Don’t make me get the health department in here…

Coach Dennis Franchione here, and believe what you’re hearing–I am willing to accept a buyout. In fact, I’m excited about accepting this buyout and all it has to offer me.

Remember, though, that here at Texas A&M my staff and I have done nothing but fight for the best every single day. We believe in–caps for championship emphasis–HOLDING THE ROPE, day in and day out for the Aggie Nation. And that’s just what I’m gonna do here in this negotiation. The hands? Mine. The metaphorical rope? That’s your dicks, gentlemen.

What have I got to hold your balls to your ceremonial bonfire, sirs?

Well, I sold hot dogs on campus from a cart near the Agricultural Science buildings for the past three years. I was clearing 2600 a month on that thing, and that’s with what, like, 20 hours of labor a week? Shit, with this coaching thing going and the email newsletter I was up to my ears in loot.

I bought a new Camry. With cash, guys! That’s just how good things were!

Anyway, I never got a license and bought my dogs across the border from my close friend Antonio, a Mexican gentleman who sold warm meats out of his trunk. I don’t even know what kind of meat they were, but Coach Fran’s Giggin’ Weenies sold like crack on a cheap bun one you put a little mustard on them and put ol’ coach behind the steamer.

But then someone got a hold of a fishy dog, and got sick. How sick? I’ll be frank with you: they got very sick. So sick they almost paid the ultimate price: paralysis, a fate worse than death. Imagine it, being trapped in your own body like a prisoner in reeking, fleshy cage! A living hell, I bet.

Not, this kid got off easier than that–he died. And when his family thought of going to public health, suing the university, and ruining my reputation along with that of Antonio the warm meat merchant and lastly this fine university, I wouldn’t accept it. So I had a brief talk with his surviving family and offered them forty dollars and an autographed Dennis Franchione HOLD THE ROPE T-SHIRT for their silence and forgiveness. It’s very important to establish trust with those around you, and I genuinely sought to do that.

I was shocked when they refused. Oh, they made a lot of ruckus when I set the house on fire. Whew, and they got even louder when I started firing! But it was for the greater good and after enough screaming and carrying on and hours of me chasing them all through the woods, I think they understand where I’m coming from, and what I’m trying to teach here. I think we’ve all come through this even closer than when we started, and I’ve generously paid for their hotel room while they begin to rebuild the lives they once knew before I destroyed them.

Anyway, the really serious part is the hot dog license without a permit, which could be a fine of up to hundreds of dollars here. If you don’t want the Bryan and College Station Health Department on you like a bag of barking hammers, you better give Coach Fran what he wants. You don’t know hell until you’ve gotten a kitchen inspection from them. For a mere $2 million dollars, that’s what you can avoid. Your choice, friends. Choose wisely.

Dear sir-

This is me, rich dude Cary Garnett. I have a monocle because I’m rich.

My name is Cary Garnett, and I’m awesome and rich and love to give money to football programs. Especially ones named after horses, because I’m hung like one, and so is my good friend and coaching legend Gary Barnett.

I’m writing you today to suggest my good friend, Gary Barnett, for the opening you have at SMU for the position of head football coach. And if the word opening seems suggestive, it should be: I promise you my good friend will turn SMU into the whoriest of whore college football programs, and lead the Mustangs back to national prestige one hard, furious cash-subsidized hooker rodeo at a time.

Gary Barnett’s record speaks for itself: he turned Northwestern around. Northwestern, a school that had previously known nothing but sorrow and cold, escort-free winters of football regret. Barnett brought them victory with a special kind of sunshine: hookers. (more…)

Before it slips off the map and into the dark, forgotten history of last week and oblivion, we remind you that Big Boi did turn the beleaguered crowd at Bobby Dodd Stadium at Georgia Tech out with a superb performance at half-time. He also inspired one trumpet player in front of us to unheard of levels of dancing funk.

The footage alone doesn’t quite do it justice, though. Let’s see, looking for the right accompaniment: Krokus’ “Long Stick Goes Boom?” Rihanna’s “Umbrella?” “Time to Say Goodbye” by Sarah Brightman? We mean, no! We don’t own any of those.

Ahh, there it is. Perfect.

That which is and was vis-a-vis college football, re: this weekend and the immediate future thereof. Written as always from Pete Carroll’s hot-tub in the USC underground grotto, which he writes off on his taxes as a 1300 ft “office.”

We regret the error. Pam Ward, broadcasting the early Big Ten game on ESPN2, makes a slight error on a roster/injury call.

PW: Yes, he’s out for the game with some criminal trouble. Um, sorry, that’s a hamstring.

Did we say aggravated sodomy on a Cornish Gamehen? We apologize. Meant to say he’s out due to turf toe. Really the same thing when you get down to it.

Of course it’s tax deductible! IT’S A HOT TUB.

Gameday live from Oregon again proved that the only fans on the West Coast that gives a proper-sized shit about college football is the Oregon fanbase, who showed up in numbers despite it being cold and pitch black. Wherever the camera panned, there were dimly lit faces wearing green and yellow. Impressive, but next time for a properly frightening effect, bring torches and pitchforks, Duck fans. (This will only backfire against Tennessee fans in an interconference game, since it will remind them of last week’s hunt.)

Lee Corso, btw, continues to be the conversational anchor for the Gameday crew. There’s several times a show when Corso pauses and everyone around him has no idea what to do. At this point, once Corso snaps to and realizes this, he says what he just said again, but LOUDER. At this point, Desmond Howard text messages a young honey dip, and Chris Fowler reaches for the gun under the desk, counts to ten like his therapist told him to, and moves the show on to the next topic.

D.J. Moore of Vandy is 11th in the SEC in tackles with 57 solo tackles as a sophomore cornerback. Sadly for Vandy, he could not be cloned 10 times, as Percy Harvin decided to bring his evil twin Mercy along with him for Vandy’s game at Florida: Percy caught the ball 9 times for 110 yards and Mercy ran the ball 11 times for 113 yards on the ground. Florida won 49-22, quieting the nerves of Cassandras and keeping Vandy one game shy of bowl eligible, which was impolite, really.

Indiana roundly beat Ball State, becoming bowl eligible and causing afterlife-white-suit-wearing afterlife Terry Hoeppner to cruise by, tip the pimp cup in the Hoosiers’ direction, and roar off back into the heavens. 100 Cocktails, sir, to you and the Hoosiers.

HD versus regular video standard can be thanked for at least one unreversed call on replay challenge on Saturday. In the Florida/Vandy game, Percy Harvin snatched a ball off the ground like a Lab scooping up a falling crumb off the linoleum, and the crew at Florida Field opted to review. If we really had to guess, the ball was trapped for the catch; however, the crappy video standard meant that the defining light and shadows were too murky to see exactly what would have been clear in HD.

A career investment. Asian chick with lump on head included.

What’s the point? We don’t want an HD tv. We need one for clarity’s sake, tax auditor. Strictly for personal use, and not for porn and hours of Guitar Hero 3.

Percy Harvin could juke through a herd of stampeding bulls.

Dave Neal and Dave Archer give us our next great moment in broadcasting (more…)