The end of the Kelly Error Fan Fiction

The air inside the LSU athletic complex was heavy with silence, the kind that only comes after a public humiliation. Outside, the lights of Tiger Stadium still glowed faintly, mocking reminders of what was supposed to be Brian Kelly’s empire. The Tigers had just been throttled by Texas A&M — again — and Baton Rouge was already boiling. Scott Woodward sat behind his mahogany desk, sleeves rolled up, jaw set like stone. He didn’t even look up when Kelly entered. “Sit down, Brian,” he said flatly, voice like gravel. “Or don’t. Won’t matter either way.”

Kelly tried to speak, something rehearsed and corporate about “rebuilding phases” and “next year’s recruiting class,” but Woodward’s glare sliced through him. “Save it,” he snapped. “You came down here talking about ‘alignment’ and ‘culture.’ All I’ve seen is confusion, excuses, and a defense that couldn’t stop a high school team from Denham Springs.” He leaned forward, eyes blazing. “You had the resources, the players, the fan base. And you still managed to make Saturday nights in Death Valley boring. That’s a sin in Louisiana, Brian.”

Kelly opened his mouth again, but Woodward waved him off like a bad smell. “You fooled the suits up north with that fake accent and the preacher routine,” he said coldly. “But down here, we can smell fraud like swamp water in August. Pack your office. Don’t even bother with the press conference—I’ll handle that myself.” Woodward stood, buttoning his jacket, the conversation over. “We brought you here to win championships, not to collect buyouts. Enjoy the money. Lord knows you didn’t earn the respect.”