The third iteration of the story in as many days.
Aaaaaaaaand...he hung his coach out to dry in the process.
[By the way, please scroll down that post and say a prayer for Chad Carr, former coach Lloyd Carr's grandson, who has an inoperable brain tumor. Unspeakably tragic. I cannot imagine--rather, do not want to.]
Barring some miracle by which the Wolverines run the table (hint: WILL. NOT. HAPPEN.), Hoke is gone, but with that press release stunt, I feel a little more sympathy for him.
Brandon, on the other hand...he has to go. Period, you're just going to have to eat his ridiculous contract, Ann Arbor.
You can't have an athletic director who is all about the athletic director.
Time for the Cromwell address to the Rump Parliament:
It is high time for me to put an end to your sitting in this place,
which you have dishonored by your contempt of all virtue, and defiled by your practice of every vice.
Ye are a factious crew, and enemies to all good government.
Ye are a pack of mercenary wretches, and would like Esau sell your country for a mess of pottage, and like Judas betray your God for a few pieces of money.
Is there a single virtue now remaining amongst you? Is there one vice you do not possess?
Ye have no more religion than my horse. Gold is your God. Which of you have not bartered your conscience for bribes? Is there a man amongst you that has the least care for the good of the Commonwealth?
Ye sordid prostitutes have you not defiled this sacred place, and turned the Lord's temple into a den of thieves, by your immoral principles and wicked practices?
Ye are grown intolerably odious to the whole nation. You were deputed here by the people to get grievances redressed, are yourselves become the greatest grievance.
Your country therefore calls upon me to cleanse this Augean stable, by putting a final period to your iniquitous proceedings in this House; and which by God's help, and the strength he has given me, I am now come to do.
I command ye therefore, upon the peril of your lives, to depart immediately out of this place.
Go, get you out! Make haste! Ye venal slaves be gone! So! Take away that shining bauble there, and lock up the doors.
In the name of God, go!