruiting class was released late on a Friday afternoon in May, with all the corroborating information on the class contained on a 3×5 index card. This is…. different.”
The businesswoman nodded. “I honestly wasn’t counting on needing to do this much work with Georgetown’s class,” she said. “Looks like we’re going to have to put on another cup of nasty coffee. And don’t cross me.”
“Huh?” Art said.
“You know,” the businesswoman said. “I was thinking that I was just going to put Georgetown last in the rankings before I even did them. I’m thinking now that they’re going to be one of the best classes in this year’s Patsy Ratings.”
“I agree,” Art said. “Do we have to do the breakfast defector thing again, or can we charge a new round of pulled pork sandwiches to the Committee’s account again?”
Art nervously looked around the greenhouse, his hawking glove frozen in place as the hark glanced at it.
“Cripes,” the businesswoman who looked suspiciously like Nicki Minaj said. We’ve been up all night doing these Patsy Ratings, and it feels like all we’re doing is making the same mixtape over and over.”
“Keep Drake out of this,” Art said.
The businesswoman looked at Art askance, and then continued. “Who’s next?
“Lehigh,” a disgusted Art said.
“That explains the protective gear,” the businesswoman said. “Is it really that bad?
“No,” Art sighed, “it’s actually quite good. The best, according to the Patsy Ratings? I don’t think so. But good? Yes. Yes, it is.”
Art was extremely tired. He had no idea what he had signed up for.
With the businesswoman that looked uncannily like Nicki Minaj, he was staring… staring… staring at some webpage with the latest Lafayette recruits on Rivals.
Eventually the numbers blurred, becoming more and more blurry, until…
“Wake up!” the businesswoman said.
Art’s head shot up from the keyboard, awoken from a strange dream.
He dreamed that the businesswoman had become a full-fledged Lafayette Leopard fan, complete with crazy hair and very high heels.
“We need to get this done!” the businesswoman said. “Stop napping! Get back to work!”
“Sure thing,” Art said, as he deleted his browsing history, and returned to his spreadsheet. Much to his surprise, his analysis of the Leopard’s Patsy Rating was complete.
Art heard a knock on the door. He thrust open the door, but there was nobody there to be seen.
Looking down, he saw an envelope.
“The Committee,” it simply read on the back, with a bar code and “100% completion”, written in block letters, on the back.
A chill went up Art’s spine as he opened the letter, which had the scent of minty freshness.
“Is it those Hamiltonians trying this stuff again?” a businesswoman looking suspiciously like Nicki Minaj said once again.
Art’s voice trembled as he read the letter.
“In order to have the Colgate recruiting class at 100% completion,” he read, “you need to add these extra names to the end of the list.”
There was a pause as Art read the block letters of the recruits listed in the letter, as he made sure both deadbolts on the door were locked and in place.
“And to think,” Nicki said, “these guys have the best toothpaste anywhere.”
Art looked over the numbers.
“Are you sure,” he asked the raven-haired businesswoman that looked uncannily like Nicki Minaj, “that we should mention this?”
“Legally, it would probably be the best thing.”
“OK, then, let me read it and see what you think,” silver-haired Art said.
“The Patsy Ratings are for entertainment purposes only. Anyone who would read too far into to these would be foolish. It’s also not an indicator of any individual recruits’ worth. Many big Patsy Point recruits don’t amount to a hill of Fava beans in the League, and other guys who didn’t generate a single Patsy Point came out of nowhere to make all-Patriot League.
“And that’s not to mention that in the Patriot League, it’s really all about the diploma over everything else. Football gives you the opportunity to go to one of the best schools in the nation and compete against the best in Division I, FCS. If you made it this far, you’re one of an elite group of kids, with an opportunity some only dream of. It’s up to you what you make of that opportunity.”
“Your victory is right around the corner. Never give up,” she said.
Art looked at her quizzically.
“I mean, add that at the end there,” she said. “That really makes it sound much better.”
The knock on the door of the Committee’s fortieth floor offices came in early February.
Coming to the door was a short, silver-haired man named Art, holding a vacuum cleaner in one hand and tape of Bucknell’s thrilling win over Kansas in the NCAA men’s basketball tournament in the other. Even though he had been working for about an hour, it looked like he actually was sleeping in the office.
“Yes?” he said to the raven-haired office person who looked uncannily like Nicki Minaj.
“I got all of the numbers,” she said, “all of them this time. No calling me back for weeks waiting for Georgetown to get them all in. They’re all here. Linebackers, kickers, wideouts. All the names are here. So you can get to work right now on all of this.”
“You must be mistaken, Nicki.. I mean, lady,” Art said. “I’m just the guy who sweeps up in the Committee’s offices. I haven’t seen any of the Committee members since they were on that three-week bender in the Bronx and then went boozing and skiing in the Granite State. I think they still may still be up there.”
“Just get to work in it,” she said, her straight, long black hair waving a little as she dropped the paperwork on the desk that still smelled like Courvoisier.
It was then Art realized how much trouble he was in.
Somewhere, a dog barked.
What a day.
Signing Day has become an event across the nation, and for Lehigh it’s no less of a celebration than anywhere else in the country.
People dressed as Teletubbies, people brought their dogs, and there was even suspense. (And that was just on my Twitter timeline.)
Lehigh announced a mammoth-sized class – an eye-popping array of 31 names – with recruits coming from the Big Sky, California, the South, and our local area of Pennsylvania and New Jersey, too.
I tried to tell the story through the many links and pictures on my timeline via Storify.
Enjoy it all below the flip.