Kyle Whittingham paced the sidelines last night in a tight 4th quarter against BYU. The score was close, and the tension on the field was palpable. With the game clock ticking down, Kyle felt a sudden pang of anxiety mixed with a bizarre rumbling sensation, like the low, ominous groan of thunder.

It was then that fate—and perhaps an unlucky snack from halftime—intervened. The legendary coach, known for his steely resolve, felt his stomach betray him. In a moment of what he later might call a "sideline malfunction," he suddenly realized he was in dire straits. But there was no time to break away and regroup. His eyes stayed on the game, his mind calculating defensive formations, even as the uncomfortable reality of his predicament weighed on him.

Now, normally, a coach could simply make a quick, inconspicuous exit to the locker room. But Kyle had an unusual anatomical quirk few knew about—a vestigial tail. Not visible in his usual sideline attire but very real, this tiny tail had always been more of a nuisance than anything. But tonight, it proved downright hazardous. With every anxious shift on the sidelines, his unfortunate predicament became harder to manage.

“Clean-up on aisle three,” murmured one assistant coach under his breath, exchanging looks with another coach. But they knew better than to try and pull Whittingham away—there was no way he’d abandon his post.

Last night's mishap in his underpants was the true reason behind his end of game fury.