Need a little patience. Yeahhhhh.

Boeheim: Mike, thanks for coming. Have a seat. You want anything to drink? A Fresca, maybe?

Hopkins: No, I'm OK. What's up, Coach?

Boeheim: Well, Hop, I've been giving my career and this program a lot of thought lately. I've been here a long time and taken this team to heights I never thought possible.

Hopkins: Sure have, Coach. It's been quite a run.

Boeheim: And you've been there with me for much of that run. 12 years, Mike. You believe that? Hey, you remember when we went out on the road to recruit Carmelo?

Hopkins: Sure do, Coach. I still can't believe we only had to kill one snitch to bag Melo.

Boeheim: Poor Granny McNamara. ANYWAY, I've been thinking that it might be time to move on and hand over the reins to you, my boy.

Hopkins: Really?!

Boeheim: Yep, Mike. I've taken this program about as far as I can. I've won a national championship. I've coached countless NBA players. I bagged a bona fide cougar. Rowrrrrr! But I think it's about time you take this program into a new era.

Hopkins: I don't know what to say, sir ... besides ... get your old freckled fucking ass out of my fucking chair, bitch!

Boeheim: [silence]

Hopkins: I've been hauling around your droopy old ball sack for 12 years now, and FINALLY, the KING IS HERE! Recognize bitch!

Boeheim: [staring, seething]

Hopkins: You think that slampiece of yours is gonna let that old D in her P now? No way! Bad move, son.

Boeheim: Mike...

Hopkins: Don't even address me by my first name. I'm no longer your bitch. Mike was my slave name. Call me something awesome, like Drake McCool.

Boeheim: Mike, I'm not quitting yet.

Hopkins: Oh. You, uh, wanna watch some tape?