CALLING ALL WANNABE UNCOMPENSATED CORRESPONDENTS!!!
EDSBS is pounding the pavement, and not with our fists this time like we did that night after eight Rusty Nails at the Brewhouse. (When they tell you it’s going to be an emotional episode of E.R., believe them, people. Believe them.)
We’re looking for spring practice correspondents big and small. Sitting at Troy’s practice with your blackberry? Idly snapping photos at Wazzou? Skipping work/class to go watch the Wannstache shake the lead out? WE WANT YOUR CONTENT MMM YUMMY CONTENT.
The compensation with be fifteen minutes of the most minor fame imaginable and the satisfaction of knowing that you’re contributing to our nation’s greatest productivity-sapping addiction: college football.
Email if interested to harumphharumph–at–yahoo dot com. (Take that, spambots! WOOOSHAAAAHHH!)
Man the guns, people. Bring us spring practice reports. Save the cheerleader.
We’ve had several near-death experiences, and in each one David Niven appears in our mind in a red smoking jacket, gimlet in one hand, cigarette in the other, and starts saying things like “Boy-o, consider how bloody interesting dying in a Himalayan landslide really will be. Well, certainly you’re giving your friends some new fodder for discussion, at least. Care for a drink?”
It’s way more comforting than it sounds. Therefore, a long-overdue tip of the mullet wig to David Niven, our death-herald and possessor of perhaps the perfect Roman Rapier ’stache. Cheers, boy-o.
David Niven says “Happy Mustache Wednesday, friends and motherfuckers.
For further proof of David Niven’s inherent coolness, see the clip after the jump where he shills for Passport Scotch with Portuguese subtitles. He says Passport is good without laughing, something meriting at least a nomination for an Oscar. (more…)
The Ol’ Ball Coach don’t come cheap. Golf clubs ain’t getting any cheaper, son. And the OBC’s through with this compressed titanium bullshit stuff–I ain’t hitting my fifty dollar a box Maxflis with some cheater’s whomping stick like a Big Bertha. Might as well tee off with a broadaxe. Not what winners like me do, son.
Winners don’t come cheap, son. Neither do these fly-ass golf duds.
Nope–Mr. Heisman’s moved on to the top of the line Maruman Majesty Prestigios, and those cost a cool two grand just for the driver. So all our loyal Cocks out there have to whip it out for the things we need to succeed here at Carolina: facilities, higher coaches’ salaries, enhanced fundraising staff, a Bushnell Pinseeker 1500…all the things winners have, basically.
So sure you paid $165 for season tickets in 2004. But look what you were paying for! It wasn’t the Ol’ Ball Coach. It was an old ball coach, sure, one whose players were jacking the televisions off the wall from the locker room and losing to everyone by 3 points. A ball coach who used–gasp!–Callaway clubs when he played golf. A coach who didn’t have fitted $6,000 John Lobb spikes when he steps on the fairway.
What am I trying to say? That $320 dollars for season tickets ain’t shit, Cocks fans. It’s nothing. I’m trying to make Yukon omelets from quail’s eggs here already, and you rednecks pay three times that annually just to keep Smackdown! streaming live into your trailers. Don’t tell me you can’t afford that. You want better football, pony up or putt out. We ain’t playing from the ladies tees anymore.
If you don’t like it, I’ve got a pile of money to count in between practice swings. Brad Scott’s ready for the phone call when you are, people. He’s just waitin’ by that phone.
Wednesday mornings are typically real world busy for us, so accept these two things as apology for our late start today:
–EDSBS Live! went smashingly last night, with stellar appearances by Ted Miller of the Seattle Post-Intelligencer, DC Trojan, Kanu, and as always, Ragin’ Cajun Rebel. Listen here for the nearly trainwreck-free broadcast.
–Also, we’re too big to make Charlie Weis fat jokes. We will, however, snigger along as other people make them. (HT: Black Shoe Diaries.)
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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.
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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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