Pitino tries to stop, drop and roll, but the whole surface of the lake is burning. He gives up and lets his suit smoke and char.

“How long have we been out?” he rasps, squinting at the sulphurous sky. “Anybody got some Gatorade?”

His players dump a cooler of Gatorade over his head. The Gatorade is also burning.

“We are much o’erwhelm’d,” Pitino murmurs. “O, how unlike the place from whence we fell…”

“Is that a play, coach?” asks one of his players.

“You don’t know the quote?” asks Pitino. “It’s Milton.”

His player shrugs. “Not my major.”

“Agriculture?”

“Agriculture Communications.”