Doug Collins Finds The Answer

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Doug Collins is crying in his glass of Sam Adams and he doesn’t know what to do. Another loss. He unleashed his opinions on the world during a press conference after last night’s loss and now Twitter’s abuzz and people are talking about how the longest he’s ever had a team is for three years. There are many questions, and he has no answers.


The barkeep walks up and wipes the bar in front of Collins before tossing the rag over his shoulder.


“Another, Coach?”


Collins polishes off what suds he has left and nods.


“Yea, Carl, you’d better had.”


Carl poured him another and Collins stared in the mirror behind the bar. He saw his end there and he shook his head and looked down.


“There was a day when effort was a given. That’s not the case anymore, C.”


Carl sat the glass down in front of Collins.


“Come on, Coach. Things are gonna pick up.”


Collins took another drink.


“Just too many injuries, Carl. First Andrew, now Thad’s been banged up. It doesn’t stop.”


Collins stood up and walked to the back of the bar. He strode with his eyes cast downward to the wooden bar floor. He walked, solemnly, a man all alone and afraid, past the encased Todd MacCulloch jersey that hung on the wall. He stopped. He walked back and stood in front of the case.


“What do I do, Mac? What do I do?”


He looked at his reflection in the mirror and he saw no answers. Mac spoke not a word, the only sounds in the room was Neil Young’s Helpless coming out of the jukebox speakers. He went into the bathroom. He walked into a stall because urinals make him uncomfortable. On the bathroom wall there was a message coming from a cartoon drawing of Allen Iverson.


The voice bubble above his head read: Y’all ever seen that Disney channel original series Brotherly Love? Them Lawrence Bros crack my $#!+ up.


Collins smiled as he zipped up. He had seen that show, and it was enormously underrated. It reminded him of the joy he used to have for the game, and how it’d been stripped of him. He had to get it back. He washed his hands and walked back into the bar and threw his money down on the bar to pay for his tab.


“It’s go time, Carl. No more questions.”


He’d seen The Answer and in that he found some answers for himself. There is hope in a Philly bar bathroom. You just got to let the art speak.

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