Don’t Let the Door Hit you on the ass, old man

Joe Paterno prefers brains softened by repeated football hits
moments after stepping on his own dick every day since 2002

Penn State trustees fire Joe Paterno, president Graham Spanier amid scandal – NCAA Football –

STATE COLLEGE, Pa. (AP) — Joe Paterno was fired by the Penn State board of trustees Wednesday night despite saying he would retire as coach after the football season ended, brought down by the growing furor over the handling of child sex abuse allegations against an assistant coach.

Penn State President Graham Spanier was also ousted.

“I am disappointed with the board of trustees’ decision, but I have to accept it,” the 84-year-old Paterno said in a statement. “A tragedy occurred, and we all have to have patience to let the legal process proceed.”

Paterno, the winningest coach in major college football history, learned of the board’s decision at the end of a day that began with his decision to finish out his 46th season and leave.

It was not to be.

Sorry Joe.  You don’t get to write your own final chapter, or script your ride into the sunset.  You lost that chance sometime between 1998 and 2002 and every day since.  Life is bigger than football and even bigger than you.

i have spent a lot of bandwidth joking about your age and fragility.  Well, that’s done. The facade is down.  You’re as craven and cynical as the next guy.

You fucked up Joe.  You could have had an Elway exit from the game.  Instead, it’s some combination of Nixon and Favre.  Instead of wishing you godspeed and good luck, it’s more like good riddance.  Pater? No.

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Author: Raoul Duke

When I came to, the general back-alley ambiance of the suite was so rotten, so incredibly foul. How long had I been lying there? All these signs of violence. What had happened? There was evidence in this room of excessive consumption of almost every type of drug known to civilized man since 1544 AD. What kind of addict would need all these coconut husks and crushed honeydew rinds? Would the presence of junkies account for all these uneaten french fries? These puddles of glazed ketchup on the bureau? Maybe so. But then why all this booze? And these crude pornographic photos smeared with mustard that had dried to a hard yellow crust? These were not the hoofprints of your average God-fearing junkie. It was too savage. Too aggressive.

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