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Nick Saban at SEC Media Days, the Voice of Virtue

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Nick Saban just sat there.

In the back of his mind, he chuckled. But on the outside his face was rigid as granite, with a righteous fury burning in his eyes that, to an outside observer, would only be satiated by the blood of the infidels who wrought this fury upon themselves.

As he spoke, Saban drifted out of his body, as he is want to do from time to time, and hovered over himself as he addressed the assembled news media. "God," he thought to himself, "I'm beautiful." He wasn't far off. Saban was dressed impeccably. His pinstriped charcoal Armani suit hung on him like he was a maniquin on display in Milan. Every inch of fabric seemed well thought out, planned and executed, hugging Saban's frame while maintaining the slightest since of modesty in its presentation. Which was a good thing, as Saban had spent more on that suit than the average Alabama fan makes in a year. But then again, National Championships are like fine suits. They don't come cheap.

The rest of the ensemble was equally impressive. His shirt was Egyptian cotton. A lot of Egyptian cotton. It took a full field somewhere south of Cairo to make a single one of Saban's 1200 thread count Oxford collared shirts. Simply touching the softness of the shirt would've made a normal human being fall immediately into a deep sleep, but Saban only wore these shirts to work. He kept the good stuff for his nights out. Hanging around his collar hung what appeared to be a modest light red, embroidered tie. "If only they knew," Saban chuckled to himself. Seeing the corner of his physical mouth slightly nudge upward, Saban quickly returned to his self evaluation, allowing his physical body to return to its steel-like facade.

His tie was made of the finest silk on the planet and could be exchanged for gold bullion in most of the African and South American nations Saban visited while barehanded game hunting. Drifting towards his hands Saban noted his cuff-links. He frowned a little. To this point his image had been flawless. A simple dark suit, a white shirt, a red tie. All of these things were inconspicuous and no one could possibly guess their cost. He was just a businessman to the masses.

But the cuff links, dammit. They didn't scream it, but the cuff links were procured by Saban's antiquities merchant at the cost of a Gull Wing Mercedes. The untrained eye would've thought they were nice and moved on, but anyone who'd spent more than $500 on a suit would know immediately that the cuff links weren't ordinary. In truth, they weren't. Worn by the last Maharaja of India, the inlaid rubies matched his tie perfectly and for the cost in dollars they'd better have. Thinking of the lives that had been lost possessing the cuff links since the Maharaja was deposed Saban has a single thought, "Fools." He made a mental note to himself not to raise his hands above the microphone stand, and satisfied with his self evaluation he returned to his body, and spoke:

"I have no respect for people who do that to young people. None. How would you feel if they did it to your child?"

 That's good, he thought. Now bring it home.

"[It's the] entrapment of young people at a difficult time in their life."

As his remarks ended, Saban drifted back into his subconscious. Knowing immediately that the assembled media had eaten up his remarks like he'd been feeding kibble to a starving pooch. "The entrapment part was good, I'll have to remember that in the future," he thought. "Just as long as I still get my shirts made to my specifications in Bangladesh!" he laughed internally, without a single muscle on his outward facade even hinting at the thoughts behind it.

Adjusting his cuff links, Saban went back to his office with plans to put three seniors on the medically inactive list.