At the far end of the room a group of reporters was talking with Luke Fickell when a dripping-wet Joey Bosa emerged from the shower room. Bosa's curly hair was dripping and his face had a look on it that said "I'm ecstatic, and I don't care who sees it." He had a towel in his hand, his left hand, and he was swinging it wildly and enthusiastically above his head like a cowboy swinging a lariat. If you're wondering, no, he wasn't wearing anything else as he pranced across the room, half dancing, half shuffling like a guy on a horse, but there were ladies in the room, so Bosa's free right hand was strategically placed over his manhood, shy, demure thing that he is. It was his only capitulation to restraint in that moment. Everything else was bare-ass, pure, unrestrained joy and happiness.