Shalutaions, men! In between my naps, pills, and ESHPN ranting, I've managed to figure out how to operate a computer to bring you a very speshial holiday gift. While you're giving excepshional effort on that Chrishtmas turkey and egg nog, feasht your ears on my top ten calls to the Kentucky Shports Radio show.
10. 2/28/2011 - You know me besht for my pep talks and motivational shpeeches. In this call, with college football ending and another boring season of baseball on the horizon, Lou Holtz needed a pep talk, from himself.
Fake Lou Holtz's inshpirational musings on life, success, Notre Dame football, ESPN Notre Dame football, BCS #1 Notre Dame football, and Notre Dame football. Shpitting the whistle, so you don't have to.
Sunday, December 25, 2011
Saturday, December 24, 2011
'Twas the Night Before Christmas, Lou Holtz Edition.
Men! Shome of you may not realize it, but in addition to a world class coach and motivational shpeaker, I'm also a poet and a hopeless romantic. Thish holiday sheason I'm offering an original recap of my Christmas Eve, audio performed by me, with a transhcript below. It's set to the original cadence of 'Twas the Night Before Christmas, so don't jump offsides on the snap count.
‘Twas the day before Christmas, I was lost in my house,
My dentures were shooting the spit from my mouth.
Football was over, most fans didn’t care,
They had hopes that old Lou Holtz, would soon coach there.
The old folks were propped up in their Sleep Number beds,
While visions of Sugar Bowls, danced in our heads.
My whistle on the bendstand, with a flat-billed cap,
I’d just shettled down, for a long morning nap.
When on the TV, there arose such a clatter,
I adjusted the bed to see what was the matter.
Mark May was on ESPN, he’s always a gas.
I turned up the volume, he just talks too fasht.
What he was saying, I’ll never know,
It was cut off by the scrolling news ticker below.
When, what through my trifocaled glasses appeared,
But the names of great coaches, so highly endeared.
I’m a little old Coach, still lively and quick,
I knew in a moment, just whom they should pick.
Like penalty flags, the faster they came.
I threw things, and spit things, at some of their names.
Now Bryant, now Bowden, now Paterno and Neyland,
On Spurrier, on Switzer, on Coker and Saban.
Hogwash! I yelled with a sharp whistle’s call,
In hopes the name Hotlz, would be there after all.
And then, in an instant, I felt my bowels move.
I hustled and shuffled my way to the louvre.
As I dropped trow, and was turning around,
Down the chimney my breakfast came out with a bound.
Large and satisfying, ‘twas the length of a foot.
Waffles with fiber, and somehow a peanut.
To Jesus I cried, as I arched my back,
That my defense withstand this rushing attack.
I begged my wife, fetch me, some Pepto Bismol Cherry.
And as I blacked out, I saw the Virgin Mary.
Football season’s so short, it’s everything I know.
She smiled at me and said, 35 bowl games still to go.
I smiled as I wiped, and out popped my teeth,
And plopped in the bowl of the toilet beneath.
They stuck atop the trophy, forged from my belly,
This was a Heisman, and it was quite smelly.
It was chubby and plump, I was pleased with myself,
No way to put, this piece on my shelf.
To Mary I looked, but she turned her head,
Her Blessing I sought, she threw up instead.
She spoke not a word, so I went back to work
My pants and my buckle, came up with a jerk.
Defense victorious, from the throne I rose,
To see my wife entering, and holding her nose.
Sacrifices were made, when I launched that missile,
I’d lost my teeth, but I still had my whistle.
And my wife exclaimed, as I shuffled out of sight,
Happy “Bowel” games to all, and to all a good night!
‘Twas the day before Christmas, I was lost in my house,
My dentures were shooting the spit from my mouth.
Football was over, most fans didn’t care,
They had hopes that old Lou Holtz, would soon coach there.
The old folks were propped up in their Sleep Number beds,
While visions of Sugar Bowls, danced in our heads.
My whistle on the bendstand, with a flat-billed cap,
I’d just shettled down, for a long morning nap.
When on the TV, there arose such a clatter,
I adjusted the bed to see what was the matter.
Mark May was on ESPN, he’s always a gas.
I turned up the volume, he just talks too fasht.
What he was saying, I’ll never know,
It was cut off by the scrolling news ticker below.
When, what through my trifocaled glasses appeared,
But the names of great coaches, so highly endeared.
I’m a little old Coach, still lively and quick,
I knew in a moment, just whom they should pick.
Like penalty flags, the faster they came.
I threw things, and spit things, at some of their names.
Now Bryant, now Bowden, now Paterno and Neyland,
On Spurrier, on Switzer, on Coker and Saban.
Hogwash! I yelled with a sharp whistle’s call,
In hopes the name Hotlz, would be there after all.
And then, in an instant, I felt my bowels move.
I hustled and shuffled my way to the louvre.
As I dropped trow, and was turning around,
Down the chimney my breakfast came out with a bound.
Large and satisfying, ‘twas the length of a foot.
Waffles with fiber, and somehow a peanut.
To Jesus I cried, as I arched my back,
That my defense withstand this rushing attack.
I begged my wife, fetch me, some Pepto Bismol Cherry.
And as I blacked out, I saw the Virgin Mary.
Football season’s so short, it’s everything I know.
She smiled at me and said, 35 bowl games still to go.
I smiled as I wiped, and out popped my teeth,
And plopped in the bowl of the toilet beneath.
They stuck atop the trophy, forged from my belly,
This was a Heisman, and it was quite smelly.
It was chubby and plump, I was pleased with myself,
No way to put, this piece on my shelf.
To Mary I looked, but she turned her head,
Her Blessing I sought, she threw up instead.
She spoke not a word, so I went back to work
My pants and my buckle, came up with a jerk.
Defense victorious, from the throne I rose,
To see my wife entering, and holding her nose.
Sacrifices were made, when I launched that missile,
I’d lost my teeth, but I still had my whistle.
And my wife exclaimed, as I shuffled out of sight,
Happy “Bowel” games to all, and to all a good night!
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Mount Rushmore of Notre Dame Football
Men, after much discussion on KSR about whose faces would be on the Mount Rushmore of Kentucky football and bashketball, I'm pleased to announce that the Notre Dame Mount Rushmore has just been finished. Let's take a look...
Speaking of hail-mary, full of graces and such... In nearly 2000 seasons as the Holy Trinity's offenshive coordinator, the Virgin Mary has been outshtanding. Although she battled injury early on in her career with a nine month case of pregnancy with our Lord and Saviour, no one, much less a woman, has delivered more in clutch game-winning situashions. Just look at the statishtics: 2,908,645 touchdowns scored on an equal number of passing attempts, eleventy billion passing yards, and that doesn't even include the pro or high shchool numbersh. No one has been more electrocuting or dramatic on the field, and that earns Virgin Mary spot on Mount Rushmore.
Our father, who art in heaven; Football be thy name
The final shpot on Notre Dame Mount Rushmore belongs to me, the inimitable Lou Holtz won 1988 National Champion Fiesta Bowl that was excepshional game. There is no finer example of blatant homerism in the face of facts than this 4' 2" firecracker. 212 years of coaching without a loss, if my memory serves me correctly. Not much more needs to be said. He's also kept aviator style glasshes in style for the better part of a century. Lou Holtz's Mount Rushmore appearance is sponsored by Metamucil. Winner, winner, chase your dinner, with Metamucil.
Some of you may be upshet about so many religious icons being on a state monument, babbling some nonsense about the separashions of churchesh and shtates and such. But Lou needs to remind you that this game is steeped in the tradition of the divine. Even football's scoring system is holy! Three and seven are sacred number in life and in football. Field goals: Holy Trinity. God created the the earth and the universes in seven days, and we get seven points for touchdowns! Well, he rested on the seventh day, that's why we have to kick the extra point ourselves. COINCIDENCE? COACH THINKS NOT!
Primarily known for raising the roof with his eccentric end-zone dances, who better to take the first shpot on our monument than Jesus. As the founder of the triple option, the most exshiting offense in the history of the game, Jesus took the wheel in every Notre Dame #1 BCS champion season. Which was and is every football season. EVER! Pulling off the game's only self-completed hail-mary touchdown in history (worth 20 points I might add) is just one of his many miracles, and he's watched over our stadium so long that even the referees have taken to using his pose as the sign for touchdowns and field goals. Here's hoping for many more sermons on the Mount.
Speaking of hail-mary, full of graces and such... In nearly 2000 seasons as the Holy Trinity's offenshive coordinator, the Virgin Mary has been outshtanding. Although she battled injury early on in her career with a nine month case of pregnancy with our Lord and Saviour, no one, much less a woman, has delivered more in clutch game-winning situashions. Just look at the statishtics: 2,908,645 touchdowns scored on an equal number of passing attempts, eleventy billion passing yards, and that doesn't even include the pro or high shchool numbersh. No one has been more electrocuting or dramatic on the field, and that earns Virgin Mary spot on Mount Rushmore.

Next up is one of the most iconic symbols in all of college football. That's right, a Notre Dame helmet has been installed in our third shpot as the Golden Dome of the Rock. You have no idea how much planning was involved to turn the monument's natural white color to gold, but we deshided that plating the helmet in pure 24 karat gold was the cheapest option. Shpared no expense. Inside the helmet will be a convent and living quarters for the Rushmore maintenance staff, and a special thanks goes out to the Sisters of Our Lady of the Worthless Miracle for their vigilant and steadfasht upkeep.
The final shpot on Notre Dame Mount Rushmore belongs to me, the inimitable Lou Holtz won 1988 National Champion Fiesta Bowl that was excepshional game. There is no finer example of blatant homerism in the face of facts than this 4' 2" firecracker. 212 years of coaching without a loss, if my memory serves me correctly. Not much more needs to be said. He's also kept aviator style glasshes in style for the better part of a century. Lou Holtz's Mount Rushmore appearance is sponsored by Metamucil. Winner, winner, chase your dinner, with Metamucil.
Some of you may be upshet about so many religious icons being on a state monument, babbling some nonsense about the separashions of churchesh and shtates and such. But Lou needs to remind you that this game is steeped in the tradition of the divine. Even football's scoring system is holy! Three and seven are sacred number in life and in football. Field goals: Holy Trinity. God created the the earth and the universes in seven days, and we get seven points for touchdowns! Well, he rested on the seventh day, that's why we have to kick the extra point ourselves. COINCIDENCE? COACH THINKS NOT!
Salutashions!
Greetings, men! With college football season coming soon upon us, and now that I've figured out what a computer is, I thought it would be a superb time to start an Interweb blog: The Coach Lisperer. When I'm not tweetering, calling in to Kentucky Sports Radio, or coaching stuffed animals in my bedroom, I'll be here posting my thoughts and advice on life through my dishtorted lens of Notre Dame football. Soon you'll find audio clips, rants, pep talks, and even videos of my old timer antics, so stay tuned!
As a member of Lou's Legion, I expect nothing less from you than 110% effort! NO SHLACKING! Everything on this site is to be read in my inimitatable, sprinkler shooting voice.
If you have a topic you'd like to see your beloved Coach tackle, please feel free to comment and suggesht your suggeshtions.
As a member of Lou's Legion, I expect nothing less from you than 110% effort! NO SHLACKING! Everything on this site is to be read in my inimitatable, sprinkler shooting voice.
If you have a topic you'd like to see your beloved Coach tackle, please feel free to comment and suggesht your suggeshtions.
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