Boi gets acutely legalistic with the nightmare scenarios resulting from a hypothetical USC loss and its bizarre implications for the endgame of the college football season.

Gassed up on caffeine and 4 bucks worth of Subway’s finest, a few more suggestions for intro music that hasn’t happened yet, but should:

Navy “In the Navy,” by the Village People. The only thing all-male groups like more than an opportunity to prove how un-gay they are–like, say, swimming four miles with a knife in your teeth in a speedo made of C4 during your training as a Navy SEAL or something like that–is an opportunity to act totally gay without consequence. The breakdown of “We want you! We want you! We want you as a new recruit!” would be side-splitting.

Mustaches galore on these guys.

UCF. We could go punny, like Kool and the Gang’s “Boogie Nights,” but we’d rather go regional-slapdown correct and suggest “Backstreet’s Back” by Orlando locals The Backstreet Boys. The best part is that EV-RAH-BAHHDAY in the stands would be rocking out to it like it was “Back in Black.” All right!

Fresno State. The SoCal environment…heavy handlebar mustache on the coach…a bad attitude…Pat Hill needs Def Leppard’s “Rock of Ages.” Unter gleeben globben globen…

Oklahoma. The bare expanse of Oklahoma plains calls for something spare…desperate…brutal…how about “Angel of Death” by Slayer? Fast death-metal start followed by classic screechy “YEEEEEEEyeaaaaggghhh.” Two fans might die every game from amped up, noodlin’ rednecks snapping their necks off headbanging in time with the nanosecond beats of the song.

Illinois. “Getting Better” by the Beatles. Getting so much better all the time…

Vandy. “West End Girls” by The Pet Shop Boys.

Ole Miss. “Slam” by Onyx. Only valid during Orgeron era. The Orgeron himself would run into the stands like a bull gone awry in Pamplona, slam dancing fans into blissful concussions before leaping into subspace, grabbing a satellite, and bringing it down on the opposing team’s water boy.

We thought of this question watching the Falcons enter this season to the tune of T.I.’s “Bring ‘em Out.” It’s really a badass moment, especially after the lameass “Falcons Football” Travis Tritt-ish crap song they have used at Falcons games, seeing the players explode through the tunnel as T.I. raps about how big his nuts are. It’s really a quintessentially Atlantan moment, especially if you’re sitting in the nosebleeds with fifty drunk black guys leaping out of their seats and singing along.

That is a pro moment, but the thought stuck with us throughout the week. What teams would emerge to what songs if they had to forego their fight songs?

A few suggestions to get things going:

1. Alabama: “Sweet Home Alabama” is just too facile for us, and really just makes you want to go drink cheap beer outside, not knock someone retarded in a football game. We instead opt for “Black Betty” by Ram Jam, which makes us want to leave the trailer, drink a fifth of cheap whiskey and start a bar fight with a lit road flare.

2. Rutgers: “Bad Medicine” by Bon Jovi. Or some “ain’t hairspray frickin’ awesome!” song like that. The fact that they haven’t done so yet is a crime against Camaros.

Carl would think it was frickin’ awesome.

3. Miami: “Doo Doo Brown” by the 2 Live Crew. No explanation needed. Hearing the Orange Bowl crowd scream “Shake them ti-tays, shake shake them ti-tays ba-bay!” would be nothing short of sublime.

4. USC: “Drop It Like It’s Hot.” He’s already on the sideline–just ask him and it’s a fait accompli. The band could hold the infectious beat the whole game.

5. Georgia Tech: “She Blinded Me With Science.” Some technical university needs to dork up and just take this one before it’s claimed. Again, the crowd screaming out “SCIENCE!” in unison would be pure magic.

Make your own suggestions in the comments below.

Peter Kerasotis, the worst columnist in America, who we’ve had a disagreement or two in the past with, keeps typing away at his computer and hitting send with the enthusiasm and panache of a syphilitic chimp. Compare his fecal column on the upcoming UF/SC game with the old world grace and well-constructed grafs of Hubert Mizell’s column on the same subject.

Kerasotis preps for another day’s work.

Yesterday we elaborated for a bit too long about the inherent emotional difficulties of the upcoming Florida/South Carolina game, which in case you didn’t know matches our alma mater against the man who taught us how to make love to a woman and scold a child, Steven Orr Spurrier.

We continue our review of Spurrier’s greatest hits today with three more stories delineating his greatness, his long memory and sense of Old Testament justice, and his unparalleled willingness to live life as a public smartass.

Continued…

I Spit on Your Grave: Mississippi State, 2001. The apex of the Jackie Sherrill era at Mississippi State arrived with a 47-35 victory over Florida in Starkville, a victory fueled in large part by Florida’s inability to stop the Neolithic offense of Miss. State in any fashion whatsoever. (Former Gator DC Jon Hoke, the 2000 DC, was asked to comment on this article, but the line at the drive-thru was getting really long and his manager was, like, totally on his ass.) During the rush to the field, drunken cowbell-toting Bulldog fans rushed through the swiftly exiting Gator squad, knocking equipment manager Clay Carter to the ground and giving him a grade three concussion. (In case you don’t want to read the link, grade 3= real bad ow my head bad.)

Fast forward to a year later to the rematch in Gainesville. Rex Grossman throws for five tds and 393 yards in a bit less than three quarters. Miss. State is shut out by the defense. The hundred-dollar bills and bail receipts in Jackie Sherrill’s pockets are turning to tissue paper in the heat of a Swamp blowout. At 45-0, Carter approaches Spurrier and reminds him of the bruised brain thing from the year before, and with 1:45 left on the clock Brock Berlin hits Kelvin Kight in the endzone to avenge Carter’s braining from the year before. The quote from Carter:

“I definitely thought it was revenge,” Carter said. “He told me to remind him during the game.”

Jackie Sherrill, channeling Satan.

Don’t Stop ’til You Get Enough. Fiesta Bowl, 1995. The worst public humiliation of Spurrier’s career doesn’t cover how bad the demolition of the ‘95 Gators at the cold iron hands of the Cornhuskers was. Spurrier’s worst pair of traits as a coach came to the fore in the spectacle: a fatal obstinacy and a fondness for defensive coordinators he found under a bridge somewhere. (more…)

Special mention this week goes to John Bunting, who in addition to wearing a robust walrus-’stache, also gets the award for motivational tactics for players: in a preseason trip, Bunting took the team to Central Prison to remind players what happens to people who shirk their responsibilities in life. Think about that next time you want to leave dirty dishes in the sink–it might be the first step in a long chain that ends with you on your knees for Rollo the Mad-Dog Rapist.

He is the eggman. We are the eggmen. He is John Bunting, and he wants a mustache this big.

1. Texas. By a bull’s nose, but you could be looking at USC here, as well.

2. USC. Continued horror from whistle to whistle. And you will know them from their trail of dead.

3. Alabama. Dares the death of their undefeated season each time their offense takes the field. Which could mean a lot or nothing since Bama has a history of winning out without needing pesky things like offense and such–see entry for Barker, Jay.

4. Mi-ah-mi. So good this week we had to bring out the Keith Jackson pronunciation for the ‘Canes, who busted out the pipes on an evidently overrated Virginia Tech team and destroyed another Beamer team’s title hopes late in the season. We said last week on Sports Bloggers Live that we didn’t think Miami had a killer instinct anymore, which should serve as a reminder as to why we don’t get paid to do this.

Trick Daddy telling us to shut up after watching Miami’s thug holiday in Blacksburg.

5. LSU. Still a total mystery of a team: are they the unstoppable zombie of a Nick Saban team, talent cruising despite Les Miles’ sometimes questionable coaching? The team we’ve learned the least about despite watching them three times before November, unless you count finding out that Marcus Randall JaMarcus Russell had Fats Domino sleeping on his couch during Katrina as learning something.

6. Notre Dame. Getting scary. The fourth quarter of the Tennessee game was cruelty, with Weis’ squad just waiting for Tennessee to drown in a sea of their own ineptitude. Their investment in the unstoppable Eastern European athlete has been the difference.

7. Penn State. For once we agree with Beano–the story of the year. We have a feeling this is about as high as they’ll get, but watching codgers Paterno and OC Galen Hall go for one last ride warms the cockles of our hollow heart. This machine runs on talented freshman, Metamucil, and the delicious taste of strained peas.

8. Virginia Tech. Hoping the Blacksburg illuminati kept Mexico the Younger away from the healing arms of underage girls following their hammering Saturday night.
(more…)

We imagine the process for picking the head coach at Temple works kind of like the curse in The Ring does; once you’ve been called, you have to call someone else to get rid of the stank of even being associated with the job…or your career dies What else could explain the motley crew of potential candidates for the job mentioned in this Fanblogs article? George Welsh? Bobby Pruett? If we’re digging that far afield, why not pick someone really abstruse, but someone who’s still an alum who hasn’t been doing much lately? Hint: his sweaters alone would be halftime entertainment.

Pudding Pops, bitches.