And no one exasperates him more than the folks at the Fiesta, who have changed their date when convenient and in the '86 season succeeded in brokering the de facto national championship game between Miami and Penn State. He calls it "that drugstore down in Phoenix."
"All these deals being made," says Hoss, scowling. "We finally have the support to kill the college football playoff, and everyone's making deals." That's not a petty man talking, but a pugnacious one with a keen sense of the welfare of the game and an acute sense of honor. "I could have done damn well selling insurance, real estate, whatever. But I don't think I could have even closed a deal if I thought the deal was bad for the customer and good for me. That attitude probably costs me money, but at least I can sleep at night.
"So when y'all get ready to make your decision, we may be disappointed. You do what you think's right for your program, you never get a bitch out of Dallas, Texas. And I tell you the next paragraph: We'll have a damn good football game without you."
But if you should pass up a chance to go down to the corner of Akard and Commerce on New Year's Day and put your happiness in the hands of Hoss, it's your own damn fault.