Adam says:

If I could spend one night hanging out with any coach, it would most definitely be Lou Piniella. I'm pretty sure I could just leave it at that, but in the interest of filling this space and giving you something to read, I'll go on.

There would definitely be beer pong involved. With my Piniella-esque stunt of breaking my hand in a fit of rage during a recent game, he and I would undoubtedly be the best team ever to grace a table.

I can't even imagine hitting the bars with Sweet Lou, and that's the best part. I have absolutely no idea what would come about, though I know I could die a happy man if ever it could happen. Imagine me and Lou hanging out and somebody questioning his managerial skills when he goes off and throws his hat the ground and kicks it across the bar and gets in the guy's face. Much like I would like to party it up with the ex-baseball head coach, I would really like to be there to back him up in a bar fight.

Or could you imagine the look on Sweet Lou's face when the guy manning the door at a house party told him he needed to pay five dollars … yeah right.

Ultimately, the night would end with a drunken Piniella at the local adult establishment — where he wouldn't have to pay a cover charge. I could see him tossing out singles with no regard while sipping on a cocktail and having the time of his life. I know I'd be having the time of mine.

Only after that night of hat-punting, dust-kicking and ass-whooping would I, and Sweet Lou, be satisfied.

Point/Counterpoint dishonorable mention is awarded to Jim Mora. Could you imagine what the man who cries after football games would do if you filled him with depressants? Playoffs? Playoffs”

Eric says:

Don't get me wrong; Sweet Lou is a solid choice, but if I'm partying up with any coach, I'm rockin' with the dishonorable leader of the misfit group of hockey thugs known as the Chiefs. That's right, bring on Slapshot's Reggie Dunlop.

To start with, this adventure is surely going to be an all-day affair. After all, anyone who can walk around in the middle of the day brown baggin' a bottle of his favorite libation while hittin' on the honeys isn't going to be waiting until night time to start this party up.

So I figure by about noon we'll all be sufficiently annihilated to start the actual partying. The Hanson brothers, fully decked out in scars, scabs, stitches and those trademark thick black-rimmed glasses, will be in one end of the bar using their charm and wit to flirt with the ladies while Reg and I will be hanging out at the bar, ordering our sixth or seventh drink while arguing with some bumpkin about the local Chiefs.

Inevitably, the drunk bumpkin will say something offensive and old Reg will have to knock him on his ass, sending the whole establishment into chaos. Fists will be thrown, tables will start flying, chairs will be broken over people and we'll have to jet before the cops show up.

We'll have to head to the next place, where Ned Braden will be giving one of his classic stripteases — fully decked in hockey gear, though not skating on the ice — while the ladies scream and cheer the pretty boy on. But, as would be expected, another fight must break out after Reg puts a bounty on the head of some guy at the end of the bar. "Killer" Carlson jumps the poor sap, looking for his bounty and, once again, all hell breaks loose. Definitely not much variety with Dunlop, but let's be honest — what's more fun than a few good old-fashioned bar fights. Even Sweet Lou would agree.