Every sport has it's coach.
The baseball coach is an old grandpa of a man, his skin leathery like a glove from endless summers spent under the sun. His playing days over, he’s now set in his ways, ironic, when you consider what a baseball uniform is: probably the exact opposite of the kind outfit he’d throw together when he’s not on the diamond.
Look at him spit that oddly-colored fluid and make bizarre, alien hand gestures to the third base coach. Is he sending the runner or is he senile? Who knows.
The football coach will go one of two ways: the well-stomached, mustachioed fellow, or your slick, skinny, Tony Dungy-esque guy, introducing those newfangled modern techniques.
Anger is a big factor here, and it always seems to be building, as the outbursts of a football coach come less frequently than in baseball or basketball, but with wilder gesticulations and googlier eyes.
The basketball coach is merely the indoor version of the football coach. He/she’s dressed classier, which makes it seem more likely that what he/she’s shouting is actually intelligible and constructive.
In reality, it’s probably just as vulgar and saliva-fueled as anything a burly guy with a mustache and a headset has to scream. Also, he/she can throw chairs. Check out D'Antoni up there. Settle down, Mike. Your teeth are going to explode.
Finally, the hockey coach.
First of all, they’re noticeably thinner, and stand always with folded arms. This may be from spending the duration of the game in a room that has a thick sheet of ice instead of a floor.
But if you were to line up the stereotypical notions of all four coaches, which one would you assume had plans to kill the President?