–Smoove shennanigannery on the field goal block return when USF tossed the ball forward on “fumbles” not once, but twice. Doing it once is just being a dick; doing it twice is asshattedness of an inspired degree.

–Ray Rice carries the ball 93 times in a game. Balance!

–Matt Grothe: ugly Chris Rix without lead poisoning?

– Oh! And Delbert Alvarado misses a FG! Never let your personal rapper be your kicker, too.

I made it? I made it! Shooting pistols of praise atcha, Jesus! Photo by Rich Schwartz, AP.

–Craig James says “WOOOOOOOOO” when one player knocks the hair off another player. This is EXACTLY what we do. We’re not sure whether we should knock 20 points off our IQ on this realization.

–Matt Grothe’s dad has a goatee. The goat is the non-ironic mustache of the new millenium. You met your friend’s dad once–he had a mustache, and it disturbed you. That’s the role played by the goatee now. If you meet someone with a mustache, they either have an overly active irony gland, or they are a Crimean War veteran.

–On the Allstate commercial with the guys saying “Hey, that’s Bobby Bowden. I’m gonna touch him.” He’d turn to ash. That’s highly inadvisable, especially since we’d come after you with a crowbar for ruining Florida’s three game win streak against Bowden the Diminished.

–James/Flutie exchange of the night:

Flutie: “Hey, you would have loved that money–many carries in college”

James: “Um…”

Flutie: “You did go to SMU.”

James: “Eat knife, you fucking Canadian midget” (stabs Flutie)

–Rutgers varying up their spies on Grothe. Excellent tradecraft on their part.

–My god, I’d eat Bret Favre’s pubic hair served in a cream sauce with porcini mushrooms over fresh linguine. Sorry, the spirit of Peter King can possess you at any time, as it just did.

–Rutgers has a player named Zaire Kitchen. That’s a name you sign into a Taipei brothel with, though Oops Pow Surprise tops this by suggesting that he has a brother named “Cameroon Parlor.”

–Brilliant field goal fake for TD only validates our entire NCAA 03 offensive strategy.

–Sign seen: “Ending South Florida’s Perfect Season Now.” It’s cheating to use that many words to make four letters. There should be a European Union agency with overpaid bureaucrats to enforce these things.

–Oh, Christ. Jim Leavitt’s speaking in tongues. It looks more Old Testament than New Testament. Fowler’s succinct underscore to a shot of Leavitt snarling: URRRRRRNNNNGGGGHHH.

–Grothe sacked seven times. Gads.

–Playing “Shout.” Rutgers football–it’s a white wedding! The music at a redneck wedding is more diverse than the all-white and sleeveless tee montage played during a Rutgers game. We were halfway there long before the half, and during the fourth, we were in fact living on a prayer.

–Rutgers adjusted at the half and sent dogs after Grothe for the entire half, and at no point did South Florida fully adjust. Jump balls into single coverage, yes–but never a roll-out, no getting Grothe out of the pocket, nothing to dissuade overload blitzes from Rutgers. Dammit, Craig James makes another point we agree with, thus taking our IQ into Andy Warhol territory. This season has made mongoloids of us all–agreeing this much with Craig James is empirical evidence of this.

–Jim Leavitt, welcome to the boathouse. MAO!

The game matters and features the number two team in the nation and it’s bed-jumping maniac of a coach versus last year’s Big East insurrector, Rutgers. But those are logical reasons you’d watch the game. You’d watch the game anyway, eyeslut, even if it were UTEP squaring off in an exhibition game versus a bullring filled with excitable live panthers live from Cartagena.

Ten reasons the true devotee might watch the game tonight between USF and Rutgers:

10. Count the number of Sopranos references. Without Gandolfini sighting, over/under stands at 8; with a Gandolfini sighting, over/under spikes to 15.

9. Cringe as you listen to the wind rip across the second most endangered forest in the world, the exotic and irreplaceable fibers of Jim Leavitt’s vocal cords. When it fails, he will communicate via a Stephen Hawking voice box hooked up to a bullhorn. BLOCK OUT AND TACKLE YOU FUCKING FUCK ARRRGGGHHHH [/Hawking}

8. To see if Singlet Guy dare cross into Jersey wearing the immortal singlet and cape, and if he is allowed to leave the state alive with it.

7. Ray Rice ran on the South Florida defense for 200 yards last year at USF, so intrepid gamblers can wager on him easily doubling that in front of a friendly home crowd. Free advice, friends: 400 yards!!! We won't even charge for it! Wagering is fun!

6. Matt Grothe will do something jaw-droppingly dumb immediately following praise from announcers. Another rule of the universe fulfilled in front of your very eyes.

5. Chris Fowler will leap from the booth in suicidal glee at his final escape from Flutie and James before landing harmlessly on a hot dog vendor's pile of buns and being forced after the "equipment failure" to do the next Thursday's game with...Craig James and Doug Flutie. Look in his eyes, viewer--those are the dead eyes of mad despair.

4. Marvel at the misplaced mascot that is the Scarlet Knight: with six huge, gray, plaque-encrusted teeth, he really should be not the Garden State's mascot, but West Virginia's, instead.

3. Bulls kicker Delbert Alvarado is 7-12 on the season, which should be good, clean fun for everyone concerned...especially if ESPN's field mike gets really close to Jim Leavitt, with or without the Steven Hawking voicebox. I WILL RIP YOUR LEGS OFF AND BEAT YOU TO PUDDING ALVARADO GARRRGGGG [/hawking]

2. Continue to struggle to come up with a proper comparison for Matt Grothe’s unique visage. We’re going with the love child of frequently mentioned blog-idol Charles Bronson and an African Bird Eating Toad.

1. Pray for USF’s sake that their newest, most vocal fan doesn’t have the same win-depleting effect she had on her alma mater. Another rule of cosmic law: the more her team loses, the bigger her boobs get!

USF, welcome to the loss column. Don’t blame us. Blame the Sterger curse.

Whose royal penis is being squeaked clean by squads of adoring fans daily on college campus? Who is sleeping atop the fluffiest bed warmed by the most alluring of flesh blankets this week? We report on the only award that matters in college football, the Thighs-man trophy, the award given to the player most deserving of that most essential of college currencies: sex for good play.

Do the Thighsman on that ho.

This week’s contenders:

Andre Woodson. As if he didn’t have enough going for him already: tall, biracial (”They’re always the prettiest babies!” says some woman at some Southern PTA meeting,) and quarterback at a school with an extremely comely student population.

No, the rich get filthier this week as Andre Woodson, fresh off a heroic, “what, me need kidney” bludgeoning in a victory against LSU at home, gets monstro Florida in a youth camp year. They can go ahead and play in the road whites just for spite’s sake, since Florida’s line couldn’t pressure Brandon Cox and his mighty womb playing behind an o-line fraught with freshmen–Woodson’s uniform would still be sparkling at the end.

Combine that with the daily cleaning of the Bluegrass Bootybanger, and the possibility of a 350-400 yard day only strengthens his claim for ass on tap. Get his jimmy some pads, because it’s about to go full-contact daily.

Matt Ryan. Yes, they’re all qbs. But dating other football players is downright frightening, and a risky evolutionary choice for young women looking to breed since “big, cuddly teddy bears” sometimes end up crippled, obese concussion cases by the age of 40. Qbs may be crippled, but all that tv time guarantees some pr advantage in getting that primo insurance sales job. (See: Clausen, any.)

Ryan’s certainly gets a chance walk pantsless around campus to thunderous applause against Virginia Tech this weekend, particularly because his numbers dipped a bit against an underrated 14th ranked Notre Dame pass defense last week. (Seriously, even with all the losses the secondary’s been ND’s strength this year. Zbikowski hasn’t burst into serious flame yet, though there have been sparks.) Virginia Tech hasn’t faced a qb of Ryan’s stature or iron sternum yet, so knocking him out of the game is not a viable option. Pray for cluster headaches, acid in the Gatorade, or grand mal seizures–that’s the only thing that will stop him from expanding his brainy and perhaps beer-padded harem of Boston College women this weekend.

(Perhaps he’s recruiting from nearby community colleges. Yes, that’s exactly what’s happening.)

Chase Daniel, Missouri. Still only licensed to strut in his boxers–the full nudity and instant service command mandate will be approved by school officials pending his performance through the rest of the schedule. Daniel also already looks fifty and is 5′11″ at best, so he’s bringing up the rear in this competition. (My, that’s an unfortunate choice of words.)

Forced to subside on only three to four women at a time:

John David Booty. Fingers are important on and off the field, especially if you wanna be a pro. Likely down to seven assignations a week with five fine dimes, a condition referred to as “poverty” at USC.

Glenn Dorsey Again, pulling for a big man for the Thighsman is quixotic at best, but putting your money on a lineman is near suicide barring his actual unintentional manslaughter of a qb on the field. Again, probably forced to subside on using only one cell phone to juggle his crew of Cock Commando-ettes.

Ray Rice Still wakes up with the taste of hairspray and covered in the scent of secondhand Exclamation! on a daily basis, sure. But a loss for Rutgers and the New York media’s amazing immunity to college football fever keeps him to a local sultan of split-legged-lumber-lay only. Much riding (the potential for double entendre here is just amazing) on tonight’s game with USF, which could turn his wang into a tradeable commodity on the NASDAQ with a huge performance.

Expect delays this a.m., as our server hiccuped a bit this morning. Curious Index in a bit.