We promise to cover this story whenever anything of the slightest interest happens: Robert Johnson has proven to be the hellhound on the trail of Casey Dick, who may have rambling on his mind as he has lost the race for the Arkansas starting qb job to Johnson and faces further competition from red-hot prodigy Mitch Mustain.
Looking limber for a 90 year old dead man with a satanic soul-debt.
A quick dodge through the Da Shi Er:
–Mack Brown’s lost thirty pounds or so in the offseason, either as a direct result of the glee of winning a national championship or from sweating thinking about replacing the Football Overfiend at qb. They’re making progress, evidently: Colt McCoy, he of the Jerry Bruckheimer name, may have the lead on the starting job for Texas.
“Hold the mayo, y’all.”
–Also from the Houston Chronicle…anyone know a good cure for tendonitis? In their new spread attack, Baylor’s gonna need it.
–Pirates are passe in Lubbock. This year’s theme: Vikings. If anyone can be put in the hall of talking heads in jars after death, please let one of them be Leach. Future generations need to hear things like this:
Turns out he’s half-Norwegian. Notes the NCAA’s reformation on Native American symbols and wants to know when something’s going to be done for Vikings.
“I think me and other Norwegians ought to unite,” he says. “We’re tired of being characterized as warriors. We dishonor all the lazy Vikings.”
Not all his stuff is quite so esoteric. Sunday’s topic with the team: a dysfunctional Connecticut family that included a mother who hired a hit man and a “Satan-worshipping” dad who ran off with the girlfriend of his 15-year-old son, who promptly took offense and ratted out his father to the feds.
“Actually,” Harrell says, smiling, “that one was pretty interesting.”
If we were a blue-chipper, there wouldn’t be a question of where we were going. It would just be a matter of wearing an eyepatch or a horned helmet on signing day.
2006 means pirates vikings, people.
–Finally, Coach Fran is 425 words worth of excited about the new jerseys at Texas A and M. If you understand most of what this means, please self-revoke your testes possession license immediately:
“First, the 2006 jersey will feature a new cut, or pattern. The previous cordura jersey had a two-way stretch front and back mesh, and a stretch cordura insert that flowed almost seamlessly up both sides of the jersey and over the shoulders and sleeves. The 2006 jersey takes the cordura stretch-fit a step further, by starting the cordura on both sides of the jersey. Instead of flowing straight up the jersey, it moves to the back of the jersey and merges with the other side into a cordura main body.
Project Runway is calling Coach Fran’s name. We totally support this idea as long as Tim Gunn comes over in a reality television exchange program and coaches the Aggies for a week.
Aggies, make it work!
Golf course pesticides. Contraindications in prescriptions. Early onset dementia due to job stress. All of these might explain why Ty Willingham would, for an instant, believe he was Warren St. John.
But the real outrage is that Notre Dame fired a man with such exemplary penmanship. Does no one have standards anymore? Even in his madness, Tee Time Ty writes with the curlicues and flow of classical scholar limning the erratic, lacy path of greatness. You can see that he’s a molder of men just from the handwriting. Let’s see Charlie Weis’ chicken scratch in comparison–we’re betting it’s palsied in comparison.
We’re weeping at how beautiful that is. Tito, hand me a tissue.
You might find those happy to wax rhapsodic about Atlanta. Most of those people do not live here, or if they do dip their toe into midtown occasionally before quickly retreating to a home twenty to thirty miles north of the city. We’re not here to write the second chapter of A Man In Full–Tom Wolfe’s kinda-there, kinda-not book about Atlanta–but rather to tell you, the college football fan arriving in town for the game, what to do, where to go, and how not to be devoured whole by the packs of mutant beast-men roaming the streets of our fair city.*
About Our City
Atlanta was founded in 367 A.D. at the convergence of four rivers by a tribe of refugee Mayans escaping the tyranny of their homeland and seeking a place where they could pursue their dream of a society devoted to the creation of ever more elaborate arrangements of batter, meat, and oil, a practice deemed extravagant and an offense to the gods by Mayan elders. After a thousand years of civilization, the whole arrangement was deemed “inefficient” and “sprawlish” by the leaders of Mesoamerican Atlanta, who then returned obese and somewhat shamefaced to the Yucatan Peninsula. (Per an interesting copyright arrangement, the “Maya” must now be pronounced as “Ted Turner.” We’re really hoping he doesn’t hear about this piece, by the way.)
Their only visible legacy in modern day Atlanta is a single remaining temple located in downtown Marietta, which now houses a Kentucky Fried Chicken restaurant.
Atlanta was reborn following its discovery by a mix of shiftless cracker hucksters and northern investors looking to escape the encroachment of Northern regulators insisting on business practices including such outrages as the inability to use orphans as fuel in factories. Atlantans welcomed the investment, and the city thrived at the nexus of a series of railroads and trade routes.
This worked quite well until the civil war when the city was burned to the ground, an event that while upsetting some of the locals nonetheless pleased the all-important real estate baron class, who delighted at the “value opportunity” and paved half the city in “god’s secure ebony blanket of most blessed Providence–ASPHALT!” The city reborn took off economically again, rising like a Phoenix from the ashes, which to this day is the symbol of the city and the emblem of its most inefficient, corrupt business:
The economic development of the city accelerated rapidly with the paving-over of the four rivers the Maya felt made the city so “inefficient.” The car remains the primary influence on the city’s design, and many say it’s history. (more…)
The sad but true saga of Willie Williams continues. Like a modern day Grapes of Wrath, Willie must move on to find his future yet again. The former blue chip, lobster-lovin’ recruit has been denied entry to Pearl River Community College in Poplarville, Mississippi. We’re all pulling for you Willie. You can get through this.
You’re choices aren’t as good now, are they Willie?
Orson Swindle and Stranko Montana are two men pushing thirty who should know better than to run a college football blog, but evidently don't. Both graduated from the University of Florida, and both agree that college football is far too important to be left to the professionals.
Comments? Questions? Long strings of profanities directed at something we said? Please send your comments to harumphharumph -a- yahoo -dot- com. Please direct all tailgating photos and stories to edsbsfans -a- gmail -dot- com.
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