The 2015 Patsy Ratings – Ranking the Recruiting Classes of the Patriot League
Coming to the door was a short, silver-haired man named Art, holding a vacuum cleaner in one hand and tape of Bucknell's thrilling win over Kansas in the NCAA men's basketball tournament in the other. Even though he had been working for about an hour, it looked like he actually was sleeping in the office.
"Yes?" he said to the raven-haired office person who looked uncannily like Nicki Minaj.
"I got all of the numbers," she said, "all of them this time. No calling me back for weeks waiting for Georgetown to get them all in. They're all here. Linebackers, kickers, wideouts. All the names are here. So you can get to work right now on all of this."
"You must be mistaken, Nicki.. I mean, lady," Art said. "I'm just the guy who sweeps up in the Committee's offices. I haven't seen any of the Committee members since they were on that three-week bender in the Bronx and then went boozing and skiing in the Granite State. I think they still may still be up there."
"Just get to work in it," she said, her straight, long black hair waving a little as she dropped the paperwork on the desk that still smelled like Courvoisier.
It was then Art realized how much trouble he was in.
Somewhere, a dog barked.
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