That’s college football’s most Dadaist rivalry trophy, the River City Rivalry, being hoisted in triumph by its unlikely holders, the Pitt Panthers. Pitt upset Cincy in the game, thus delighting long-suffering Pitt fan Chas and further stunting the hype surrounding 2007 Cincinnati’s renaissance.

It also means Pitt gets to hold the strange trophy for a year. What the hell they’ll do with it is anyone’s guess since it seems to be designed to be both impractical and unwieldy all at the same time. We can only guess at its uses, and what they’re saying at this happy, joyous moment in Pitt’s recently dismal football history.

“WOOOOO! We’re turning this party all the way up to PITT!”

“Hey! HEY! What the hell am I supposed to do with this hunk of shit? GUYS!”

Leave your own below.

Ole Miss’s halftime had special spark this weekend thanks to a wondrous treat: daytime fireworks. Fireworks are awesome–the cheaper and more bootleg they are the better, and the phrase “Mississippi Fireworks” certainly reeks of both–but they lose some of their efficacy when deployed in broad daylight. Because you can’t see them. Because it’s 2 in the afternoon in Oxford, Mississippi.

COACHOGONNABURNTHISMUTHADOWN!

It’s really great, though, when the fireworks make things catch fire and not work.

A halftime fireworks display gone awry knocked out power to half of Vaught-Hemingway Stadium on Saturday.

The game was not delayed and power was restored early in the fourth quarter.

Ole Miss officials may seem negligent for continuing despite the lack of a proper scoreboard, but consider this: with Ole Miss not scoring until the fourth quarter in a 44-8 defeat to the SEC’s only other team without a conference win, there really wasn’t much incentive to turn the power back on, was there?

At least Ed Orgeron got to go out there, cigarette in mouth and beer in hand, and light off the $55.95 Carnival Extravaganza multipack for the fans. He was probably trying to burn the place down to avoid playing the second half–they were down 21-0 at the half–but it was a nice cover for the failed attempt at arson.

(Massive HT: Ragin’ Cajun Rebel.)

Greetings, bitchez! Subcommandante Wayne rappin’ strong at the mic and wanting you to know one thing loud and clear right now:

OHIO STATE IZZ NUMBAH ONE AGAIN BITCHEZ!!!111!!!

Too strong. Too long. Down to get some friction on. That’s Ohio State, which rhymes with hate. Like hat-erz. You were all down on us after the cheesedick refs busted us in the national champion ship game. I mean, did you see the holding penalties? They held on every play. That’s why they scored. All that holding and shit screwed Troy over. I guess that’s what all that Florida oil money will get you, man–refs bought and sold and ready to go roll in the swimming pool full of hookers you have waiting for them at the Residence Inn.

That’s me at Chili’s getting my drink on and watching Tressel beat the world do death with his sweatervested dick. Ohio State rules and you suck.

(Those places are AWESOME. I crashed at one my friend Randy had for a party on the interstate. They’ll be talking about what we did to that carpet for years, man.)

Anyway, same day, new shit. Ohio State is undefeated, which means they’ve been kicking ass, taking names, and haven’t given up shit yet. And Todd Boeckman pwnz you. His real name is Cockman, because he’s laying pink lincoln to all your women and you don’t even know it how bad they want his luscious lumber again. He laid so much wood to your team’s beaver lodge Fish and Wildlife wardens got after him, and he had to change it again to Coeckman, but even then that wasn’t enough, because they were still after his ass, so he had to put the B in there and let him lay low for a while. (more…)

Some nights, a magical Viking spirit approaches your liver and says, “Tonight, you’re riding with Hrothgar, mortal.” And Hrothgar the Immortal and Reckless Viking Spirit of Glorious Intoxication rides with you, burninating all that the opponents of the bartending world toss at you: beer, exotic, flaming shots, cocktails, things served in human skulls with umbrellas, whatever. It all falls like so many lesser soldiers to the mighty club of your indomitable liver.

So impressive is your drinking that policemen offer you their cars to drive drunk home with the lights on and siren blaring, handing you loaded weapons out of respect and reverence. Women fall into your arms; gambling wins flutter effortlessly into your pocket. You may, in fact, scream domino and drive the winning tile through the card table as if you were in a video. And just like in the video, you will not be shot by bystanders, but instead nodded at in fear and awe by bystanders, friends and foes alike.

That, friends, is what Les Miles is experiencing right now as head coach of LSU. He has balls for brains, and in 2007, that’s been nearly enough. He rides with Hrothgar right now, which means get out of the way, or taste the blade, peasant.

Image courtesy of photoshop ninja LSUFreek of TigerDroppings.com.

Basketball coaches will be technical’d if they use expletives on the sideline, per a new initiative by the NCAA going into effect this season. One curse word is a warning and a technical foul; a second would lead to an ejection. We look for Bobby Knight to coach exactly three games this season for Texas Tech with the introduction of this rule. He will be substituted for in these games by football coach Mike Leach, who will lead the highest scoring offense in NCAA basketball in his absence.

We think this is bullshit, of course, but don’t necessarily fear for the great sideline profanity artists of NCAA football. There’s more people on the sidelines at a D-1 football game than at a Wu-Tang or Gogol Bordello concert, making such a rule completely unenforceable in practice. Plus there’s a direct correlation between coaches who curse and quality, we think. Examples:

1. Pete Carroll’s cross-field chat with Mike Bellotti.

2. Will “BOOM” Muschamp’s “encouragement” of his defense against Arkansas. (more…)

Bless you, angels. Pass the champagne.

Things written on Saturday night and early Sunday morning, and composed entirely in the friendly confines of Pete Carroll’s Enchanted Gridiron Grotto, a hot-tub-littered pleasure dome located in an undisclosed location. The whole place reeks of bleach, and Leinart’s usually asleep naked in the corner.

The entire SEC East is knotted up following Spurrier’s (and that’s the brand we’re dealing with here, Spurrier, who also happens to coach South Carolina) loss to the Vanderbilt Commodores, Florida’s defeat of Kentucky (a vice squad versus druglord bulletfest), and Tennessee’s latest extremely creative method of losing in crushing fashion leaves the conference as tangled as ball of bras tossed carelessly in the dryer.

Meaning: South Carolina at Tennessee goes from vinegar to pure acid, and a formerly meh World’s Largest Coke Orgy becomes a loaded go-fast boat attempting to blow by the Coast Guard at 80 knots with the lights off in the Intracoastal. Every team’s got two losses. Who needs a king when it’s this much fun watching the peasants slaughtering each other in the streets?

MAO!

Jim Leavitt: MAO! Remember ancient history? As in Thursday night, when South Florida lost? My, that was festive. South Florida became the latest loser in the boathouse during the game of Russian Roulette, College Football edition. Matt Grothe, when faced with the blitz, had nowhere to dump the ball off and no rollouts or screens to protect him, and drowned in a wave of red. Put your money on the table; spin the pistol. MAO!

Pete Carroll challenged the spot on a nine-yard reception on 3rd and 7 by Notre Dame TE Will Yeatman in Saturday’s game with 4:38 on the clock and the Trojans ahead by 38-0.

Pat easy voice of moral outrage: Harumph, we say! Poor form, braggadocio rapscallion man! (shakes angry fist!)

Real inner dialogue: Real barbarians eave nothing but sand and tears in their wake. Well done, Pete. If there’s time to burn on the clock, there’s a reason to strike a match.

Minnesota fired Glen Mason because they thought they could do better. They lost to North Dakota State on Saturday, a team that is moving into D-1AA this year. We compose a haiku to summarize our feelings.

Firing is tricky.
Glen Mason sucks; you still suck.
Next time, try decaf.

Texas Tech is this year’s Missouri, losing a proof game against the very team usually dropping three out of their last four on the way to an Independence Bowl bid: Missouri. Graham Harrell went nuts even under Texas Tech standards, throwing 59 times in the game. He’s waiting on his weekly shoulder transplant from Mexico as we speak.

Shitbag. Don’t fault the players. Fault Auburn coach Hugh Nall, who gave the code red order here on this hi-low on Glenn Dorsey.

Karl Dorrell is becoming the Fidel Castro of Pac-10 coaches, an unkillable dictator whose only definable success to this point comes in just evading any and all assassination attempts tossed his way. A trick play for UCLA and a late pick six thrown by Nate Longshore not only spoil the latest exploding cigar/radioactive hat ploy by fate to get Dorell fired: it puts UCLA at 4-0 in conference and in position to compete seriously for the Pac-10 title. This means we just pulled the card for crushing defeat to a lesser opponent for the Bruins: either Washington State or Arizona, their next two games, will do. Sorry, but the cards do not lie. Prepare for death.

The UCLA of the Big Ten called Michigan, who was losing to lesser competition before it was even cool, poseurs, is also undefeated in conference after stubborn met dumb in the Michigan/Illinois game. The Illini committed several very, very ill-advised penalties and miscues including a roughing the kicker, an interference penalty, and a dropped punt giving Michigan another chance to score. Oh, and Michigan scored on a trick play, proving someone put acid in Lloyd Carr’s Metamucil Saturday morning. Debord! In my office now! Get that octopus in a top hat off my wall NOW!

For a Florida fan, it was like being a Frenchman watching the last chopper flying off the roof of the U.S. Embassy. “Well, monsieur, we have zeen zis kind of thing happen before…”

Speaking of, bring the man-sized rubbers if Andre Woodson’s coming to your party, because he’s man to the nth degree with inches to spare. Woodson took a beating in the game against Florida including a hideous tackle/submission hold by Jermaine Cunningham; pain and suffering ignored, he shot for a 35/50, 415 yard, 5 td game against a defense he read with Weekly Reader ease. Even in defeat, Woodson ended with a spiteful, inspired bang: a final TD at the bell in a 45-37 defeat to Florida.

Hey, Kansas and Ohio State won! Hey, they’re just starting to play the first real competition on their schedules! Hey, they’re undefeated! Hey, we’re suspicious as hell of them and standing way across the room hoping they’re not going to to make eye contact! Hey, they’re asking us where we’re putting them in the poll! At this point, we’re looking for the smoke bomb and grappling hook to get out of this conversation! Especially if someone asks us how an OSU/LSU national title game would go! Boy, where’s that fucking grappling hook when you need one? Hey-o! (Throws smoke bomb, disappears through skylight like Batman.)

College football should not be argued out on bumper stickers on the back of Range Rovers. Yet that is precisely what the ACC is, because your number one and number two teams are Boston College and Virginia, and the drink of choice is a Geyser Peak 2004 Cabernet Sauvignon Alexander Valley Block Collection Walking Tree Vineyard. Hopefully we can see the joint classed down a bit when BC walks into the dive bar that is Blacksburg Thursday night, orders a Charles Krug, and gets blank stares while someone loads a sock with a jar of washers and pennies. Lessee if preppie boy can fight, y’all!