Welcome to Fayetteville. We're glad to have you. People like to talk about our town as if they know it, but those same people tend to think God smiles brightest on South Bend and Ann Arbor. Living here makes all the difference. Not only have you made the right decision about our football team, you've given your family a wonderful home.
Fayetteville may not be as grand as Montana, but it's every bit as beautiful and offers gorgeous springs, temperate summers, long falls and livable winters. Go camping at Kyle's Landing or Steel Creek. Float the Buffalo at least a couple times a year. Hike to Hemmed-In Holler at least once in your life.
I hope you like to fish.
Speaking of fish: the best place to eat is the Catfish Hole. The best steak is at Herman's. The best Mexican food is El Camino Real. The best barbecue is honestly going to come from your own backyard, but I've got a great recipe for sauce that I'm willing share.
Your biggest fans drink beer at a rectangular shack called Maxine's. Your richest fans drop by Theo's for a happy hour that transitions into supper at Doe's Eat Place.
But one of the nicest things about Fayetteville is that it's a town in Arkansas, a state slam full of generous personalities and passionate loyalties. We'll talk you silly and slap your back, then we'll turn around and rip any comer with an agenda a new asshole. It took your predecessor a decade to burn through all the goodwill this state has on offer. The coup we experienced over the last year or so sprang up from a genuine concern for our favorite team, and you'll see stability in the fanbase for long enough to turn this program around.
As far as our reputation for being a recruiting nightmare, you're already discovering that you don't have to settle for Texas' scraps. We raise our children to love the Razorbacks. Our top recruits want a reason to stay at home. You must have seen that in Tyler Wilson's eyes.
As far as your reputation for being a hard man, I'm sure that won't be a problem. We've had smoke blown up our asses for too long and could use a little gruffness. We don't need a PR director. We need a football coach.
A Boy Named Sooie
PS: Screw Sean Salisbury and his ilk. We've never been fans of ESPN, and we're not about to start giving their horseshit the time of day now. If you'd left for Michigan, all would have been forgiven. But they like to disguise a need for narrative as a sense of history, and nothing sells like moral indignation. We'll feed them crow on a red spoon in three years. Maybe less.