We love our dads, but if forced to elect a celebrity pater familias, just drop us at the doorstep of one Stephen Orr Spurrier, South Carolina head football coach. He's the kind of "cool dad" one of your friends had in high school: Divorced* and renting a lake house, he's loving, but too distracted by shirking alimony and disappearing secretaries out the patio door on custody weekends to hand out steady discipline:
"You got drunk at at a school event? Well... (/bites lip) I guess you're going to have to stay at home until you learn how to act in public. And while you're here, see if you can figure out what's wrong with the Jet Skis. But no pay-per-view. I REALLY mean that, young man. Now grab a daiquiri and come meet Celeste."
The OBC retained his status as our favorite famous authority figure on Wednesday by suspending starting quarterback Stephen Garcia for the FIFTH time, the iron-clad terms of which were listed as both "indefinite" and "whenever he might play," thus continuing a collegiate career for the greasy tressed senior that even fictitious Tim Riggins would celebrate (by shirtlessly squinting into a humid West Texas sunset while your girlfriend stutters, but that's just how a complicated Texas man shows joy).
Spurrier's long been endorsed by the more sarcastic fringe of the sports media (read: The Internet) for his dry wit and unflappable press conference cool. But that same perpetual ennui - an almost singular contrast to so much Houston Nutt-ish enthusiasm - is likely what's kept him not only publicly insulated from a barrage of criticism for having to "suspend" any player FIVE times without a dismissal, but endorsed by a press corps pushing the idea that Garcia might actually miss playing time on principle if Spurrier ends up wanting him on the field.
If Nutt were to attempt half of Spurrier's public playbook, Stewart Mandel would vibrate so violently an explosion would follow. But hey, he's the cool dad.
*Steve Spurrier is a happily married man, but for purposes of developing a vivid mental image of the outfit he'd sport at a suburban California divorcee speed-dating mixer circa 1986, it's worth entertaining a weak metaphor.