Chip Kelly’s Diary: Apocalypse Now, Redux Edition


The Coach’s Diary series takes us past the interviews, the fake smiles and the rehearsed responses, and delves deep into the things Pac-12 coaches don’t say to the media.

After Oregon’s heartbreaking overtime loss to Stanford, Oregon’s National Championship hopes seemed farfetched at best. Even after a win at Oregon State this past Saturday, the once-mighty Ducks were mathematically cornered out of not only the BCS title game, but the Pac-12 Championship game as well. After things settled down, Chip Kelly, coach of the Oregon Ducks and captain of the S.S. Chip and Sail, Rescue Ranger, retreated to his log cabin located on the shores of the mighty Pacific, just north of Florence, for some peace and quiet. Whilst there, he penned another entry in his wonderfully transparent diary.

We at QuackTownUSA, through rigorous investigative work, consistent neglect of trespassing laws and little regard for the validity of our sources, have obtained the diary entries from the past two weeks. In this installment, we give you the entries leading up to the Oregon State game.

Sunday, November 18th: Isn’t shock just a temporary state?

Dear Diary,

It’s been over 12 hours since we lost. In those 12 hours, I’ve been unable to control my involuntary bodily functions. Not in a gross way or anything, but I’ve begun blinking in very odd patterns.

For around an hour at a time, I’m unable to blink. I just stare at whatever lay in front of me. Then, for the next hour, my eyelids beat like the wings of a hummingbird, fluttering manically. It’s quite distracting. At the moment, I’m in a staring stage.

And (no surprise here), since that kicker — who’s name I refused to learn for a reason, dammit. I tend to call him Kimosabe, but that can’t be right — missed in overtime, I haven’t slept very much. Let me revise that: I haven’t slept at all.

I’m sure that sleep would be beneficial, but given the conditions of my eyes, I don’t feel like I’m in any position to be attempting that Freddy Krueger-fraught activity.

I’m sure the post-game presser was a nightmare. I don’t remember a thing. It was like in that movie Old School, when Will Farrell blacked out the foreign policy debate against James Carville, only I don’t think mine went as well.

Rob Moseley made fun of me on Twitter for it. I can’t believe that. Him and I are supposed to be buddies. He never says anything bad about me. He never even says anything lukewarm about me. But that “1,000-yard stare” comment? That hurt. He’s supposed to be one of my 157,100 (depending on the sign you trust, Diary. It could be less!) friends in this town. After all, I’m from the other side of the country.

Uh-oh. The blinking thing has switched to the malevolent phase.



Tuesday, November 20th: Leave Chip alone!

Dear Diary,

The Civil War can’t come soon enough. Between the questions about what went wrong against Stanford and the questions about me leaving for the NFL, the media could use a proper distraction.

Thank Puddles for rabid rivalries.

I’m no meteorologist, but I predict that tomorrow the tone of the questions should change a bit. And that it’s going to rain. But up here in Eugene, the weatherman has the easiest job ever. In the winter, it’s going to rain. In the summer, it’s going to be sunny and suspiciously warm around 5:00 p.m.

It’s not rocket science. It’s not even applied science in this neck of the woods. I should have been a weather man. Then the hardest question I would have to answer on a daily basis would be, “Hey Chip, what’s the weather like out there?” And then I’d answer, “Well Thom, what’s the date today?” (Yes, he’d spell Tom with an h).

He’d say, “November 20th, Chip!”

And then I’d reply, “It’s going to rain. I’d suspect a downpour. Let’s put the chances of a downpour at 50 percent. Back to you Thom!”

I’d send it back to him with a double finger-point, maybe use the pistol hands on days when I was feeling squirrely, and that would be the end of it.

Sorry for rambling Diary, I’m just in digression mode due to all the questions I don’t want to answer.

Talk to you later.

Thursday, November 22nd: Turkey Gobble Gobble

Dear Diary,

Happy Thanksgiving!

I’ll keep this short because people are waiting on me, but it worked! The plan worked. Nobody is talking about me leaving OR the Stanford game anymore. I don’t know if they got bored, or if the Halo 4 cloaking device that I purchased in Thailand actually works.

Either way, I’m enjoying the peace and quiet, Diary. It’s rather refreshing. So, among other things (like winning, great fans, Bud Light Lime, Halo 4 and maple cured bacon), I am thankful for the quiet.

G’night, Diary.

Saturday, November 24th: Game Day

Dear Diary,

Statistically we’re kind of screwed, but we still have a remote chance at making the Natty.

I’ve taken to calling it that, even if Cliff Harris wasn’t my favorite Duck. But if we make it to the Natty, my departure to the NFL won’t make me feel so guilty.

I’d love to win a championship before I leave, but I’d also love to be salaried at around $8 million a year. Money talks, but so does the media. That’s why I haven’t really been talking to them.

I’ve been trying to convince them that I’m actually worried about the impostors from Corvallis, but the act is draining. I haven’t been this un-worried about a game since Tennessee Tech.

It’s not that I think that Oregon State sucks, I just don’t really think they’re any good. I suppose I thought the same of Stanford, but I got a better feeling about this one.

Our fate is in the hands of Jimbo Fisher and Lane Kiffin now, Diary, and I’m worried. But not about the Beavers.

Until next time…

Categories: Coach's Diary, Features, Just for fun, Nooooooo

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1 reply

  1. Fortitude is a plaster for anyone sores.

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