We don’t believe Alabama fans’ insistence on ‘Bama actually landing Saban has so much as an asshair’s worth of veracity. Then again, these are the people who kept telling us that Franchione was batting eyes at the Aggies while still very much holding the office of head coach. (When someone is constantly insane, it stands to measure that eventually they’ll be right, right? This is the rubric for evaluating and all rumors surrounding Alabama football.)

ESPN, though, seems to have the real lowdown on Alabama’s strategy to woo the completely uninterested and heavily compensated Saban to Alabama. And if you believe the box lead on ESPN.com, Alabama’s using and ancient and time-tested strategy to get him. (HT: Brian.)

If ‘Bama thinks cocksucking is going to land Saban, they’re dead wrong. The man coached in Louisiana and Miami–wethinks the cocksucking there has to rate high in the percentile stratosphere for that kind of thing. If this were USC, we’d wager on Saban possibly leaving, since USC’s actually had a porn star enroll as a student.

But Alabama? The last expert we can remember in sucking cock in Tuscaloosa was Mike McKenzie, the personal fellatrix for Dennis Franchione who authored “coachfran.com” and who played a part in costing Sports Illustrated $20 million bucks as the alleged source for the Mike Price stripper story. And no one wants that kind of “special treatment” again.

One last thing before an orgy of football watching: Joe Kines, orator. Why Alabama doesn’t want to hire this man confounds us. His diction alone is reason for joy.

Like everyone else, we’re overwhelmed, frankly. There’s four games on today, a zillion on over the next few days, and somehow we’re expected to clothe and feed ourselves properly in the interim.

Since that’s not going to happen, we’ll agree to do the following things:

1.We’ll post a review on Sunday of everything that’s happened between now and then.

2. We’ll post on the 2nd in the same manner.

3. We’ll attempt to do those in an easily digestible manner.

Deal? Deal. Excellent. You have viewing to get to. Remember: stay hydrated, stretch every hour or so, and do a light cardio workout with weights during halftimes. Keeps the body and mind firm yet flexible like so much bamboo waving in the grass.

For cardio, we suggest dancing to this clip of the dearly departed Godfatha of Soul, James Brown. For our money, JB’s 1971 Love, Power, Peace: Live at the Olympia is the most ferocious collection of live sounds ever put on record. Rest in Peace, James.

On a hectic pre-holiday Friday, Solon chips in his final bowl picks. Enjoy.

Greetings all.

All things considered, while this has been a thoroughly dissatisfying season for me, I suppose things should be put in perspective; after an uneven 6-11 start, I recovered to go on a 49-24 run–as good an extended run as I have ever had–before stumbling to a 17-28 (and counting) finish–as bad an extended run as I have ever had.

A wiser man than myself once said that the bottom line in this game is that you win some, you lose some, and you hope you win more than you lose. While for the better part of November I wondered if the first part of that adage was true, even in this, one of my more personally disappointing seasons, I have been able to accomplish this task; anyone using my selections, wagering with the traditional 10-11 vigorish, would show a profit for the season.

Profit! It’s what’s for dinner.

My two-year record stands at 156-124, a much more robust 55.7%; generally, a percentage above 55% is considered professional-level quality, and every season a 55% winning percentage is my stated goal. I will fall short of that number this season unless I am able to run the table with my final five selections, which given my current form is highly unlikely; hopefully this off-season I will learn some lessons and come back strong when next season starts.

As it stands (I am writing this Thursday night), my record for the year is 72-63, a winning percentage of 53.3%; please note that I still have wagers on South Carolina and Texas Tech still pending, in addition to those listed below. Hopefully I can close it out strong and build a little momentum for next season. Here are my final selections for the season:

COTTON BOWL, Dallas, TX

Nebraska (+1) v. Auburn

As I have said many times, I thought Auburn was overrated for much of the season. (more…)

How does [NAME REDACTED] convince brawny, less than brainy recruits that he’s the guy for them? Um…like this?

We’re at a loss for words. Discuss below.

Rutgers ended the season badly by dropping two (TWO!?!) games, sinking to a miserable 10-2 previously unheard of at Rutgers–unheard of because they haven’t gone 10-2 or anything close since 1976, when they were rolling over the Colgates of this world on they way to an 11-0 record of dubious merit.

The Texas Bowl won’t shine the beltbuckle of too many Rutgers fans on its own merits. While other teams rip down Lowe’s Motor Speedway at 180 mph or even go “south of the border” (WOO!!! Donkey show for you, student-athlete!), the boys from Rutgers are in Houston throwing shit around and dressing up cows in underwear. Literally.

Players from Rutgers gamely participated in the rodeo bowl, a competition involving roping, dung-tossing and dressing cattle in women’s underwear.

At Kansas State, this constitutes dating. Wocka-wocka! ZING! ZOWEE!!! Our favorite quote from the whole article, though, comes late in the piece:

Off to one side, a rodeo instructor named Dick Hudgins tried to improve the accuracy of Mike Teel, the starting quarterback for Rutgers. When Teel made an errant toss with his lasso, Hudgins asked him, “You’re not a quarterback, are you?” Teel did not respond.

Sign that man to a scouting contract–now.

No cowboy: Mike Teel, bad with a lasso.

Subcommandante Wayne, the Ohio State fan who defaces this blog every week until Jan. 8th with a can of scarlet spray paint and his inimitable diction, arrives late for his guest column today, which will be his breakdown of the Holiday Bowl. As always: um, enjoy?

Name: The Holiday Bowl, which sounds totally gay to the Subcommandante. Especially after his own holiday to Vegas last week ended up soooo busted-up and shitty. Holiday, my ass. You try finding a legal hooker in East St. Louis. It’s like they don’t even know prostitution is legal, man.

Subcommandante Wayne says that East St. Louis is not worthy of his rockedness.

Motto: The Pacific Life Holiday Bowl: suck my ass, world! That’s not the motto of the bowl, man, but it should be, since I’m telling the whole world to do that this week in any way I can. Case in point: last night with my mom.

Scene: the kitchen.

Mom: “Wayne, when are you going to get the Grand Am fixed?”

Me: “Soon, Mom, gaaaaaww. I’m all tapped out from getting it towed from St. Louis.”

Mom: “You could get a job and stop playing that craft game you’re always talking about.”

Me: “Suck my ass mom!”

Actually that’s not what I said at all. (more…)

Name: Sadly, not the Poulan Weed Eater Bowl anymore: no, just the bland, old, trustworthy Independence Bowl, sans Poulan Weed Eater. For those of us that remember the glory of the Poulan Weed Eater Independence bowl, the shine of this game will never wax as bright as it did when named after a lawn tool.

Motto: Shreveport or Die! Again, no real motto to this one. Though we’re all about “Shreveport or Die,” since it sounds like a song your local bar band Dad likes would play. (You know, white boy stomp music for the Delbert McClinton-listening, “I-tuck-my-golf-shirt-into-my-jean-shorts” crowd.)

Fake Bowl? Hardly. The Independence Bowl gots history, sir: lest you think the pre-Christmas bowl game began as yet another fecal creation of the Worldwide Leader, the Independence Bowl began its life as a December 13th bowl game in 1976 between McNeese State and Tulsa.

Intrusive Corporate Sponsor: PetroSun. They drill for oil, a likely suspect for a sponsor of a bowl based in the industrial heartland of Louisiana. Weirdly enough, they do not have a corporate website. We must therefore assume they are run by a shadowy global conglomerate, and that their every move is plotted by a one-eyed majordomo bent on world domination. Expect Jason Bourne to interrupt halftime festivities with a spectacular fight scene where he kills an internationally renowned assassin with a clarinet.

Tradition Rating: Older than most, and very nearly approaching venerable. The top hits of 1976 included Lou Rawls’ “You’ll Never Find a Love Like Mine,” so we’ll call the Independence Bowl at a rating of Lou Rawlsish. When else are we going to find an excuse to post a clip of Lou Rawls giving a prostate exam to Damon Wayans?

Setup: SEC/Big 12. After years of shuffling around, the matchups here have been quality eatin’ over the past few years. Last year’s furious Missouri comeback was the latest in a chain of good games. Something about middling SEC and middling Big 12 teams equals viewing gold. This gives you yet another excuse to plead explosive diarrhea, leave the office with your hand placed theatrically over your ass, and then run home to catch the game at 4:30.

Location. Shreveport, though the city’s pushing for wider brand recognition of the name “Shreveport-Bossier.” When you’ve got a brand name like “Shreveport,” though, we don’t know why you’d ever mess with it.

We know two reasons why Shreveport is cool, though. (more…)

The Subcommandante will be along in a bit. First, foozball news.

Never outsource your dastardly plots. Never! There FSU was, all tied to the railroad tracks, down 27-23 and getting run over by UCLA, a team that couldn’t run its way through soggy drywall all year. If it was us in charge of this dastardly plot, we would have twiddled our inky black mustache, secured the Seminoles to the track tightly with only the newest, bleached-white rope, and then backed away and let the 4:23 inbound from Portland do the work.

Alas: not all help is created equal. UCLA just sat there, locked at 27-23 for five minutes or so, and when the inevitable rush came flying back for FSU, they collapsed. Yes, they did get off the rails with the assistance of a positively negligent no-call on a pass-interference play where Greg Carr tossed a db to the ground and caught the patented Jeff Bowden Jump Ball for a touchdown. (Jeff Bowden’s reaction shot nearly made us throw up our cough medicine.)

But UCLA let Polly Trueheart off the tracks, and even loosened a few coils of the rope just to make things fair. Nestor and the rest of Bruins Nation weren’t even surprised, right? 4th and nothing on FSU’s goal line, and Dorrell opts for the field goal despite running at will on FSU’s defense to that point. That’s how you end up losing 44-27 to a team Wake Forest blanked at home.

Never, ever send someone else to do your dirty work. Nevah!

Always, always tie the maiden to the tracks yourself. You never know how other people will do it.

HT: Gatorsports Forums.