We Are The Boys, come rain, come snow, come hellish bitch-storm, files his weekly podcast from the front seat of his car in hurricane-wrecked South Florida. Bad. Ass.

No surprises here.

Black people are fast? John Walters comes close to saying that or something equivalent in his latest SI column on DeBerry, race, and speed. Fact: one white running back has led the nation in rushing in the past thirty years.

Have you thought about playing fullback, son?

After achieving another milestone in Nebraska history–the first two back-to-back home losses in a row since the Precambrian era–did Bill Callahan celebrate by making a throat-slashing gesture at an official? Watch the video for yourself and decide. Either way, Callahan’s added another brick to his wall of douchbagdom, which includes calling Oklahoma fans “fucking rednecks” in last year’s game, calling fifty passes a game and slowing the ABC afternoon games to a crawl for the past two years, and calling such an inept game in the Super Bowl that Bucs safety John Lynch was heard laughing on the field mikes during the game following Rich Gannon’s fifth pick of the game.

Rutgers, congratulations on becoming bowl-eligible for the first time since 1992. Take a spin in the Camaro on us and let the joy ring down every exit on the Turnpike.

It’s finally happening: the Sega-matic performance artist known as Randy Sanders is effectively gone from Tennessee. According to TennVolChamp, the successor will be an emergency committee with former OC David Cutcliffe pitching in with Fulmer. The other casualty will likely be Jimmy Ray Stephens, offensive line coach.

Randy Sanders will be packing up his playbook ASAP, according to sources.

Before an angry God strikes us dead for our ungratefulness…we’re jacked that Florida won. Ecstatic. Kissing dogs and petting babies happy. The tipping point in Meyer year one could have been this game; if Florida loses, and the hounds of public opinion on the message boards/talk radio/etc. would have been on his pant leg like a Komodo Dragon, slashing him and waiting for the infection to bring him low enough to make for easy pickings and another Zook-like debacle scenario. Instead, he beats the Gators most extreme venerable most grand old school rival in a nail-biter where Meyer did everything he was supposed to in scaling back the decimated spread option and letting his players dictate the scheme.

The Komodo Dragon faction of the Florida fanbase will have to wait a game before ripping into Meyer.

In fact, the whole game adds up to a CWCID (Credit Where Credit Is Due) moment for several people in the college football ecosystem, players, coaches, and pundits alike.

Credit, coaching section: Urban Meyer. Max pro. A dominant, non-option run game. A passing game working in the previously invisible Tate Casey and multiple passes to the backs on the perimeter. What is this…fullback of which you speak? Urban Meyer finally listened to the Rick Pitino in his head–”Alex Smith ain’t walkin’ through that door, people”–and turned his offense into something resembling your average, garden-variety power run/play-action college offense.
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In the midst of a comedown season from their undefeated ‘04 campaign, Auburn hasn’t been making much in the way of news, save for missing 23 field goals in the LSU game and having their coach sniping at booster’s lunches about ESPN and the BCS. They have, however, grown in one key area: quotability, suddenly becoming the best sound bite a blogger could ask for.

Exhibit A: The Irons Brothers interview. David and Kenny both go to Auburn, and both are evidently black belt insult artists, African-American school of fighting. We’re not paying for a subscription, but the full article is available on Scout.com. David gets the best backhands in on his brother, though, as seen in this excerpt. (Courtesy of readers whose names will go unpublished to avoid punishment at the hands of the Scout overlords. You know who you are.)

Do you and Kenny have any competition with stats?

“I just tell him to keep running like that and keep on running to the jungle. I told him I’d buy him a seesaw and monkey bars so he can swing around like a banana tree. He’s doing real good running to his jungle. I told him the end zone is his zoo and if he runs to the end zone he can be with all of his little animal friends. I just told him to treat the football like a banana. You treat the football like a banana and you won’t let anybody at the zoo take your banana peel. He was like, ‘Yeah, that’s true.’ And I was like, ‘Kenny, but it’s not yellow, it’s brown. Just think of it as an old banana and you’ve had out for weeks like you did at the house and it’s turned brown. Run with it and don’t let people strip it.’ He’s been running like a crazy wild child.

Do you think he looks like a monkey?

“He looks like somebody hit that kid 10 times. When Halloween comes around on Monday, he’s already got his costume. He’s already himself. I hope when kids come up to the door they don’t get too scared. I’m going to hang him up somewhere on the wall so everyone can see our Halloween decorations.”

Quality stuff, but not the only Auburn player turning out quality print these days. The “Talkin’ Smack” column in The Auburn Plainsman struck gold in their one-on-one with Stanley McClover, the monstrous dreaded-up DE with more than a passing resemblance to the Predator. A sample of the whole goodness:

Who’s the scariest player?

Troy (Reddick). He’s just a big ol’ black dude. Big black dude stuck all up in his pads.

OK, so what’s your biggest fear?

Pertaining to what?

Anything.

Frogs.

Alright, explain that.

I’m scared of frogs. For real. If one’s sitting on my doorstep, I don’t go in the house. I’m scared of frogs.

We want that on our tombstone: Orson Swindle, Big black dude stuck all up in his pads…

Doering’s Got a TD has a screencap of the most important bit of commentary seen anywhere this weekend:

Lee Corso, seen here pushing the envelope of adult diaper endurance on national television.

Adding to Tennessee’s most disappointing season in memory, Tennessee lost to Fulmer’s old nemisis, the Head Ball Coach himself, Steven Orr Spurrier.

This is the last thing Fulmer sees in his mind’s eye before he goes to sleep at night.