As told by our AI overlords. Prompted by “in three paragraphs, Rich Rod is coming home and there’s nothing you can do about it you bitter old godless heathens lol hold the rope”
Rich Rodriguez turned WVU into a powerhouse with his read-option offense, leading the team to its greatest heights. But he craved more—national fame and prestige, and was also frustrated by his father, who was too set in his ways and resistant to change. So, he left for Michigan, hoping for bigger things. His pitch to recruits included a tear-filled, off-key rendition of Josh Groban, which was exactly as awkward as it sounds. Needless to say, it didn’t go over well, and after a few disappointing seasons, he was out of Michigan and off to Arizona. There, he found success, revitalizing the program, but his shirtless antics in the office—too sexy for the Wildcat fanbase—soon made waves for all the wrong reasons. After another stint of wandering aimlessly through coaching purgatory, Rich finally landed at Jacksonville State, far from the spotlight but, at least, away from the shirtless controversy. There, he dominated his opponents, but after years in the wilderness, his heart longed for home.
Back at WVU, things had gone from bad to worse. The once-proud program, now under the leadership of the father—a bumbling, incompetent old geezer with a ridiculous bow tie—had descended into chaos. Literally everyone hated him, from the fans to the players to the message board warriors, who had been furiously typing out their grievances in all caps for years, their keyboards worn down from constant rage. The program had cratered, and the Mountaineer faithful were restless, bitter, and desperate for change. It was clear to all that only one man, the Prodigal Son himself—Rich Rodriguez—had the power to restore the glory days and pull WVU out of the abyss. But the father, too out of touch and too incompetent to do anything about it, had wisely (if reluctantly) delegated his authority to someone with actual brains: the athletic director, Wren Baker. Wren, now disturbingly thin thanks to his new Ozempic regimen, had a vision. God gave him a vision: he saw Rich’s return not as a failure but as salvation. With a cold, calculated nod, Wren extended his arms to welcome Rich back, knowing full well the heavens would rejoice—and so would the fans—if the Prodigal Son would come home.
Yet, despite the joy in the air, there were many bitter old WVU fans who wailed tears of rage at the thought of Rich coming home. Apparently never having read the Bible, they refused to see the grace in the return of the Prodigal Son. Instead of welcoming Rich with open arms, they ranted to their wives about how he’d said mean things 17 years ago, or spun weird conspiracy theories about his record after leaving WVU, insisting that he was nothing without Pat White. The more nonsensical their ramblings on the message boards and Facebook, the more they dug in their heels, unable to forgive even the slightest slight. Wren Baker, a godly man and a beacon of calm, just laughed and smited them down with the power of reason and, of course, his newfound Ozempic glow. “Let it go, folks,” he’d say with a smirk. “It’s time for redemption.” Rich Rodriguez returned to Morgantown, and God, in His infinite wisdom, was pleased. The people rejoiced, and all was right with the world. And in the end, after Rich orchestrated a 70-yard touchdown run on a perfectly executed read option, even the most bitter old fans found themselves holding the rope. Their grumbles faded, replaced by reluctant cheers, as they too were swept up in the excitement of a team restored.
To love Richard is to be closer to God.
Rich Rodriguez turned WVU into a powerhouse with his read-option offense, leading the team to its greatest heights. But he craved more—national fame and prestige, and was also frustrated by his father, who was too set in his ways and resistant to change. So, he left for Michigan, hoping for bigger things. His pitch to recruits included a tear-filled, off-key rendition of Josh Groban, which was exactly as awkward as it sounds. Needless to say, it didn’t go over well, and after a few disappointing seasons, he was out of Michigan and off to Arizona. There, he found success, revitalizing the program, but his shirtless antics in the office—too sexy for the Wildcat fanbase—soon made waves for all the wrong reasons. After another stint of wandering aimlessly through coaching purgatory, Rich finally landed at Jacksonville State, far from the spotlight but, at least, away from the shirtless controversy. There, he dominated his opponents, but after years in the wilderness, his heart longed for home.
Back at WVU, things had gone from bad to worse. The once-proud program, now under the leadership of the father—a bumbling, incompetent old geezer with a ridiculous bow tie—had descended into chaos. Literally everyone hated him, from the fans to the players to the message board warriors, who had been furiously typing out their grievances in all caps for years, their keyboards worn down from constant rage. The program had cratered, and the Mountaineer faithful were restless, bitter, and desperate for change. It was clear to all that only one man, the Prodigal Son himself—Rich Rodriguez—had the power to restore the glory days and pull WVU out of the abyss. But the father, too out of touch and too incompetent to do anything about it, had wisely (if reluctantly) delegated his authority to someone with actual brains: the athletic director, Wren Baker. Wren, now disturbingly thin thanks to his new Ozempic regimen, had a vision. God gave him a vision: he saw Rich’s return not as a failure but as salvation. With a cold, calculated nod, Wren extended his arms to welcome Rich back, knowing full well the heavens would rejoice—and so would the fans—if the Prodigal Son would come home.
Yet, despite the joy in the air, there were many bitter old WVU fans who wailed tears of rage at the thought of Rich coming home. Apparently never having read the Bible, they refused to see the grace in the return of the Prodigal Son. Instead of welcoming Rich with open arms, they ranted to their wives about how he’d said mean things 17 years ago, or spun weird conspiracy theories about his record after leaving WVU, insisting that he was nothing without Pat White. The more nonsensical their ramblings on the message boards and Facebook, the more they dug in their heels, unable to forgive even the slightest slight. Wren Baker, a godly man and a beacon of calm, just laughed and smited them down with the power of reason and, of course, his newfound Ozempic glow. “Let it go, folks,” he’d say with a smirk. “It’s time for redemption.” Rich Rodriguez returned to Morgantown, and God, in His infinite wisdom, was pleased. The people rejoiced, and all was right with the world. And in the end, after Rich orchestrated a 70-yard touchdown run on a perfectly executed read option, even the most bitter old fans found themselves holding the rope. Their grumbles faded, replaced by reluctant cheers, as they too were swept up in the excitement of a team restored.
To love Richard is to be closer to God.
