We’re all out of cheek and can only say that Sofia Vergara is a very, very good-looking woman. That’s probably the effect of our verbal centers shutting down at the sight of her but whatever woman pretty muck look skin look. Enjoy your weekend, and we’ll be back next week with bowl previews, a new editorial format, and several exciting announcements about the expanding media empire that is Swindle Industries.
More after the jump, and enjoy your weekend. (Remember: SFW, but MDNSFWIYHASBCIYH,R?, or most definitely not safe for work if you have a single brain cell in your head, right?) (more…)
“I said, ‘Is that really my name?’” Lawrence said. “We got here about 12 o’clock and waited in line for 35 or 40 minutes in the driving rain to sign up. I never thought we would win. We were just here to have a good time.”
Long-time fried Kevin Dowdy accompanied Lawrence and will join him in the 20-yardline, upper deck section of the Superdome on Jan. 7.
Neologism or typo? We don’t care. Long-time fried just entered the vernacular whether it was intentional or not, because it’s as good a description of being baked on the slow plan as we’ve ever heard. It might also help deal with the harsh, Spartak Moscow mob riots that will inevitably erupt when people don’t get tickets.
You have tickets to an arbitrarily arranged game between a one-loss and a two-loss team? DIE PIGGIE DIE!!!,
Tiny “Tank” Shockley coached for 73 years in the Southwest Conference. He is our Friday guest columnist today.
–So what if Jim Tressel wanted to buy an exercising machine for his former player? When Itchy McGillicuddy was attacked by wild dogs in the 1913 Borax Bowl, d’ya think anyone minded when we bought him a bit of rye to take this sting out out of being ripped in half? O, what a character that Itchy was. He hated Italians!
–Why do people make car washes so hard to navigate these days?
–Coaches make too much money these days! We were paid, sure. I worked a whole year in 1935 coaching the Southeast Missouri School of Anti-Devilment and Stenography squad paid only in buttons and Confederate nickels. And that’s what I ate, dammit, for the love of the game. For the love! Of the game! When I took a crap, it sounded like someone firing buckshot into a china shop.
–I miss tetanus. Now that was a man’s man’s disease! Kept the lineman slim, too!
–All this passing bothers me! How do you know where the ball’s gonna go? A tornado could pick up the ball, or a dust devil, and then you’ll be sorry now, won’t ya smart guy?
–That Frances Bavier sure could fill out an apron. What a fine figure of a woman she was!
Roooarrrrrgggh.
–You know what football players don’t get enough credit? The drunk ones. It’s hard playing football at all, but playing drunk is a special challenge that takes a special athlete. I’m thinking of you, Staggering Bill Canty of the Montana A&M Technical Institute. Oh, that you hadn’t walked past a burning wood stove on the way to practice that fateful day in 1928 and burst into flame like a zeppelin! It took them days to put you out, and the fumes were staggering
–I don’t care if a player likes to stem the rose with other men. Call me a socialist namby-pamby, but it doesn’t matter to me. As long as they’re not so loud about it, you know, listening to Noel Coward records and wearing green chrysanthemums in their lapels and such. I’ve known some fine homosexual football players in my time, but I’ll keep their secret safe with me to the grave.
–Unless we’re talking about Red Grange. Man, he loved some hard bareback riding on the rump range, if you know what I mean! And I mean sodomy. Hard, fierce sodomy. He put W.H. Auden in the hospital, for God’s sake! And they called Doc Blanchard “Mr. inside?” Hundreds of elderly gay men disagree, football writers of America.
–Where are my pants? Where? Nurse! Where did you put them, you dastardly, shifty Filipina!
Tiny “Tank” Shockley may actually be called Tank “Tiny” Shockley. He once punched Bud Wilkinson in the balls for a perceived insult to his pet goat Mathilda, and currently lives in an assisted living facility in Fort Worth, Texas.
David Cutcliffe has allegedly taken the job of being Chernobyl firefighter and volunteered for dangerous People’s glory! Meaning that he’s taken the job of Duke head coach, leaving Tennessee looking for an offensive coordinator. Joel’s thinking Gus Malzahn, a pick that would tickle us blind–especially if they rip up shit in the SEC East when Houston Nutt clamped him into a run-first shell and tamped down the no-huddle.
Cutcliffe will lose many games at Duke. That’s what Duke coaches do, dangit, regardless of their qualifications, because this is Duke, and there’s no easy way out, shortcut home, grunty male vocal about to blow o-ring exhortation.
Forgive him, he lives in Michigan. Andy Moeller, offensive line coach for Michigan and likely a job-shopper in the coming month or so, had no blocking scheme for the drinks that rushed him sometime last Saturday afternoon: pulled over for DUI, he refused a breathalyzer because that’s precisely what Barry Zuckercorn would advise you to do. The important question is not whether Moeller might have an alcohol problem (remember, dad Gary was tossed out of a restaurant for a drunken tirade during his tenure as Michigan coach,) but whether he was driving an Amurrican car at the time.
In 2002, Gary Cavalli earned $90,000 as executive of a new postseason game in San Francisco. In 2006, his compensation package was $362,018 for the game now called the Emerald Bowl.
While Chan Gailey certainly appreciates his hard work, remember that 362K in San Fran converts to 16 grand anywhere else. We’d be surprised if he doesn’t sleep in a mission and mug tourists for spare change in his spare time. We’re not playoff soldiers as we used to be, but don’t look for us to look to the West and get weepy thinking about the glories of the bowl system, especially when a miserable Maryland team gets bowl coin.
It’s brilliant for recruiting, and ballsy in a smart way, not ballsy in that “I’ll-go-for-it-from-my-own-thirty-something-in-the-2nd-quarter-way.” OOOOOHHH BURRRRRRN we can only use for a few more weeks, since the expiration date on gloating is precisely one year and one year only. Please take note, Nebraska and Notre Dame fans.
It’s been a while since we’ve done Iron Maiden on Friday, and with Christmas around the corner, our thoughts turn naturally to the reason for the season: Satan.
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Orson Swindle and Stranko Montana are two men pushing thirty who should know better than to run a college football blog, but evidently don't. Both graduated from the University of Florida, and both agree that college football is far too important to be left to the professionals.
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