Matt Leinart? So ‘04. Reggie Bush? Please, we were big on him when we had an IPod Mini. We’re so into the Nano now, and the Nano equivalent would be Jay Cutler, who’s apparently not seen the end of his pre-draft boomlet. This year’s Alex Smith seeks to make jillions from NFL execs with his Senior Bowl workout heroics, which were enough to obscure his mediocre Senior Bowl performance. When the New York Post is writing about you like you’re Lindsey Lohan, it’s time to secure the services of a licensed financial advisor pronto.

We Google Image Searched him, though, and we’ve got one piece of advice for Cutler: back off on the bronzer. It can’t help your grip on the ball.

Now we know how he survived four years behind a Vandy line.

Yup. This guy, the man who brought you T.J. Hooker and Charmed, is being accused of sexual harrasment by his nurse who accuses Spelling of groping her and asking for sexual favors during her period of employ. How could she resist?

In a move to curtail Morgantown’s favorite celebration tactics, legislators in West Virginia are considering new arson legislation that would make it punishable by up to 2 years in the pokey to set a fire in a public right of way. Now, can they take up the issue of Urine bombs?

Enjoy this scene… it may be a relic of college football’s past.

The OnePeat and Three Peat Billboard wars reach a new fever pitch: Kevin Robl, a self-described “successful fatcat alumnus” of USC, is allegedly throwing down a gauntlet full of cash to put up something like this billboard in downtown Baton Rouge, Louisiana.

Boudreau, get me some kerosene and a ladder…now!

Yay: he claims they’ll be cash for Katrina relief along with the cash earmarked for the sign. A boo for unwise, regionally-unaware taunting in the final bit of his blog entry:

You want to play, you despicable pack of lunatics? Well, bring it on! You are no match for the Trojan family.

This will all end in tears, or at least the sight of a flaming billboard and airboats and jacked-up trucks on lift kits fleeing a scene of mayhem in downtown Baton Rouge. Is it really that great an idea to taunt a Cajun? We know a few, and they’re the kind of people who build separate houses away from the main home on their property designed specifically for “drinking and smoking meat.” The same Cajun told us stories of how her daddy used to catch those mutant thirty pound catfish and nail them to trees to clean them. “They make a screaming noise when you do that to ‘em,” she said. They hunt alligators and play the accordion without irony. Hard people, man. Hard.

Haven’t they listened to Warrant’s “Uncle Tom’s Cabin?” You know who put the bodies in the wishing well? A badass Cajun, that’s who. Again, we say this ends in tears and Heismanpundit calling us in fear for his life running pantsless down a misty, nameless road just north of Lafayette.

Check out Mandel’s piece on looking back at number 1 recruiting classes. Interesting read.

When someone whips your ass into a red hot pile of shame, you tend to have a great amount of respect for them. Tyrone Prothro nearly did that by himself in the Florida/Alabama game last year before a questionable call by Mike Shula and a lightning bolt of horrid luck culminated in him breaking his leg into a useless mess. We respect the hell out of him, which makes the fact that he’s unlikely to play at all in 2006 nothing less than a total fucking shame.

On the bright side, the Gator D might hold him under a hundred yards in the matchup in the Swamp this fall. But don’t underestimate him…

Get this man a redshirt STAT!

Uber-recruit Rusty Cocklord pulls a theatrical recruiting stunt for the ages, and the House Rock Built is all over it.

Cocklord shortly before pulling a dick move switheroo.

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN…the second match on the card for THE BURGER KING MEATNORMOUS™ HEAVYWEIGHT DIVISION (sponsored in part by Crestor: “You don’t really want to die, do you, you miserable little piglet?”™)…we kindly ask the crew to please come in the ring and clean the greasy remnants of Coach Friedgen from the ring please, and would ask Mark Mangino to please move and bring back the sun…thank you, thank you sir. Yes, again…LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, without further delay we bring you our next two components in the “Goddamn, bust out a wall for their ass-” Meatnormous division…two dessert bar villains of unparalleled skill and tenacity, both hometown heroes fighting without injury at peak form. A matchup between two men so big, the number two is really stretched to the limits of its meaning: Phil “Gojira!” Fulmer and Tom “Hot Pockets” Amstutz!!!

Phil Fulmer

May spray frosting from his eyes, versus…

Height: 6?2″

Weight: 260-280 pounds, depending on lunch.

Hometown: Winchester, TN

Fighting style: Judo/Jiu-jitsu. Lots of throws, joint locks, and submission fighting technique here. Has been known to conceal frosting gun to blind opponents in the folds of his gi, or may possibly possess the power to excrete frosting. More on that later…
(more…)

How do the Orgeron, Urban Meyer, Pete Carroll, and other monster recruiters land HTPs? It’s obvious, says Neal McCready of the Mobile Register: they cheat. All of them. Every time. A wise column on the iniquities and absurdity of the Handshake Wars, especially focusing on the message board mania that’s become an integral part of the hoopla.

We have some thinking-ass readers out there…deftly weighing (and that is the correct word) the pros and cons of each fighter’s attributes, our readers have decided by a vote of 20-15 or so that the victor in the epic battle of wills between Mark “Manwich” Mangino, a.k.a Jabba the Hawk, and Ralph “Fry Daddy” Friedgen goes to…Mark Mangino, whose spherical body and absolute immobility subdues the tenacious but gimpy Friedgen in three rounds. There were many versions of how it went down, but most centered on Friedgen’s bad hip, which would bring him down to the level of an overweight giraffe fighting on one leg against a enormous boll weevil of a man.

We imagine the fight went something like this.

Reader Dave has a compelling summary:

This ends the only way it can – with poor Ralph fighting a noble battle, but ultimately succumbing to Mangino’s enormity. When he is crushed and absorbed into the many, many folds of Mangino, only the mangled Motorola headset and whistle ejected from the creases of fat will serve as a reminder that Friedgen was ever there at all.

Philly Gator also presents his case well, particularly a summary of Friedgen’s likely final, desperate moves:

In a last ditch effort at durvival, Fridge distends his jaw, much like a Burmese Python, and takes a vicious bite at Mangino’s whirring girth. To the dismay of Maryland fans the world over, Fridge is too late and is blindsided by Mangino’s left love handle. Fridge’s body immediately explodes like a stuffed jalepeno popper covering the crowd in a pool of nacho cheese and sour cream.

Poor Ralph doesn’t make it out of the first round, and his body is donated to science, which instantly identifies it as a new planet and names it “X532-Alpha.” Mangino lives on, but dear reader, remember: fighting at these weights takes a toll on the participants, and with the steady IV of liquified ziti and mozzarella Mangino undoubtedly required following the fight, his circulatory system is a virtual replica of the Houston freeway system at rush hour right now. Dangerous times for thin arteries in that neighborhood, for sure.