Let me start off with this: This piece is about two people I respect. But it's also about how even people you respect can make dumb decisions.

If you've followed the Ryan Leaf story for the past 12 months or so, you know that the former Washington State quarterback has gone far, far out of his way to own up to the numerous personal failings that led to his all-too-brief NFL career and eventual arrest stemming from trying to steal pain killers from one of his players at West Texas A&M, where he was a coach.

In fact, during the media tour surrounding the release of his book, I privately wondered to friends if he wasn't taking the self flagellation a little too far. I mean, how many times should a guy have to apologize for the biggest mistakes of his life? In public, no less?

Yet, there was Leaf, dutifully going from interview to interview, answering the same questions the same way, over and over again. I know this, because I listened to probably eight of them on various media outlets and read another half-dozen stories. Roughly paraphrased, it went something like this:

"Yes, I made mistakes. No, it wasn't anyone's fault but mine. No, I don't think I would have been successful if Indianapolis had drafted me, because the problem was with me. Yes, I really am doing this now because I want to help people not repeat my mistakes." Etc., etc., etc.

I had my fair share of run-ins with Leaf when we were at WSU, but I've come to respect the heck out of him for how he's handled his recovery. People can change. It's a basic tenet of my faith, and I believe that Leaf truly has endeavored to become a new and better person.

So when a story came out of San Diego this weekend about Leaf -- who was in Indianapolis at the Super Bowl to promote his book, 596 Switch -- I casually checked it out as I usually try to do. There are nearly 881 words that follow the exact same narrative as every other interview I've seen and read, and that includes the tone of the book. Those 881 words are frank and honest and responsible, as usual.

Then, there are the other 52 words.

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I wasn't sure what to expect from Peter King's feature on Steve Gleason. I figured Gleason's story would be told, people would learn about ALS and the blocked punt would be shown a couple times. I didn't expect to be sitting in front of the TV, bawling my eyes out an hour before the Super Bowl (it was dusty, sue me). Yet there I was and I know I wasn't alone.

I wasn't sure why the pre-Super Bowl feature hit me so hard until after it was all over. I know Gleason's story well and have followed him closely. I remember being incredibly impressed by the reaction of everyone who came into contact with him when he visited Pullman last year. He was positive, even happy, despite knowing he was facing a death sentence. But still, I'd seen his story told many times, to the point where I knew what the pre-packaged pieces would look like.

And then I was jarred to reality by Jeff.

"Holy hell. He is deteriorating so fast. I can't even believe it."

I realized I didn't want to accept it. But watching Gleason talk now, as compared to even a few months ago, was shocking. His speech is going -- something that brought his wife to tears -- and his body is failing him. He was diagnosed with ALS 13 months ago. It's been a year.

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This time a year sees a lot of packages coming and going each day, especially when one lives 3,000 miles from their relatives. This morning, I may have received the greatest package of all from my mother. Inside there were some wrapped presents to be set under the tree and an unsealed envelope with a note attached to it. That note read, "One of your first sports stories."

Inside the envelope I found the glorious picture you see to the left, and some folded yellowing pieces of paper. Written on them was an essay I wrote in 4th grade entitled "How to get entered in the Baseball hall of fame." It is a step-by-step process on the skills you need to possess and the measures you need to take in order to be enshrined into the Baseball Hall of Fame. I assume much of the information comes from an interview with my maternal grandpa, who played baseball professionally for the St. Louis Cardinals' organization in the mid-fifties.

4th grade me had high hopes and aspirations. My best friend Wayne and I were going to play basketball for the Seattle Supersonics (oh my lord that is depressing). I even had mapped out my plan. I remember telling Wayne that we couldn't be too good in college, or else we would be drafted early in the first round. The Sonics were one of the better teams, and obviously they always were going to be, so we needed to just be good enough to get drafted late in the first round. At the time I was riding the pine on the AAU team coached by my dad. This was an AAU team that won between 1 and 2 games per session and had most likely spent the last weekend losing by 70 to the West Valley Runnin' Rebels.* To Wayne's credit, he actually was athletic. One of my fondest memories from that AAU team was him going the length of the floor in 7 seconds to send a game into overtime. That ended up being one of our rare victories. I may have cried at the end. I get emotional when it comes to sports.

*I don't even remember what our own team's name was and vaguely remember what our jerseys looked like. I do remember the black and red West Valley Runnin' Rebels team with a fat center (#7) who was impossible to stop down low. He didn't even run down the court to play defense. My Dad assured all of us he would be terrible later in life because of his size. I love my dad.

So 4th grade me was not the cynic you see today. But that was the problem with 4th grade me, he didn't know anything about the real world. He lived in his fantasy land where unathletic white kids can go on to play for the Seattle SuperSonics. Or a world where the Seattle SuperSonics were still a thing. 4th grade me needed to be taken down a notch. After the jump, the essay with a little commentary.

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Well, that was certainly interesting.

Jim Walden went on 950 KJR with Ian Furness and Jason Puckett earlier today, and basically said everyone who even remotely believes Paul Wulff should be fired is an idiot. He also mentions that Captain America is a former QB for the Washington State Cougars, Tinkerbell causes miracles, and that Wulff doesn't need to sell himself to the donors/fan base because there is not a T. Boone Pickens or Phil Knight type booster.

Audio and further analysis after the jump. 

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Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis is one of the most heinous diseases this planet has to offer the human race. The victim's nerve cells slowly waste away or die, rendering the brain unable to communicate with voluntary muscles; the muscles consequently wither over the course of years until they become useless. Walking, talking, swallowing, breathing ... all deteriorate until eventually -- usually within five years of diagnosis -- paralysis sets in as the victim loses all muscle function and suffocates to death.

While medication and therapy can prolong life for a few extra months, there is no cure for ALS.

For days, I've been unsure how to treat the news of Steve Gleason's illness. I wrestled with whether to write those first two paragraphs. I don't think any of us want to picture all of those things happening to Gleason. I certainly would rather think of him blocking a punt in the reopening of the Superdome, or recall him outplaying his size for the 1997 Pac-10 champions (and some pretty crappy WSU teams after that). It's easier just to think, "Gosh, that's terrible," say a passing prayer, and continue to remember him the way we want to remember him until the seemingly inevitable happens.

Gleason doesn't have that luxury. Neither do his wife, or his unborn child.

And neither do you, if you have the courage to watch this video. I cried as I watched Gleason struggle to walk out to midfield as an honorary captain on Sunday, then weakly hold one arm in the air to lead Saints fans in the traditional "Who Dat" chant, then hold on to Drew Brees' elbow as he made his way to the sidelines. He was diagnosed with the disease in January, and it's clear that ALS already has started to do what it does. It's hard to see him like that. It's uncomfortable as hell.

But when the cameras are gone and everyone goes back to their everyday life, Gleason will still be living that reality: The reality of a man who is just 34 years old -- six days younger than me -- and staring death in the face.

I don't pretend to know Steve Gleason personally, although I interviewed him a handful of times when I covered the football team as a student. But given what I do know, I'm pretty sure he wouldn't want me to cry for him. That's not his style. Steve Gleason is a doer, a man who willed his way into an eight-year NFL career as a special teams player despite going undrafted.

Be a doer yourself. Visit Team Gleason's website. Learn about ALS, and figure out a way to contribute to finding a cure, even if it's something as modest as buying a "Better Now Than Never" T-Shirt. If you really want to go for it, make a donation to the ALS Association.

But don't let this moment pass you by. Join Gleason in his fight to become one of the small, small percentage of people who experience remission from the symptoms of ALS. Stand by a great Coug, and a better human.

EDIT: Please also consider donating to the ALS Therapy Development Institute, an organization that is already working with Gleason and to which he has linked on his website. They invest heavily in research for a cure.

As many of you remember from this February, I posted an assortment of screenshots of our dear Paul Wulff during his recruiting recap press conference. You can go relive that magic here.

For those that were fortunate enough to watch the SMU game last year, you were a witness to Wulff taking a swig of some sort of disgusting coffee/Gatorade/Diet Rite blend that made his face turn instantly sour. Everyone died of laughter, but there was no online feed of the game, so a GIF was not possible.

FEAR NOT, my dear CougCenter readers. I took care of the video and screenshots, and Yaaaardsma Mark took care of the GIF.

You will not be disappointed. Trust me.

"Well this certainly tastes peculiar."

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Via Ben Golliver

Sadly, he only goes partway. Much like the American women were denied their dream in Frankfurt, we were all denied the first full-on truffle shuffle in World Cup history.

Nevertheless, Cougar Nation applauds your moxie and your boldness to do what few young men would dare. Play on, player.

If you didn't see the game, or are in the too-cool-for-school sexist mode of "womens sports suck lol", you missed out on one of the greatest finals in World Cup history (men's or women's). And it was an absolute stomach punch for the Americans. Twice. I liked our coach's tactics, but both times after going up a goal we failed to pressure the Japanese at midfield, essentially playing the soccer version of a prevent defense. And, everyone, what does the prevent defense do? It prevents you from winning. Sigh. Let's not even talk about the disaster that was our penalty kicks.

Be glad it was classy, fundamentally sound Japan, and not Brazil. My typing that sentence literally caused Marta to dive to the ground 3,000 miles away from me. She is now rolling around in feigned agony.

I had to go to Harry Potter afterwards, and then I'm headed to Lakefair tonight, to lift my spirits.

But back to the moment .giffed above. This was the reaction from inside the room.

"Hey, a Coug shirt!! Look!!"

"Ohhhhhhhhhh...."

[awkward silence]

And, my favorite response of the day, from EDSBS mastermind and SBN's very own Spencer Hall:

@edsbs: Of course the fat kid had a Wazzu shirt. By law, they are at every sporting event anywhere around the world.

Undefeated fans indeed.