This whole situation has got me in such a condition that I am spending my time modifying Shakespeare (badly) to fit the CU situation:
To coach at Colorado, or not to coach at Colorado --that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of competing in the Big East with no good bowl tie-ins
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, namely Oregon and Stanford
And by opposing end them. To die, to win--
No more--and by a win to say we end
The heartache, and the thousand conference game losses, and the worst defense in the land
That we have seen for far too long. Coaching at Colorado is a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep--
To sleep--perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub,
For in that sleep of loosing football games what dreams may come of winning
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause. There's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of losing to Sacramento State,
Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely
The pangs of despised fumbles, interceptions, and delay of game after a time out,
The insolence of the fans posting on the message boards, and the spurns
That patient merit of th' unworthy press displays, or not,
When he himself might his contract make 2.6 millions of dollars per year
With a bare cupboard of two and three stars? Who would walk-ons bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of losing to Colorado State!
The undiscovered country, from whose bourn
No losing coach returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather keep an athletic director who can hire a good basketball coach
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus having Fresno State score 45 points in the first quarter does make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue son of Colorado
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of losing all but one game in a season,
And enterprise of great pitch and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry
And lose football games one after the other. -- Soft you now,
The fair Barbara! -- Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins forgotten.
