An open letter to LSU football coach Les Miles:

Hey, Les, you don't want to be the one to let it happen. You don't.

I'm here to tell you some of what to expect if you do.

Someone would repurpose "Help Mac Pack" bumper stickers and superimpose your first name in the meat position of that word sandwich.

You would find the obligatory "For Sale" signs in your yard.

You would suddenly have a lot of nicknames that aren't as respectful as the Mad Hatter, Lesticles or The Hat.

Those old enough to remember the old high school cheer would be referencing you when they'd holler, "Take your Hat, your coat and leave!"

Knowing that Mike is reluctant to come out of his habitat these days, there would be a grassroots movement to assign you to his quarters and let him have your house.

You would have to relinquish forever the use of the term "a good go" and cede it to the Ragin' Cajuns, who would make "a good geaux" of it, trademark it and claim hard-won ownership of one of your favorite expressions.

Geaux is their word. LSU stole it. Didn't you know that?

Hmm. Probably not.

It's one of those arguments that goes round and round and will never end. It's like who had Death Valley first, LSU or Clemson. It's like who had The Swamp first, UL-Lafayette or Florida.

Les, I know the LSU athletic department has people on the payroll who peruse these sites. Find the resident historian and ask about ULL and LSU.

Ask about the school formerly known as the University of Southwestern Louisiana, or USL. Ask about the push to be called, simply, Louisiana. Ask about the "Kiss our 'S' Goodbye" movement.

Whether you realize it or not, you are part of the LSU/Baton Rouge conspiracy to keep UL-Lafayette down. When LSU dropped the Cajuns from its baseball schedule after the 2002 season, a member of the Lafayette media told me, "Methinks big brother is threatened that little brother has become too successful, that little brother is growing up, that he's too close for big brother's comfort."

Les, whether you realize it or not, you and LSU are the big brothers who stole little brother's lunch money. The details are in Alvin Dark's autobiography. Or somewhere on the Internet.

So, I'm here to tell you what to expect if you let it happen Saturday. Les, you don't want to let it happen.

The last time I looked into my crystal ball before a football game between the Cajuns and Tigers, I saw in the near future a pregame conversation between Boudreaux and LSU Al.

You can read a transcript if you click this link and scroll to the top of the page. It contained slices of some of the heated (and friendly) arguments that resurface when teams from the two schools are scheduled to play against each other.

Two days later, Hurricane Lili hit the Acadiana area. There were few fatalities, but the storm and its aftermath prefaced an understandably subdued atmosphere in Tiger Stadium for the game three days later.

LSU won 48-0.

You were the LSU coach for the next game between the schools, a 45-3 rout of ULL in 2006.

In the 21 games played between the Cajuns and Tigers, LSU has a 957-22 advantage in points scored. That field goal you allowed three years ago ended a streak of 10 consecutive LSU shutouts against ULL. Sixteen of the Tigers' 21 victories in the series are shutouts.

So you can see why you don't want to be the one to let it happen.

But here's what your most passionate LSU fan probably won't tell you: For the most part, the Ragin' Cajuns and their fans are fun, fiercely loyal people you'd enjoy having a cold one with during the offseason. You'd be crazy to skip a crawfish boil at one of their homes or camps, and they'd probably be happy to invite you and your family to an authentic fais do-do.

They have a different kind of energy than LSU fans, but it's a blast in its own way. If you get a chance to go to a baseball game between the Cajuns and LSU in Lafayette, which hasn't happened since 2002, you'll feel a certain, special joi de vivre indigenous to one of the South's most culturally alive cities.

When you hear the crowd make a statement at a football game in Tiger Stadium, you feel a monolithic tsunami of a roar.

Two sides of the same Mardi Gras doubloon, if you ask me.

So, with that in mind, you should probably pull out all the stops. Let the good times (and exciting plays) roll. Be the Les Miles who likes to let 'er rip.

Pass a good time with the Cajuns in your house, even if every pass isn't the deep ball your fans are dying to see.

If you win the coin toss, elect to score. After that, release the hounds.

You don't want to know what would happen if the unthinkable happens.

Les Miles would be the updated name of The Headless Man when "Polycarp and Pals" is finally made into a movie.

In Ascension Parish, where today is "Paul Mainieri Day," Monday would be "NOT Les Miles Day."

Buddy Songy would get on the air and say, "Not a very good Mundee here in the Capital City of Baton Rouge."

Matt and Josh on "The Fastest Hour" would have their fastest hour ever. It would be a blip.

Richard Condon would get on the air and say, "Look, I'm just a New Orleans boy from the Irish Channel, but this is amazing to me. How in the world can LSU and Les, I guess, Miles let this happen? It's amazing to me. How can Les Miles let this happen? You know where I'm going with this."

(Richard, usually by the time you say "You know where I'm going," you've already been there and back. Twice.)

But back to you, Les. Skip Bertman would recommend you step aside and let Paul Mainieri coach the Tigers.

Joe Alleva would remind Skip he's not A.D. anymore, then he'd recommend you step aside and let Paul Mainieri coach the Tigers.

Some of your biggest fans who live in Acadiana would have to move away from the Lafayette area, and they'd bill you for the moving expenses.

Keiland Williams would never be able to go home again.

After Sept. 19, 2009, any LSU fan who uses the word "Geaux" spelled like that would suffer a sting of shame upon remembering that night and, for using a Cajun derivative, would feel like a big bowl of wrong. With Cayenne pepper.

Baton Rouge would have to change its name to Red Twig.

You've heard the name Bayou Bengals? In this town, you'd be Bayou Self.

So, Les, you've got to let 'er rip. You don't want it to happen.

What, you think I'm talking about what would transpire if you let UL-Lafayette get its first victory in the series with LSU? Hey, I'm just imagining what might occur if you allow the Cajuns to score a touchdown in Tiger Stadium for the first time.

I thought someone should prepare you.

See ya.

.

Carl Dubois has written or blogged about LSU sports since 1999. He apologizes to his French teachers for the bad pun in the headline, but he suspects a few of his Cajun cousins and friends might grin upon reading it. You can contact him at carl1061 'at' gmail.com.