In a remarkable homage to the timeless axiom "money can't buy you happiness", but it sure can buy you a swift kick out the door with a golden parachute, college athletic programs are shelling out part of the GDP of small nations to ensure their coaches don't actually coach. Jimbo Fischer, the latest member of College Football's Millionaire Do-Nothing Club, accepted a sum of over $75 million from Texas A&M to...well, not coach. In an industry where success is measured in maneuvers and fumbles, Fischer snapped up his prolific payout faster than a running back with a ball and no defending line in sight. "We saw a lot of potential in Jimbo," said an executive from A&M, who wished to remain anonymous. "Particularly the potential to casssshhh in if we happen to decide we don't want him to coach anymore. It was a win-win." Andrew Zimbalist, the sports economist who keeps track of these figures with the help of trustworthy abacus, pointed out that this trend is on the uptick. "What we're seeing here is a revolution. The old business model of 'hiring a coach to, you know, coach' is at risk of becoming obsolete." Across the nation, college sports programs are following suit, tying massive severance packages to their coaching contracts like annoying, money-filled balloons. If the coach fails to deliver expected results, those balloons burst, showering the individual with enough gold to make Smaug envious. "Golden parachutes, we call it," says Zimbalist, sipping some fair-trade, gluten-free coffee. "Until the business of college athletics becomes less of an amateur boxing match for profits and more of a, well, a sport, I suppose, these payouts are only going to become more prevalent." When we reached out to NCAA for comment, a crackly automated message directed us to their "We're too busy counting our taxpayer-funded tuition dollars" hotline. Regardless, the students eagerly await their slice of the golden pie while the college coaches reap the rewards of the athletic casino. It's a fine day to be a burnt-out, severance-rich coach, indeed. In some alternative universe where logic prevails, this might have been shocking. But here in the uncanny valley of college sports, it's just Tuesday.