The itinerary, bedecked in holly and waiting under the misteltoe with cookies and peppermint schnapps under its breath:
22nd-25th: Nothing here. Nada. Maybe a bowl preview if one creeps up, but that’s it. We’ll be playing video games with Cuddles and using vodka tonics as a chaser to all the purple drank we’ll be downing. Orson Swindle’s Skrewd and Choppd Christmas, Lawyaz!
Addendum! EDSBS LIVE is still…live. On Sunday night at 7:00 p.m. EST, at this here site or at NowLive. We’ll be talking about Howard Schnellenberger’s mustache, among other things.
26th: Right back at it like an addict, travel permitting.
Enjoy the holiday, drive safely if at all, and take this time to tell the ones you love that you love them, cherish them, and no, you love the five pound beefstick gift set you got from them, and that there was no way they could have known you’ve gone vegetarian. After all, it’s only been eight years.
To close the week, we bring you the finest Christmas duet ever recorded. Enjoy, and take care.
The Bowld and the Beautiful brings you previews of wildly variant quality throughout bowl season. Tonight, the lowest quality review will be reserved for tonight’s New Orleans Bowl, which we’re previewing just to have an excuse to put Schnellenberger’s pic up again.
But… Tune in for at least three seconds of the game just to get a whiff of the bourbon-fueled dapper sex-god himself walking the sidelines: Howard Schnellenberger, who built the Miami and Louisville programs and yet could walk into a room full of college football fans and not get pulled aside for so much as a “dude, that ’stache is bomber, man.” Criminal, we say–that’s the equivalent of letting Richard Feynman walk into a physicists’ convention and not asking for a single autographed equation.
Not even Dave Chappelle can ruin the smooth of Nat King Cole. Okay, he ruined it a little bit, since we kept waiting for him to pour champagne over a writhing woman in an evening dress and call her “a trifling beeeyutch.” Even with that, the smooth is still there. We haven’t even started drinking (heavily) yet, and we already feel two snifters of cognac deep in the night thanks to Nat.
Neighbor: Jeez, Ted. That’s quite a thing you got there.
Ted: Thanks. Man, isn’t it awesome? It only cost four thousand dollars. It’s amazing what you can get these days.
Neighbor: Oh, my.
Ted: I know! My daughter’s teeth are totally fucked up. Like someone nailed a coral reef in her mouth. It’s wild in there. But when an opportunity comes along like this one, you have to leap, right?
Neighbor: Oh, yeah. So, you’re a huge CFL fan?
Ted: What? Holy shit, where the fuck do you breathe, man? That’s an Ohio State Buckeye, man.
Neighbor: Oh, I’m sorry. I got confused there for a second. And you went to Michigan, right?
Ted: No way! Class of ‘92, THE Ohio State University. You have to say it that way.
Neighbor: Apologies. I just assumed as much, since a huge Buckeye that looks like he’s taking a shit on someone’s house should, metaphorically speaking, go above a Michigan fan’s house.
Ted: Oh…um….hey! Just got that one! Nice!
Neighbor: No problem. Here’s a court order saying to take it down in the next 36 hours before my children get rickets. We haven’t seen the sun in three days.
We swear there’s football content coming. With a chance to write about America’s best-dressed coach and dinner guest, FAU coach Howard Schnellenberger, there’s no chance of this NOT happening before 2 p.m.
However, we’ve caught Festivus fever, and nothing can stop us from posting the finest in both bad and awesome Christmas music. If your list does not include “White Christmas,” you can be forgiven; it’s played to death, a bit sleepy, and was once used as the theme of a proposed float for the KKK in a Tennessee parade during our youth. If you’re not feeling it, that’s just fine by us.
Take yourself to the wastelands, though, if you piss on Mele Kalikimaka, because the song fills us with total and complete joy. Pair it with the pool scene from National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation and let simmer for three minutes. Randy Quaid was thin back then, man.
Christmas music for the shallow secular urban hipster is a mixed bag: put on any CD, and you’ll inevitably have your campy, egg-nog chugging materialist drunkfest interrupted by references to Jesus, the manger, and all sorts of somber, godly stuff that really can harsh a good buzz. As brother Cuddles put it, “I like Christmas music that doesn’t have the sad Jesus stuff on it.”
We couldn’t agree more, though we understand that every collection has to have some of it. So fine, you wanna drag the party down go ahead and have your Silent Night, but you’re not getting it easy, and you’re not getting it without Kip Winger breaking it down nasty-like at the end.
If you hate us now, we’ll understand. We hate ourselves for remembering this existed.
Navy wins syllable battle, loses game. Despite having a 10-7 halftime lead, a sympathetic Navy town crowd behind them, and a decisive advantage in the number of total syllables in their team name roster (Kaheaku-Enhada Niumatalolo!), Navy fell late to Utah in the Poinsettia Bowl, 35-32. Brian Johnson only began to play well after getting hammered in the third quarter. Johnson went 9-9 for 130 yards in the third, opening up a lead for Utah they clung to until the final bell. This all happened thanks to a fishy non-call by officials, who failed to rule a touchback on a play where Utah’s Jerome Brooks lost the ball off the pylon and through the back of the endzone. Officials admitted the error in a statement released after the game, which made everyone completely happy and forget the whole thing over a couple of malts and order of fries down at the corner soda shop.
North Carolina players stumble into the most fucked-up afterschool special EVAR. Three North Carolina players followed two women and a man back from a night out in Chapel Hill only to stumble into a scene from a BET version of Pulp Fiction. The three players ended up being voluntarily tied up only to be robbed by a naked man with a knife and fondled by two women, who initially got permission from the bound players but then continued to fondle the players against their will, which leads us to a sexual assault charge thrown their way, too. The whole thing is nine plaid onions worth of crazy, but two salient details should be mentioned.
Exhibit A:
Lewis is accused of taking the contents of two wallets valued at $100, and trying to take $3,000 worth of computer and entertainment equipment. He is also accused of biting a police officer in the groin and pushing him down stairs to elude arrest, according to arrest warrants.
Exhibit B: The women who did the fondling and who, when asked to stop, began punching one of the players in the head. The one not named “Tnikia.”
Norm Chow has withdrawn himself from consideration in the UCLA coaching search, leaving the Bruins with Dewayne Walker and Rick chortle Neuheisel chortle as the top remaining candidates, though everyone from Temple’s Al Golden to Oregon’s Mike Bellotti remain in contention for the job. (Mike Bellotti’s wife in L.A.! Now that’s some fun right thurr!)
Deep South Sports has confirmed that this is no photoshop.
We will fight every single one of you in the Thunderdome to live down the humiliation of what we’re about to admit, but a small, tender, and weepy part of us loves this song and always will because it, more than any other song, evokes Christmas for us. For dignity, you could choose Nat King Cole, or Bing Crosby and the Andrews Sisters…but as Florida fans who wear candy orange and sky blue to football games, dignity went out the window a great long time ago, sirs and madams.
Damn you and your magical teleporting box, Paul McCartney.
Notice that the first thing show in the video is some kind of hallucinatory graphic in the sky followed by a sign of people getting riotously drunk. We have several English friends, and based on their self-medicating regimens, this does NOT surprise us as being the first thing shown in an English Christmas video from the seventies.
That said, we’ll be waiting in the Thunderdome with some wassail and figgy pudding for that ass. Brang it.
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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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Comments? Questions? Long strings of profanities directed at something we said? Please send your comments to harumphharumph -a- yahoo -dot- com. Please direct all tailgating photos and stories to edsbsfans -a- gmail -dot- com.
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