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SEC 2009 // 'Don't B.S. on My Leg and Tell Me It's Raining: A Memoir,' by Rich Brooks

Team Speed Kills recently obtained the copy of a rough draft of Kentucky Wildcats head coach Rich Brooks' unpublished memoir, tentatively titled "Don't B.S. on My Leg and Tell Me It's Raining." Excerpts follow.

The sweat covered my skin as I looked down from the tree onto the enemy: a Viet Cong, making his way through the jungles of the Mekong Delta. I slipped down behind him, quietly -- but not quietly enough. The Viet Cong spun around and came after me, fighting like h---. But my Navy SEAL training was too much for him, and eventually I plunged my blade into the soft flesh of him stomach.

As he slumped to the ground, about to take his last breath, I leaned down and whispered in his ear.

"Communism is b---s---," I said. ...

If anything, Colombia was hotter than 'Nam, probably hotter than Hell itself. But my target this time wasn't the guerillas from North Vietnam. This time, I was after a middleman in the Cali Cartel. I was staked out in a dingy building in one of the worst parts of Cali.

Wonder what my players would say if they could see me now, I thought. Probably wouldn't b---- about summer workouts.

No more time for thought. Through my scope, I could see the middleman.

I grabbed him, prepared to take him back to the closest CIA station where he could be greeted, hopefully in that special CIA way.

Before I punched him out, I just had three words for him.

"Drugs are b---s---," I said. ...

I was out of the jungle. Now I was in a swamp -- the suburbs of the mosquito-ridden cesspool called Washington, D.C.

But this was no mission. This time, it was personal.

It was Jan. 19, 2009 -- McLean, Virginia. It took all my skills to render the Secret Service detail unconscious, then approach my target, the man who I believe had given the orders to reveal the identity of my good friend Valierie Plame.

I grabbed Dick Cheney by what little hair remained, then pulled back as hard as a man my age could. Later, they would come up with some crap about moving boxes to explain how I strained his back so badly.

I had come with one message.

"Leaking is b---s---," I said as I walked away. ...