You, sir, win the Internets today.

Far too simplistic a breakdown of the issue.

You’re the one who has gone over the deep end here, not Doctor Holliday.

Well, if we’re going to play that game, no, you and the Deadspin comment chorus aren’t going to knock negative reinforcement out of sports. You aren’t quite that powerful.

No, sir. You might — might — get away with calling a D-III track coach a teacher. Not a major-college basketball coach. That’s making a break with reality.

Because it goes against your predetermined take on the matter.

Got it.

Well, Drew, you got your echo chamber. Rejoice in your sensitivity.

That works, because you do come off as a bit of a cuck. Now you should go off and find a Kumbaya circle somewhere.

It’s coach-player, not husband-wife. Don’t try to make your point with false equivalencies.

I have to laugh at some of you “everybody gets a trophy” types who think these guys have not been through an Izzo tongue-lashing or worse. It goes with the territory. Patting your player on the head and saying, “Now, do it this…

And you're stunningly wrong. Trying to be the smartest guy in the room isn't working for Mr. Paez-Pumar, and it isn't working for you.

Damn, THAT was a quick grey-out for the sin of pointing out that writing about people writing about hot dogs just might be sillier than writing about hot dogs in the first place.

SI posted a story about a hot dog.

Deadspin posted a story about SI posting a story about a hot dog.

You tell me who’s stepped further into the journalistic abyss.

I read Deadspin daily; I read The Ringer daily.

He's damn good. The greatest player ever? That takes in more territory than I, or you, should assume.

Quite.

Well, then you probably don’t know about 50 other D-I schools.
As far as heat being brought by Deadspin, I believe the heat applied by Bradley grad and icon Charley Steiner had more to do with this about-face.

If he sits behind Mettenberger and/or Hackenberg, we will have our final answer. If we don't already.

BOOM. Exactly. Some of the greatest fun in long, interminable four-hour marathons is when some .230-hitting shortstop comes in to pitch the 14th and it becomes crazy season.

All I can say is that the swimming team works just as hard, dammit.

If an embarrassing collapse and a bad whistle in the conference tournament keeps Clemson out of the dance, some mid-major runner-up was more worthy of the spot anyway.