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Things are about to get extremely hectic around here. A three day weekend with a sprawling slate of football games (summarized so well here by Hannibal) requires some serious organization and planning. Therefore, the EDSBSOOB (order of business) over the holiday weekend will be as follows:

Saturday: At Taco Mac in Decatur from 12 to 4ish. Orson will have a great red beard and an EDSBS shirt on, and could possibly be covered in the blood of victory. This is often and easily confused with Buffalo wing sauce, of course, but do not be mistaken. War is hell. People die. Stuff happens.

Sunday: Spot rundown of Saturday to be posted with all due haste, along with picture of sad Big Red, the Western Kentucky mascot. PLUS!!! EDSBS Live! online radio, which is our first Sunday edition of EDSBS Live from 7:00 p.m. to 9:00 p.m. EST, where you can curse with impunity and be the first demand your coach’s firing. Guests will join us of a mysterious and impressive nature.

Monday: Extremely light posting–essential deaths, injuries, and major conflagrations covered as needed. Heading at night to Clemson for the Florida State game, where we win either way thanks to someone named Bowden losing.

Tuesday: Posting with extreme fury and frequency. “Buys and Sells” returns, this time with guest editor Hannibal Montegna taking the bulk of the Stranko role in our discussion of who deflated/ballooned their value over the weekend of action. Stranko, in between earning an unholy assbeating from us for posting Jenn Sterger pics, may live to chime in from time to time. May.

We’ll also have pics and some WOOOO!TV from the Clemson tailgate. Given that Clemson is located in South Carolina, we may be forced to ask Miss America-style questions about the fate of the world to drunk tailgaters. This will yield positive results, we’re sure.

Hydrate. Stretch. Enjoy. This is college football. Cue James Wright, the strains of “O Fortuna” by Carl Orff, and blow the goddamn whistle. It’s sturm und drang time, people, and we’ve got our Siegfried helmet polished up and ready to go.

Autumn Begins In Martins Ferry, Ohio

Therefore,
Their sons grow suicidally beautiful
At the beginning of October,
And gallop terribly against each other’s bodies.

If you missed last night’s horrible intersection of angle, momentum, and potential energy made kinetic in dramatic fashion during the LSU/MSU game, you haven’t now. Watch as Brandon Lafell extirpates Zach Smith in the third quarter. Feel free to stand at your desk, jump up and down while shaking your arms back and forth, and scream “DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYUUUUUUUM!!!!”

Your boss will totally understand. Or will fire you. Either way you win: it’s still college football season. (HT: Those brave, brave men at Mississippi State Sports Blog.)

I’ve known señor Swindle since around 1992. I like the guy. Really, I do. But sometimes he needs a little tweaking now and again. On that score, we bring you Orson’s least favorite cheesecake option of all time to celebrate the end of the offseason when we desperately need the weekly distractions. Without further ado, EDSBS’s Friday Cheesecake is the distinctly non-latin, silicon-filled, college football lovin’, Bobby Bowden worshiping Jen Sterger.

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Begin.

Rece Davis is cozying up with his invisible sun right now, looking like something that the cat brought in, trapped at gunpoint for what will be (as of posting) hour 20 of the ESPN 25 hour marathon preview of college football.

While we appreciate the WWL’s enthusiasm for the great game of college football, Rece Davis doesn’t deserve this. Even as Norby Williamson held Davis’ infant son off camera over a pit of live piranhas, Davis made this quip last night around 9:15 p.m.

Mark May: June Jones has coached at the highest levels of football.

Davis: He’s coached in the SEC?

See? It’s that kind of blatant cheekery, along with Davis’ barely concealed glee for the game, that makes Rece awesome. And now they’ve had him at bazooka point for the better part of an entire day, making him watch some things you were better off missing at 3:30 in the morning. Like what, you say?

1:45 a.m. EST Mark May drops pants and does the whirlybird in front of the camera while singing “The Pitt Victory Song.” Lou Holtz giggles, then pronounces the exercise as “disguthting.”

2:27 a.m. Bruce Feldman of ESPN Magazine benches 325 sixteen times in a row. The feat’s made more impressive by the 325 pounds being a sleeping Chris Berman stuffed to the gills with buffalo wings and Ovaltine he ate straight from the can in the ESPN cafeteria.

4:42 a.m. Davis weeps uncontrollably at the mention of Bear Bryant’s name. Can only be coaxed back on air by May speaking to Davis as the dead Alabama coach addressing him from heaven through his earpiece.

7:38 a.m. May is now doing entire show from offstage, talking to Davis as Bear Bryant from the production room. Occasionally gets Davis to drop and give him twenty during commercial breaks and run through pieces of scenery in “blocking drills.”

1:14 p.m. Davis conducts entire interview with Greg Schiano as Beaker from the Muppets. Questions included “MEE MEE MEEEE MEEE MEE, MEE ME MEE MEEE?” “Coach Bryant” insists through the earpiece that he get his ass in the game, to which Davis loudly says “Yassir!” to on air to no one in particular.

As of our last check, he looked to be in decent shape–a bit drawn, yes, but seemingly kept in line by “Coach Bryant.” No man deserves this, though. We implore ESPN to let Davis’ children out of the Death Machine and give the man some rest. With four months of football left, he’s gonna need “Coach Bryant” in his ear all year at this rate.

Trying…to…keep…pants…on…and…stay…off…ceiling…

Five hours to kickoff. We’re…we’re…WE CAN SING! LISTEN!!!

There is no baby crawling on the ceiling. There is no baby crawling on the ceiling. There is no baby crawling on the ceiling. There is no baby crawling on the ceiling. There is no baby crawling on the ceiling. There is no baby crawling on the ceiling. There is no baby crawling on the ceiling. There is no baby crawling on the ceiling. There is no baby crawling on the ceiling. There is no baby crawling on the ceiling. There is no baby crawling on the ceiling…

To bring you an even more maniacal posting pace throughout the season, we’re bringing on new correspondent Hannibal Montegna, who will be publishing tracts on a number of subjects throughout the season. You may know his earlier work writing under several pseudonyms of note and infamy. Enjoy.

In 2004, Swarthmore professor Barry Schwartz published The Paradox of Choice: Why More Is Less, arguing that “offering more choice is not benign,” as generally accepted by the almighty market, but rather that more choices are “a major source of stress, uncertainty, anxiety – even misery” that in large part accounts for troubling lows in Americans’ reported happiness levels over the last thirty years. We were once like goldfish, he argues, content with the possibilities within our meager bowls, blissfully unaware of its restrictions. But as so many constraints continue to be removed – the bowl is being broken – individuals are left gasping in the free world, frozen in a tyrannical trial of endless choice.

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Choice: the silent killer.

Professor Schwartz is not a football fan. If he were, the Dark Age of limited choices – one game per week, at the discretion of a single network, as likely to be North Carolina-Wake Forest on any given week as USC-Notre Daeme – would be a dead idea, buried in the remote-less past, where it belongs. We demand games! All day! And every night of the week! Some choices can’t be wrong, and a paralyzing dilemma between “football” and “more football” is one of those choices. You live in privileged times; give thanks.

Just so you have no excuses:

Thursday Night Blowouts

8 p.m. • LSU at Mississippi State ESPN

How long you last with this one is a true measure of your dedication. By turning it on, you’re conceding to a deep need in your soul for the game; under normal circumstances, no one would watch the modest ambitions of hyped-up, hopeful, hard-working, maroon-clad gnomes trampled underfoot by a careless Goliath’s boot. And make no mistake: if Mississippi State’s defense keeps it mildly interesting (in this case, that means “within two touchdowns”) through halftime or a turnover/lazy punt coverage bug afflicts the Tigers, it will be an achievement. The trampling will ensue. With this knowledge, then, those who flip to the Leader at the start of the game are open, unrepentent addicts. Those who stay are heroes. Watch for: Amid a torrent of grassroots emotion, the precise moment when Mississippi State’s distant but surging fantasies are crushed. Also: parents in the stands. Hi mom!

Hors d’oeuvre: Tulsa at UL-Monroe (ESPN2)

The first Bowl Subdivision kickoff of the season is actually in Monroe, an hour before foot meets ball in Starkville, if you’re interested in ceremony, inauguration, etc. and don’t have a happy hour in your general vicinity, you poor rural soul. (more…)

Separated at birth? Thanks to reader Thor for the submission proving that Saban may, in fact, be character actor Gary Cole. Meaning that Saban was superb in Talladega Nights last year, and once appeared as “Alan McClafferty” on an episode of Moonlighting, and all but guarantees that a movie will be at least moderately awesome.

All that and a 325 page defensive playbook? Alabama, you got more of a bargain than you’ll ever know, friends.

(Note: We’re also stressing the tensile comic strength of Office Space references here, yes. But for science’s sake, we’re willing to take that chance.)

Step one: Saban unadorned.

Step two: Saban, accessorized:
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Orson Swindle rummages around the EDSBS Bunker, flashlight and can of Pine-Sol in hand.

OS: Shit, we need to clean up around here. Old “Punt Bama Punt!” bumper stickers…an autographed Cecil Collins crowbar…Jesus, it’s like haven’t cleaned in here since the Poulan Weed Eater Bowl—

AAAAAAIIIIIGGGH!! What the fuck, Galoshes? You know we hate it when you sneak up on us like that.

Galoshes McGillicuddy, the Gold-Lusting Whoremouthed Leprechaun of Glories Past : OI HOI, Swindle! I NEED DAT GOLD, N*****!!!

OS: You’ve been spending too much time in Alabama, Galoshes. What’s up?

Galoshes: Fuck yo’ couch! All the gold be in the hands of Saban, and he guards it with a dragon. Burnt me motherfuckin’ hands to rare filets, it did!

OS: Those…those need medical attention, Galoshes. What are you doing here?

Galoshes: What I do best, Swindle. Bring ye the down ‘n durrty on me old boys, The Foightin’ Irish.

OS: (takes out Inserection receipt and old red crayon.) We’re listening.

Galoshes: Don’t gimme that “we” shit, punk! I NEED DAT GOLD N****!!!

OS: Those hands…is that what that smell is? By the way, I have no gold.

Galoshes: Nevermind me hands! Then fifteen thousand in doubloons then, Swindle, for what ye seek to know…

OS: I will give you a dollar fifty and you will tell me, or I will spray you with Pine-Sol until you leave or die a lemony, horrible death.

Galoshes: Demetrius Jones is the starting quarterback against Georgia Tech, boy-o. You need ask no more. NOW GIMME DAT PAPER OR POP GOES THE WEASEL BITCH!!!

OS: (Sprays Pine-Sol on Galoshes’ red, swollen hands. Cries of agony ensue.)

Galoshes: Meant to say: you’re welcome, sirrah.

OS: No problem. How’d you find this out?

Galoshes: Oh, I have mah ways with Charlie, ya know.

OS: Say no more. Seriously. I don’t want to…

Galoshes: No, really, it’s fascinatin’, see? First I gets me lucky ball gag…then I–AAAAIIIIGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!

OS: (Sprays Pine-Sol, dials 911.)

One source is here. We confirmed this with Galoshes, who’s as good a source as you can imagine.

P.S. And here. Facebook, again!

The winner of this year’s Fulmer Cup for the Most Feloniously Frisky College Football Team is…

…Illinois, who rode the diligent efforts of Jody Ellis and Derrick McPhearson to victory in this year’s competition. (Yes, they were dismissed from the team. Good for them. But they were on the team at the time this happened.) This means the solid gold AK-47 Dennis Erickson Trophy Sponsored by Hosea Williams’ Bail Bonds Fulmer Cup Trophy now makes the long trip from Huntington, West Virginia to Champaign-Urbana, Illinois, where it will reside in a local Arby’s until next year’s competition.

Illinois went up by a huge score early and then fell into a soft zone, nearly allowing the competition to catch them (as Penn State nearly did.) This sounds familiar to anyone with an understanding of [NAME REDACTED]’s NFL-tested coaching philosophies. Yet Illinois got this on the cheap, we think–the points add up, but fine work by other programs deserves mention, as well.

The Ellis T. Jones Award Golden Taser for Individual Achievement goes to… Florida’s own Ronnie Wilson, who ensured that we’d get at least eighty annoying emails with the subject line “CHANGE THE NAME OF THE CUP, ASSHOLE” by firing off an AK-47 in downtown Gainesville, Florida. A nine-point offense pales in comparison to the award’s namesake, but sometimes merely discharging automatic weapons in front of horrified nightclub-goers is enough to get you the award.

The Golden Taser is yours, Ronnie. Use it well.

The Ben Siegert Award for most amusing arrest goes to Stephen Garcia, Gamecock rapscallion who keyed a visiting professor’s car in Columbia just weeks after arriving on campus and thus gave us this beautiful mug shot.

Chill, baby. Just chill.

With that, we feel obligated to mention that it, too, does not live up to stealing a gay sheep. Still, the Golden Ram With Leather Guy Hat goes to Mr. Garcia, who will be riding the bench for the Click Clacktacular one in Sakerlina this year.

Thanks as always to Brian, who maintained the board this year and is hung like Reggie Fuckin’ Nelson, and to the boys at SAS Wiki, who assisted with the scoring. Both were indispensable. Readers are owed thanks for their diligence as well: Tomek and Dave W. in particular deserve our thanks.

Georgia Tech quarterback Taylor Bennett has no illusions about his potential as an NFL starter. In fact, he’s preparing for life post-football already.

“I’d like to do something for the Department of Homeland Security, or maybe CIA,” Bennett said. “I don’t want to be like a secret undercover spy who goes around shooting people. But I’d like to be involved in operations abroad. The whole idea of clandestine services sounds interesting.”

Being a Georgia Tech quarterback in the Chan Gailey era actually seems to be superb prep work for being in the CIA: no one’s really sure of what you’re trying to do; you’re often unprotected and at constant risk of exposure; and when you make mistakes, they tend to be high-profile ones in extremely high-stakes environments. Sounds like the agency that brought you the Bay of Pigs and ruined the phrase “slam-dunk” to us.

If caught, we will deny your existence, agent.

Gailey, meanwhile, is getting damn near Charlie Weis-esque in creating drama where none exists by refusing to confirm whether freshman Josh Nesbitt will play against Notre Dame. Gailey gets passionate about one play and one play only: the quarterback draw, which is a bit like having a deep and unabiding passion for mayonnaise sandwiches. We’d bet our right kidney on Nesbitt, a talented runner, getting at least a few snaps to satisfy Gailey’s lust for the play and catch a ride on the Tebowleak/senior passer, freshman running qb duo-fad sweeping the nation.