Bielema channels Patton

[thirrdegreetusker]

Be seated.

Men, all this stuff you hear about Bielema's Hogs  not wanting to fight, being content with mediocrity, is a lot of bull. The Arkansas Razorbacks love to fight. All real Razorbacks love the sting and clash of battle. When you were kids, you all admired the champion marble shooter, the fastest runner, the big-league ball player, and the toughest boxer. Arkansas people love a winner and will not tolerate a loser. Arkansas Razorbacks play to win all the time. That's why Razorbacks has never been down for long and never will be down for long. The very thought of losing is hateful to Razorbacks. Athletic competition is the most significant competition in which a man can indulge. It brings out all that is best and it removes all that is base.

You are not all going to get hurt. Only two percent of you right here today would be hurt in a practice our game. Every man is scared in his first game. If he says he's not, he's a danged liar. But the real hero is the man who plays his butt off even though he's scared. Some men will get over their fright in a minute of game action, some take an hour, and for some it takes days. But the real man never lets his fear of injury or defeat  overpower his honor, his sense of duty to his team, and his innate manhood.

All through your football career you men have bitched about what you call 'this chicken-darn practicing.' That is all for a purpose—to ensure instant obedience to orders and to create constant alertness. This must be bred into every player. I don't give a frick for a man who is not always on his toes. But practice has made veterans of all you men. You are ready! A man has to be alert all the time if he expects to keep on winning . If not, some Tiger or Rebel Bear son-of-a-bitch will sneak up behind him and beat him to death with a sock full of darn. There are hundred neatly marked losses in our pressguide, all because one man went to sleep on the job—but they are opponent losses, because we caught the bastard asleep before his own Coach did.

We are all members of a team. It lives, eats, sleeps, and fights as a team. We are going to win by playing ferocious defense and by shoving the football down the other guy's throat. This individual hero stuff is bull. The bilious bastards who write that stuff on Hogville don't know any more about real football than they do about fornicating . And we have the best team—we have the finest food and equipment, the best spirit and the best men in the world. Why, by God, I actually pity these poor bastards we're going up against.

All the real heroes are not storybook All-Conference players. Every single man on the team plays a vital role. So don't ever let up. Don't ever think that your job is unimportant. What if every special teams player  decided that he didn't like the contact and turned yellow and jumped headlong out of the way of a blocker? That cowardly bastard could say to himself, 'Hell, they won't miss me, just one man in eleven .' What if every man said that? Where in the hell would we be then? No, thank God, Razorbacks don't say that. Every man does his job. Every man is important. The long snapper is needed to get the ball to the kicker, the punt-team gunner is needed to stop the opponent's punt returner because where we are going with this program, we can't let the other team piss a drop.  Every last damn man on the practice squad, even the one who blocks Trey Flowers every day to keep him sharp to keep us from getting beat on game day, has a job to do.

Each man must think not only of himself, but think of his buddy fighting alongside him. We don't want yellow cowards on this team. They should be killed off like flies. If not, they will go back home after the season,  danged cowards, and breed more cowards. The brave men will breed more brave men. Get rid of the danged cowards and we'll have a team of brave men.

One of the bravest men I saw in the Ole Miss game was Austin Allen. I stopped and asked him what the hell he was doing out there. He answered, 'Taking care of the football, sir.' 'Isn't it a little unhealthy out there right now?' I asked. 'Yes sir, but this team has to keep winning. ' I asked, 'Don't those Ole Miss defenders bother you?' And he answered, 'No sir, but you sure as hell do.' Now, there was a real football player. A real man. A man who devoted all he had to his duty, no matter how great the odds, no matter how seemingly insignificant his duty appeared at the time.

And you should have seen our offensive linemen. Those boys  were magnificent. All day they chased smaller, faster defenders, never stopping, never deviating from their course with the crowd roaring all around them. Many of the men played every down in that piss-poor weather. We got through on good old Arkansas  guts. These were not pretty-boy running backs or receivers. But they were players with a job to do. They were part of a team. Without them the game would have been lost.

Keep moving. We'll win more and more games as time goes by, but we'll win only by fighting and showing the rest of the conference  that we've got more guts than they have or ever will have. We're not just going to beat the bastards, we're going to rip out their living darned guts and use them to grease the wheels on the team bus. We're going to win games by the bushel-fricking-basket.

Some of you men are wondering whether or not you'll chicken out in the fourth quarter. Don't worry about it. I can assure you that you'll all do your duty. SEC football is a bloody business. The opposing teams are the enemy. Wade into them, kick their butts, or they will kick yours. When bodies are crashing all around you and you wipe the dirt from your face and you realize that it's not dirt, it's the blood of your best friend, you'll know what to do.

I don't want any player saying 'I'm okay with just holding on to my starting my position.' We're not holding a goddamned thing. We're advancing constantly and we're not interested in holding anything except the enemy's balls. We're going to hold him by his balls and we're going to kick him in the ass; twist his balls and kick the living darn out of him all the time. Our plan is to advance and keep on advancing. We're going to go through the enemy like darn through a tinhorn.

There will be some complaints that we're pushing our people too hard. I don't give a damn about such complaints. I believe that an ounce of sweat will save a gallon of blood. The harder we push, the more games we win. Pushing harder means fewer losses. I want you all to remember that. My men don't quit I don't want to hear of any player on my team letting up unless he is hurt bad. Even if you are hurt a little, you can still fight. That's not just bull either.
Don't forget, I'm not supposed to be succeeding in this conference . I'm not even supposed to win a damn game. Someday, I want them to rise up on their piss-soaked hind legs and howl 'Oh, hell. It's darned Razorbacks and that son-of-a-bitch Bielema again!'

Then there's one thing you men will be able to say when your Razorback career  is over and you get back home. Thirty years from now when you're sitting by your fireside with your grandson on your knee and he asks, 'What did you do in the 2014 season?' You won't have to cough and say, 'Well, your granddaddy's team lost every SEC game.' No sir, you can look him straight in the eye and say 'Son, your granddaddy played for the great Arkansas Razorbacks  and a son-of-a-darned-bitch named Bret Bielema!'

All right, you sons of [CENSORED]. You know how I feel. I'll be proud to lead you wonderful guys on to the field, anytime, anywhere. That's all.

[WardamnHOGGLE]

Have those German's bombed Pearl Harbor again?

[Hoggish1]

Be seated.

Men, all this stuff you hear about Bielema's Hogs  not wanting to fight, being content with mediocrity, is a lot of bull. The Arkansas Razorbacks love to fight. All real Razorbacks love the sting and clash of battle. When you were kids, you all admired the champion marble shooter, the fastest runner, the big-league ball player, and the toughest boxer. Arkansas people love a winner and will not tolerate a loser. Arkansas Razorbacks play to win all the time. That's why Razorbacks has never been down for long and never will be down for long. The very thought of losing is hateful to Razorbacks. Athletic competition is the most significant competition in which a man can indulge. It brings out all that is best and it removes all that is base.

You are not all going to get hurt. Only two percent of you right here today would be hurt in a practice our game. Every man is scared in his first game. If he says he's not, he's a danged liar. But the real hero is the man who plays his butt off even though he's scared. Some men will get over their fright in a minute of game action, some take an hour, and for some it takes days. But the real man never lets his fear of injury or defeat  overpower his honor, his sense of duty to his team, and his innate manhood.

All through your football career you men have bitched about what you call 'this chicken-darn practicing.' That is all for a purpose—to ensure instant obedience to orders and to create constant alertness. This must be bred into every player. I don't give a frick for a man who is not always on his toes. But practice has made veterans of all you men. You are ready! A man has to be alert all the time if he expects to keep on winning . If not, some Tiger or Rebel Bear son-of-a-bitch will sneak up behind him and beat him to death with a sock full of darn. There are hundred neatly marked losses in our pressguide, all because one man went to sleep on the job—but they are opponent losses, because we caught the bastard asleep before his own Coach did.

We are all members of a team. It lives, eats, sleeps, and fights as a team. We are going to win by playing ferocious defense and by shoving the football down the other guy's throat. This individual hero stuff is bull. The bilious bastards who write that stuff on Hogville don't know any more about real football than they do about fornicating . And we have the best team—we have the finest food and equipment, the best spirit and the best men in the world. Why, by God, I actually pity these poor bastards we're going up against.

All the real heroes are not storybook All-Conference players. Every single man on the team plays a vital role. So don't ever let up. Don't ever think that your job is unimportant. What if every special teams player  decided that he didn't like the contact and turned yellow and jumped headlong out of the way of a blocker? That cowardly bastard could say to himself, 'Hell, they won't miss me, just one man in eleven .' What if every man said that? Where in the hell would we be then? No, thank God, Razorbacks don't say that. Every man does his job. Every man is important. The long snapper is needed to get the ball to the kicker, the punt-team gunner is needed to stop the opponent's punt returner because where we are going with this program, we can't let the other team piss a drop.  Every last damn man on the practice squad, even the one who blocks Trey Flowers every day to keep him sharp to keep us from getting beat on game day, has a job to do.

Each man must think not only of himself, but think of his buddy fighting alongside him. We don't want yellow cowards on this team. They should be killed off like flies. If not, they will go back home after the season,  danged cowards, and breed more cowards. The brave men will breed more brave men. Get rid of the danged cowards and we'll have a team of brave men.

One of the bravest men I saw in the Ole Miss game was Austin Allen. I stopped and asked him what the hell he was doing out there. He answered, 'Taking care of the football, sir.' 'Isn't it a little unhealthy out there right now?' I asked. 'Yes sir, but this team has to keep winning. ' I asked, 'Don't those Ole Miss defenders bother you?' And he answered, 'No sir, but you sure as hell do.' Now, there was a real football player. A real man. A man who devoted all he had to his duty, no matter how great the odds, no matter how seemingly insignificant his duty appeared at the time.

And you should have seen our offensive linemen. Those boys  were magnificent. All day they chased smaller, faster defenders, never stopping, never deviating from their course with the crowd roaring all around them. Many of the men played every down in that piss-poor weather. We got through on good old Arkansas  guts. These were not pretty-boy running backs or receivers. But they were players with a job to do. They were part of a team. Without them the game would have been lost.

Keep moving. We'll win more and more games as time goes by, but we'll win only by fighting and showing the rest of the conference  that we've got more guts than they have or ever will have. We're not just going to beat the bastards, we're going to rip out their living darned guts and use them to grease the wheels on the team bus. We're going to win games by the bushel-fricking-basket.

Some of you men are wondering whether or not you'll chicken out in the fourth quarter. Don't worry about it. I can assure you that you'll all do your duty. SEC football is a bloody business. The opposing teams are the enemy. Wade into them, kick their butts, or they will kick yours. When bodies are crashing all around you and you wipe the dirt from your face and you realize that it's not dirt, it's the blood of your best friend, you'll know what to do.

I don't want any player saying 'I'm okay with just holding on to my starting my position.' We're not holding a goddamned thing. We're advancing constantly and we're not interested in holding anything except the enemy's balls. We're going to hold him by his balls and we're going to kick him in the ass; twist his balls and kick the living darn out of him all the time. Our plan is to advance and keep on advancing. We're going to go through the enemy like darn through a tinhorn.

There will be some complaints that we're pushing our people too hard. I don't give a damn about such complaints. I believe that an ounce of sweat will save a gallon of blood. The harder we push, the more games we win. Pushing harder means fewer losses. I want you all to remember that. My men don't quit I don't want to hear of any player on my team letting up unless he is hurt bad. Even if you are hurt a little, you can still fight. That's not just bull either.
Don't forget, I'm not supposed to be succeeding in this conference . I'm not even supposed to win a damn game. Someday, I want them to rise up on their piss-soaked hind legs and howl 'Oh, hell. It's darned Razorbacks and that son-of-a-bitch Bielema again!'

Then there's one thing you men will be able to say when your Razorback career  is over and you get back home. Thirty years from now when you're sitting by your fireside with your grandson on your knee and he asks, 'What did you do in the 2014 season?' You won't have to cough and say, 'Well, your granddaddy's team lost every SEC game.' No sir, you can look him straight in the eye and say 'Son, your granddaddy played for the great Arkansas Razorbacks  and a son-of-a-darned-bitch named Bret Bielema!'

All right, you sons of [CENSORED]. You know how I feel. I'll be proud to lead you wonderful guys on to the field, anytime, anywhere. That's all.

Loved it.  Dismissed!!