I vividly remember when I got my blackshirt. I was with Bo and his cat in Afghanistan on a goodwill tour, trying to convert opium farmers into defensive back coaches. It was a still, hot night. Not Africa hot mind you, but most definitely Afghani hot. There was a palpable tension in the air. It had been two days since Carl disappeared, with the only communication being a scrawled note sent from him to us saying "I think I like it here." The stress of the search for Carl, the unwillingness of the Afghanis to appreciate the principles of the match-up zone, and the desert heat had driven Bo into a foul temper.
The tensions exploded when Taliban insurgents arrived, declared that any defense other than press man coverage is against the will of Allah and declared a fatwa on us. Pippa Middleton tried to intervene, bringing a calm to the masses that could only be achieved by her hotness. Then she accidentally showed a bare ankle, and the insurgents erupted in rage. The battle lasted for 3 days, a constant wave of brutality in hand to hand combat. Only on the 4th day, when Taliban reinforcements arrived, did I feel it was time to retreat. I threw Bo over one shoulder, Pippa over the other, the cat tucked in her purse, and carried them for 5 miles to a helicopter. After flying them to safety, I commandeered an A-10 warthog, and rained vengeance down on the Taliban position.
Once I returned to the base, Bo was waiting for me with a blackshirt. He said "That's the hustle that I want to see, but your technique in carrying us was *(@&#$!$$@ $!&*#. Fix it." He then handed me my blackshirt.
And that's how it happened. True story. No way I'd misremember something like that.
