I hope he's got enough cheese for all that whine***

Doublespeak..... the language of 1984. In a world full of Tyrants who don’t want their presence questioned, it’s the art of saying exactly what is not. It’s the art of speaking into existence that which doesn’t exist. Or it can also be the art of manufacturing plausible deniability, even when they’ve got you dead to rights on a War & Peace-sized Warrant full of felonies.

In the Sports world, it’s commonly known as “Coach speak”. Same thing, really, and all Coaches are guilty of doing it. Dabo Swinney trots out a fake punt on 4th and 17 from his own 9 barely halfway through the 1st quarter, and he tells the press conference later, “Sure, we called it thinking it would work”; I’m thinking instead, “Coach speak”. You know; like maybe he just couldn’t say the real thing out loud: “I was 3 years into being bored as hell with our Offense, and just had to try something other than firing everybody right there on the sideline in the middle of the game”. You know, Coach speak.

The problem is that Doublespeak only really works when you essentially have the Power of God on your side. You want to flaunt the very membranes of sanity by asking your punter to run through 6 guys to gain 30 yards, well, you better have the Armed Services under your command, or at least 2 Natties in the back pocket before you try. That’s because only then do you have the credibility to create full suspension of group logic in mid-sentence to a press conference, and then not even have the question repeated.

Fidel Castro had that credibility.
Josef Stalin had that credibility.
Karine Jean-pierre thinks she has that credibility.
Raquel Welch had that credibility. Either of them, actually.

But Brad Brownell does not have that credibility.

No, Brad; 3rd place in the ACC for one year out of 13, and a runner-up trophy to the NIT 1st Round simply doesn’t suffice.

To wit:

Judge Keller declares to the Board just last week (Nov. 7, 12:04pm): “Brad doesn't want us to rely on the 3 too much... A few were taken out of the flow of the offense, but that's going to happen - especially early in the season when we are getting new players acclimated and getting our timing down.”

Then Brad’s team hoists 14 three’s in the first 23 shots of a game? Indeed, they go 1 for their first 12, and yet keep chucking? The scoreboard deficit grows to 17-2, and it’s only a TV timeout that stops the carnage?

A couple of thousand questions arise immediately, but clearly the most prominent is simply, “Exactly who in Hades is actually “Coaching” this team?”

That’s because a team who rips off 14 3-pointers before the first TV timeout cannot be coached by someone who “doesn’t want to rely on the 3 too much”. Either they’re not being Coached, or someone else is holding the steering wheel.

Doublespeak simply doesn’t make that go away. And neither does an over-hyped comeback against a mid-tier A-10 team.

Coaching is about preparation. It is about intending and designing a particular style of play. It’s about conditioning one’s players to follow that prescribed pattern of action. Or at least that’s what other teams’ Coaches do. And often, the better the team, the more closely they are following their intended path.

But apparently not at Clemson. And that’s not Doublespeak.

ninetytwotiger®

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Re: Stark Raving Brad - November 14

Nov 13, 2023, 8:30 PM

Since he has not weighed in, I’d like to channel my inner Obed®:

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way—in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.

There were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a plain face, on the throne of England; there were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a fair face, on the throne of France. In both countries it was clearer than crystal to the lords of the State preserves of loaves and fishes, that things in general were settled for ever.

It was the year of Our Lord one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five. Spiritual revelations were conceded to England at that favoured period, as at this. Mrs. Southcott had recently attained her five-and-twentieth blessed birthday, of whom a prophetic private in the Life Guards had heralded the sublime appearance by announcing that arrangements were made for the swallowing up of London and Westminster. Even the Cock-lane ghost had been laid only a round dozen of years, after rapping out its messages, as the spirits of this very year last past (supernaturally deficient in originality) rapped out theirs. Mere messages in the earthly order of events had lately come to the English Crown and People, from a congress of British subjects in America: which, strange to relate, have proved more important to the human race than any communications yet received through any of the chickens of the Cock-lane brood.

France, less favoured on the whole as to matters spiritual than her sister of the shield and trident, rolled with exceeding smoothness down hill, making paper money and spending it. Under the guidance of her Christian pastors, she entertained herself, besides, with such humane achievements as sentencing a youth to have his hands cut off, his tongue torn out with pincers, and his body burned alive, because he had not kneeled down in the rain to do honour to a dirty procession of monks which passed within his view, at a distance of some fifty or sixty yards. It is likely enough that, rooted in the woods of France and Norway, there were growing trees, when that sufferer was put to death, already marked by the Woodman, Fate, to come down and be sawn into boards, to make a certain movable framework with a sack and a knife in it, terrible in history. It is likely enough that in the rough outhouses of some tillers of the heavy lands adjacent to Paris, there were sheltered from the weather that very day, rude carts, bespattered with rustic mire, snuffed about by pigs, and roosted in by poultry, which the Farmer, Death, had already set apart to be his tumbrils of the Revolution. But that Woodman and that Farmer, though they work unceasingly, work silently, and no one heard them as they went about with muffled tread: the rather, forasmuch as to entertain any suspicion that they were awake, was to be atheistical and traitorous.

In England, there was scarcely an amount of order and protection to justify much national boasting. Daring burglaries by armed men, and highway robberies, took place in the capital itself every night; families were publicly cautioned not to go out of town without removing their furniture to upholsterers’ warehouses for security; the highwayman in the dark was a City tradesman in the light, and, being recognised and challenged by his fellow-tradesman whom he stopped in his character of “the Captain,” gallantly shot him through the head and rode away; the mail was waylaid by seven robbers, and the guard shot three dead, and then got shot dead himself by the other four, “in consequence of the failure of his ammunition:” after which the mail was robbed in peace; that magnificent potentate, the Lord Mayor of London, was made to stand and deliver on Turnham Green, by one highwayman, who despoiled the illustrious creature in sight of all his retinue; prisoners in London gaols fought battles with their turnkeys, and the majesty of the law fired blunderbusses in among them, loaded with rounds of shot and ball; thieves snipped off diamond crosses from the necks of noble lords at Court drawing-rooms; musketeers went into St. Giles’s, to search for contraband goods, and the mob fired on the musketeers, and the musketeers fired on the mob, and nobody thought any of these occurrences much out of the common way. In the midst of them, the hangman, ever busy and ever worse than useless, was in constant requisition; now, stringing up long rows of miscellaneous criminals; now, hanging a housebreaker on Saturday who had been taken on Tuesday; now, burning people in the hand at Newgate by the dozen, and now burning pamphlets at the door of Westminster Hall; to-day, taking the life of an atrocious murderer, and to-morrow of a wretched pilferer who had robbed a farmer’s boy of sixpence.

All these things, and a thousand like them, came to pass in and close upon the dear old year one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five. Environed by them, while the Woodman and the Farmer worked unheeded, those two of the large jaws, and those other two of the plain and the fair faces, trod with stir enough, and carried their divine rights with a high hand. Thus did the year one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five conduct their Greatnesses, and myriads of small creatures—the creatures of this chronicle among the rest—along the roads that lay before them.

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Stark Raving Brad - November 14

Re: Stark Raving Brad - November 14

You whine way more than Mike.***

Re: Stark Raving Brad - November 14

I personally don't know if JK knows what Brad thinks or not

Re: I personally don't know if JK knows what Brad thinks or not

Re: I personally don't know if JK knows what Brad thinks or not

Actually, here's the Point(s):

Re: Actually, here's the Point(s):

Well done. Thx for the time that you put in on this. Go Tigers!***

Re: Stark Raving Brad - November 14

I don't remember us taking a lot of bad 3s in any of the games we've played this

when you're 1 for 12 from 3, and down 17-2 in the game

Re: when you're 1 for 12 from 3, and down 17-2 in the game

Don't tell him what kind of coach Seth thinks Brad is, it would only trigger

have you ever heard a Commentator or other Coach openly talk bad about a Coach?

So you can cite Seth, but I can't? Got it***

Be in the NCAA tournament a bunch?

You do realize the 3 was a big part of our comeback right?***

Re: Stark Raving Brad - November 14

Brownell still can not Coach***

Re: Brownell still can not Coach***

Re: Brownell still can not Coach***

Some nights

Re: Stark Raving Brad - November 14

Re: Stark Raving Brad - November 14

I promise you this team is going to shoot 3s

Re: I promise you this team is going to shoot 3s

Re: I promise you this team is going to shoot 3s

Stark Raving ole mike

Tug, really, it isn't sad that you're one of my "few fans" here

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