Happy St. Patrick’s Day to all. If you should drink yourself dead this weekend, just remember to convert to Catholicism first. Their heaven kicks so much more ass than Protestant heaven.

Note the dude in the Notre Dame shirt in the front row in the clip.

We’d love to elaborate on this, but it’s already inspired miles of message board odes. It seems that the sport of beach volleyball satisfies needs for almost every pedigree of lust:

–lack of clothing
–”volleyball butts”
–legs
–giantess fetish
–those with flair for the exotic
–the wet look
–lesbian overtones
–meticulous femmescaping
–grunting
–screaming
–lots of stretching and pervy angles
–tans
–the possibility that, at any given second, they might start fighting.
–the possibility that, at any given second, they might start fucking.

That said, your Latin-themed EDSBS official Friday Univision Compatible Cheesecake is…

Sandra Pires, seen here with beach volleyball partner Jackie Silva.

Nice dig? We thought so.

On a day where basketball is devouring the popular imagination, we should not fail to note the semi-retirement of Mike V, the actual real, live Tiger mascot for the LSU Tigers. Mike, an aging but still healthy 15-year old, has displayed dimmed enthusiasm for the duties of Bayou Bengal mascothood, according to his handler Dave Baker, and will begin the three-step process toward retirement.

Baker said he noticed that Mike “didn’t seem to be into it anymore” during last season. “It was more bothersome to him…[Mike] is still in reasonably good shape for an elderly tiger, and still has a “good attitude.”

Meaning he’s still staring through the bars, fantasizing about killing you, pulling your hide off, and eating every inch of you down to licking the marrow out of your bones. Because he’s a Tiger, and they really are born to kill, mate, break down recruiting tape, and sleep just like the Orgeron without doing much else. (Little known fact about Tigers, the recruiting bit. Totally explains LSU’s historically dominant recruiting, no?)

Mike will retire in stages since LSU has vowed to never let a Tiger die on campus again. We’re just sitting her cringing in envy since Florida refuses to honor our requests to keep a real Albert on the sidelines during the game. A live alligator being fed whole live chickens during a football game would be intimidating as hell, we think.

Visit Mike’s website, the king don tiger of all don tiger websites.

Soon to be wandering some gangster’s lawn: Mike V.

Greg Little points us to Nick Saban’s car and its bumper sticker. It’s in sore need of an update:

Photoshop is fun!

The verdict is still out on the possible dismissal of Adrian Arrington, the number two wide receiver at Michigan. The Wiz has him as good as gone; however, the Politburo at Michigan has only bothered to eliminate him from the spring roster, something not necessarily indicating a complete boot from the team.

Lloyd Carr won’t clarify this, however, since Lloyd Carr’s service menu when facing the media consists of:

1. Grumble.
2. Fuck you.
3. Fuck you, dickbreath.
4. Your clothes–give them to me now.

Meaning Lloyd Carr carries the exact same set of menu options many of our friends did sitting in bars just after college. He’s not going to vary from the script, and sure as hell won’t tell you what’s happening with his team. In fact, he won’t even let you watch them, lest you pick up on one of the shocking new wrinkles in their run game. (”A toss play? Oh, behave!“)

Lloyd Carr: an unstoppable, inhuman, story-killing machine.