Friday Cheesecake is here, but with Orson out on the road to Florida, he enlisted some help from LSUFreek for this week’s bunda. Errr… animated adventure porn. Something.

I’m not totally sure I’d classify what follows as safe for work. Proceed at your own risk.

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Swindle and I had enormous fun on EDSBS LIVE this year with the annual chaos and silliness that surrounds the coaching carousel in college football, but I must say I’m always a little bit sad when that last hire is made, the fun wheel comes grinding to a halt, and the beginning of the offseason really starts to sink in.

But I was thinking: why does the fun have to stop? Why not take the fun all the way to its logical conclusion:

The 2008 Coaching Hires: Handicapping Who Will Be Fired First

Get out your actuarial tables, scandal sensors, and unacceptable loss forecasters, ’cause it’s time to figure out which of our newly-hired coaches is most likely to get shitcanned first.

Paul Johnson, Georgia Tech - 50:1 You know the only thing hard about Paul Johnson’s new job? Christmas, and the agonizing decision of to whom he owes a bigger fruit basket: Chan Gailey or the rest of the ACC. Can one objectively say who set the bar lowest?

Bo Pelini, Nebraska - 30:1 A favorite in the field to have a nice, long stay at his new home. The man is following Bill Callahan, for Christ’s sake - a coach who was so inept at so traditionally strong a program that Mark Mangino and Gary Pinkel stopped, stared, and thought to themselves, “Holy shit. We can do this.”

Bobby Petrino, Arkansas - 20:1 Following the Nutt Job, he should be more secure than Fort Knox, but let’s not forget this is a man who’s kicked two teams in the balls on his way out the door. He’s slick like Mitt Romney, which means we really can’t rule out anything. Especially because he’s headed to Arkansas, where scandals breed like bunnies. Great value bet here.

Rich Rodriguez, Michigan - 10:1 On the one hand, he’s the coach at Michigan. It’s a pinnacle job and they’ll keep him as long as he’s doing well, which he should. On the other hand, he’s the coach at Michigan, which means the intolerance for sleaziness is fiftyfold what it would be at a school like, say, West Virginia. Or Ohio State. So we’ve gotta hedge here: if he’s a man of good character, he’ll be there forever and win many many many games. If there are skeletons in his closet, he’ll be cut at the knees faster than you can say Sweatervest.

Regrets skimming the fine print…

Mike Sherman, Texas A&M - 6:1 We’re talking Aggies, so we’ve got a special set of questions that need answers: Is he fascist? Would he sacrifice his daughter’s life for a collie? How adept is he at fending off pirate attacks? To what extent would he prefer the world be more like it was in the 1880s than it is today? Would he buy a nice bottle of Boone’s to get a farm animal into bed? And would he know that Orange Hurricane would be the flavor to do it?

Houston Nutt, Ole Miss - 3:1 Buyer’s remorse? We’ll see. We do know the good people of Oxford are dropping by Nutt Job’s new home three times a week to help try to mold him into an acceptable member of society a la Michael Oher, but can you really teach an old dog new tricks? Hillary Clinton advises, “Not old dogs from Arkansas.”

Bill Stewart, West Virginia - 2:1 West Virginia was practically forced to make the classic “We’ll Prove How Much We Won’t Miss You By Hiring Your Old Assistant And Also We’re Suing You” move. Though the sentiment is understandable, the WPHMWWMYBHYOAAAWSY move rarely leads to a lasting relationship. Let’s face it: we’ve all been there. The girlfriend dumps us for a hotter, richer guy so we thump our chest, down that liter of moonshine, file a lawsuit, and then immediately go to bed with the ex-girlfriend’s sluttiest friend. Before long, though, we get over it, slink away to our physician, and triple check for STDs. (You best win and win big soon, Mr. Stewart.)

Rick Neuheisel, UCLA - 1:25 In real life, Vegas would never allow this man’s name to even be on the books, so sure is his impending combustion. After all, if this were a movie, the pitch would go something like this:

Plot outline: Born again coach Supremely sketchy egomaniac with hubris that would shame Bill Bennett is hired to try to outshine and outglitz the indomitable crosstown rival coach.

Setting: Hollywood.

Dramatic Build: After federal agents use a Ryan Seacrest team gang bang videotape to coerce cooperation from the team’s quarterback, authorities are able to undercover an interstate heroin trafficking ring involving the team’s coach and eager recruits who want to earn a spot on the squad.

Climactic Final Scene: Troubled coach flees campus in explosive-packed Lotus with authorities hot in high speed pursuit. Unable to evacuate the targeted rival campus, Special Deputy Agent Peter Carroll is forced to make a daring move to stop the reckless coach from carbombing the rival university into oblivion.

Sequel: An imprisoned coach bribes wardens into transferring top inmate athletes to his prison so he can win the Penitentiary Cup.

Our custom cocktails by conference for your relaxing off-season,beginning with the conference of smooth, the Pac-10.

UCLA: The Gin Rick-ey. Take one waterproof M-80 with custom dry-sealed eight foot fuse and set in bottom of highball glass. Cover with ice, 1 1/2 ozs gin, a splash of lime juice, and club soda. Light fuse. Garnish with lime, enjoy. Wait for it to blow up in your face.

Cal: The Tedford Falls Saving and Loan. Fill highball glass with ice, then add 1 1/2 ozs generic Tussin. Top with 18 year old Sherry Cask-aged Macallan Scotch. The initial taste should be one of great potential; the finish should leave you nauseated and disturbed, as if you were white water rafting with Kevin Bacon.

MP3 File

Wazzu: The Pullman Sleeper. Make a double-tall vodka and tonic with mid to low grade hooch. Don’t bother to mix it. Hide it in a very difficult to find place in the bar, and then make people look for it. (Like Wazzu football, it’s in a hard to find place, and once you get there, the quality’s about average.)

The glass half…full, isn’t it grasshopper?

Washington: The Willingham Paradox. Fill a glass with any dark liquor, and only fill it halfway. If your guest asks for more, explain that you already gave them what you had, and that the other bartender left you with only so much to pour from the bottle. If they complain it is half-empty, ask them “Are you sure it isn’t half-full?” and arch your eyebrow sagely. If they don’t like the drink at all, accuse them of not liking it because of its color.

Arizona: The Tuscon Two-Stepper. Just like a Tequila Sunrise, but include five ounces of Visine to ensure steady, debilitating loss for the consumer.

Oregon: The Screaming Swoosh. Add 8 oz Blue Curacao to neon-lined 64 oz chalice. Fill remainder with magnum of Moet Champagne. Watch and ooh as the color changes to a screaming green, and charge to Phil Knight.

Stanford: the Long Island Iced Tree. Mix eight expensive liquors into a single glass. Drink 12 in a row. Throw against wall, cry, repeat in exactly eight months.

Arizona State: The Fun Devil. Standard Bloody Mary recipe, but float 3 oz of 181 rum on top, ignite, and garnish with hard-boiled egg for added protein and drinking endurance. It’s the drink that burns twice! Goes especially well with golf cart rides into volcanoes.

USC: The Godberry Doggfather. Combine Hennessy and PowerThirst Godberry Flavor in a Gatorade barrel in order to win at drinking and therefore, like Pete Carroll says, win forever.

Oregon State: The Beaver. Combine 4 oz Clam Juice with high-quality organic American whisky. Stir with spruce sprig, and garnish with sardines. We could go nowhere else with this beverage but in this direction, and you knew we were snakes when you picked us up, didn’t you? DIDN’T YOU???

…explained by the e’er sage SMQ.

See? It’s just that simple.

Of all the things we loathe about sports culture in the United States, it’s the enshrinement of “smack.” First, to steal our favorite word for heroin is a shame, since “smack” is an inherently funny word used in overwrought heroin dramas and blaxploitation flicks. For Jim Rome to take it to the masses and rebrand it as a form of discourse used IN ALL CAPS SEACREST OUT (that’s tight, broseph, tight) remains a fucking shame.

You’ll never take smack away from us, nor the glorious comedies it inspires.

Two, smack and smack-talkers off the field suck, and suck at what they do for the most part. A little convivial ribbing? Acceptable. A well-tuned jab and skillful riposte? Excellent. Bellowing in a parking lot at a total stranger? Well, legally that’s just assault, and if you’re going to do it, you may as well get the red-mist blood flowing and throw a drunken punch or two before you get pulled apart by your friends, who you’re lucky were there “or the Beast would have taken over, man, and I don’t want that to happen again.”

Three: Jim. (Four minutes of silence.) Rome.

Yeah, but fuck all that, cause the SMACK WAGON is comin’ your way, brah!

At each stop, the RV is giving away t-shirts and mini-footballs, meeting with student groups, distributing fliers, participating in radio promotions, attending university games and generating overall excitement. Garrity and other MSL staff, including former NFL All-Pro Chuck Muncie (a partner with MSL), are traveling with the RV.

“All of these schools are in it to win, so the competition is incredible,” says Garrity. “We expect it to become especially fierce as text votes begin coming in and the schools’ running tallies of tickets sold get posted.”

Text votes make me wanna fight like a brave! The promo is part of the Fox Sports/Big Ten Network’s Gridiron Bash, a series of college football kickoff concerts including:

–Fergie
–Maroon 5
–The Black Crowes
–Dwight Yoakam.

If you happen to be a college student longing to seduce your best friend’s mother, your train done come in, son. Five margaritas, a Fergie show, and two hours of sustained attention should be enough to convince her to play a little modern day Emma Bovary adventure with you.

The soundtrack for this post, and oh you’ll find out why:

Miami Northwestern High sent 283 players to the Miami Hurricanes this year. (Perhaps that number is high, but we’ll stand by it, dammit. You have to take a stand.) Of those, four seemed to be a package deal not only in football, but in…um…everything.

DT Marcus Forston is happy to be with his fellow Miami Northwestern freshmen teammates Sean Spence, Jacory Harris and Aldarius Johnson at UM.

“Everyone says we’re like quadruplets,” Forston said. “Every day everybody sees us together. We take a shower together, go to class together, do everything together. We wait for the shower to clear out, go in there and talk. We go to the bathroom together, everything. So that’s the bond we need this year.”

The team that shits together, stays together–as long as they washed those hands first.

It’s just astonishing, really. We’ve been married for a long, long time, and even now catbox time is strictly one cat at a time. Perhaps a change in diet is in order, or the purchase of a love toilet: grumpies that require the assistance of not one, but three other men aren’t mere medical issues: they’re matters of national security. It’s the South Florida diet, so Cuban triple-stack carbs may be to blame, since it’s one of the few places where you’ll be given rice, plaintains, and bread in a single meal.

(HT: The Great Barstoolio.)

On pain of red-carding, accept for one moment the eschewing of the politics, and just consider the life on the enthusiasms alone: he sailed as an expert, spoke prose despite having Spanish and French as his first languages, proposed the introduction of bike lanes in New York City to reduce traffic, worked for the CIA, wrote spy novels, served as a delegate to the United Nations, founded a successful magazine, hosted a popular television show, and once played the harpsichord on the Conan O’Brien show.

He’s dead, but the tank had to be empty. We bestow this week’s tribute to William F. Buckley, who really should have had this stache.

Ah, yes: RIP, Bill. HT to Holly

By the EDSBS staff.

We care, just like a tiger does: with their claws and teeth first.

Tennessee has a minor, eeny-tiny-bit of a discipline problem, and not the sort that professional paste-eater and push-door puller Mike Freeman suggests should end up in the firing of Phil Fulmer. (Mike: Tyler Durden IS the narrator!) Fire him for being only good to excellent, sure; we’ve seen that in the SEC before. Fire him for blackmailing Trace Adkins with incriminating gay sex photos into performing at his daughter’s birthday party. (Unsee that, dear reader, and you have achieved enlightenment. We just typed it, and will not eat for several days.) Fire him for picking up field mice and bopping them on the head, and then dipping them in panko crumbs, deep frying them, and eating them during film sessions.

Fire him for any of these, but not the juvenile aborted Liverventures™* most Vol players get arrested for these days. The Vols just need a special blend of caring, discipline, and caring discipline outlined below. Because we care. We really do. In that kind of foster kid kind of care, the one where you don’t buy them fresh produce, turn on the heat for them in the winter, or buy them clothes that fit.

Actin’ Straight with EDSBS: Vol-arity Edition.

1: Pat Summitt. This doesn’t even have to take longer than 15 minutes. Simply invite Pat over, have the winningest coach at Tennessee ever come to a Vol team meeting and then allow her to rip each of the Vols’ gridiron types a new, perfectly torn second asshole. Summitt is the kind of thin-lipped, wiry, kerosene-eyed women who drove schoolbuses in my childhood: very, very quiet schoolbuses. There were rumors one kid, once, had spoken, and that only a red mark the birds liked to pick at on the school driveway stood as testament to her wrath. The team would be a lot like that schoolbus for the next year, at least.

2. Hedge mazes outside dorm entrances. Bull your way through fifteen rows of thorny hedge without bleeding to death? Do I smell starting defense?

3. The ChastiT belt. Fierce, made of stainless steel. Adorned with picture of John Chavis on codpiece for extra contraceptive power. (more…)

Evil laugh!

…Bruce Pearl, only 6-5 in the cheeto-jacket? And if you’re waiting for us to show shame and not link shamelessly, you are waiting for shame, and will be waiting until the wind blows gray for it.

Money lines:

My one question - does Vandy’s win mean that we have to listen to SEC chest-thumpers brag about how deep the conference is? Yes? DAMMIT. Don’t we get basketball season off from that shit?

NOOOOO!!! EVIL LAUGH AHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!!

By Holly, who reminds you that when the zombie war comes, machetes do NOT need reloading.

Their names were shouted in exultation or bellowed in impotent rage across the SEC in 2007. You know their stats by heart, lived and died with their triumphs and tears. But in this age of bioweapons and nuclear experiments gone horribly awry, there are more important matters to ponder; namely, how each of these college football notables will aid your survival when the wrong red button is pressed and the zombie hordes rise to enslave us all. You’ll need the best of the best (SEC speed = fast zombies). The essential personnel:

Rich Brooks thinks the undead hordes are bullshit. This will not save him.

The Buffoon Who Got You Into This Mess: Michael Henig, QB, Mississippi State
How He’ll Save The Day: When jumping from rooftop to rooftop to reach the river/gun store/barricades, will carry the season to its logical conclusion by mistiming the flinging of his own form and being intercepted, so to speak, by a less than sturdy awning. As he is tugged with agonizing slowness from the canvas, the undead hordes will fall upon his flesh, allowing you to escape.

The Decoy: Blake Mitchell, QB, South Carolina
How He’ll Save The Day: Will be assigned as lookout while the rest of the party stocks up on ammunition/canned goods/fuel, and upon seeing an approaching zombie attack party, will inexplicably fancy himself a hero and run outside, waving his arms and capering about to distract them long enough for our heroes to lock and load and hop into an appropriately sized truck. The undead hordes are not amused by dancing, and will fall upon his flesh, allowing you to escape.

The Cloyingly Self-Effacing Hero: Erik Ainge, QB, Tennessee
How He’ll Save The Day: Sneaking past the gibbering masses in the dead of night, will slip on a discarded shotgun shell and break both legs in the fall. Will implacably insist on not being carried because He’ll Only Slow You Down, and will accept no comfort—but does gather all remaining grenades. After the explosion, the hordes will fall upon his flesh and the flesh of their shredded comrades, allowing you to escape.

The Hothead: Knowshon Moreno, RB, Georgia
How He’ll Save The Day: With tears in his eyes and an unearthly battle howl in his throat, by completely losing his shit and barreling into the penultimate wave of zombies at full force, ripping and tearing their limbs with his bare hands. A valiant effort, but the thing about zombies is there’s always Just Too Many. The undead hordes will fall upon his flesh, allowing you to escape.

The Shrewish Love Interest: Colt David, K, LSU
How He’ll Save The Day: After spending the entire ordeal displaying gradually more obvious signs of crumbling and generally slowing everyone down, will drop to his knees shortly into the sprint over open ground to safety, wailing that It’s Hopeless and We’ll Never Make It. The undead hordes will fall upon his flesh, allowing you to escape.

The Cheap Shot You Don’t See Coming: Kyle Jackson, S, Florida
How He’ll Save The Day: As you stagger over the final hill between your sleepy little borough and the haven of the convenient nearby military base/open sea/arms of Orgeron, will burst inexplicably into flames and fall in a shrieking, ineffectual heap at the crest of the ridge. Cold and raw or sizzling in the skull—brains is brains is brains to a zombie. The undead hordes will fall upon his flesh, allowing you to escape. Fade to black.

T-Tubb, if he can get his boys to aim those chop blocks at the neck, might stand a chance.

We’re conflicted over the best strategy of being caught for underage drinking: do you own up, hoping for forgiveness, nonchalant the whole thing, or do you do everything within reasonable and unreasoable power to get rid of the booze, up to and including tossing the beverage out in plain sight of the cops? Or, in short: what would John Nash do, besides claim he’d been given the idea to drink underage from messages sent to him by aliens through this morning’s crossword? What’s your optimal strategy?

Washington State tight end Trevor Mooney, caught as a 19 year old passenger in a car with go cups in hand, opted for the extraordinary effort to avoid charges, as champions should. And failed, of course:

Trevor Mooney, a redshirt freshman tight end at Washington State, was arrested and cited for being a minor in possession of alcohol early Saturday. Police saw Mooney pour liquid out the passenger window during a traffic stop, and found two cups of beer at his feet, Pullman police Cmdr. Chris Tennant said.

He didn’t lose the game, you see; he just ran out of time. Wazzou, already on the board for assault via contact lens, earns one point for the shennanigans.

“Are these yours?” “No, officer.”

Ron Paul: ’bout that bling.

Our guest columnist today is Presidential Candidate Ron “Dr. No-Huddle” Paul.

Thanks for having me here. I’m not sure who you are, what you want, or why I’m even here. In fact, I don’t know who I’m writing this to. Why do people send me letters? Why do people on the internet like me? I don’t know. Really, I don’t know. Someone picks me up from my house in the morning, takes me places, and I just start talking until someone claps. These are all things I don’t know. Where am I? Really, where am I?

What I do know about is freedom and 1970s standards of gynecology. That’s why I still believe in two things: the Dalkon Shield and the Constitution. Especially the Constitution. I may have had my hands in more vaginas than any other member of congress except for John Boehner, but at least I got paid for doing it, and not the other way around. Is that a joke? Why are you all laughing? I’m confused? Yes, I’m confused!

Hey, why’s my name on a blimp? A blimp? Really? I’m thrilled about the possibilities of dirigible travel. It’s one of my passions, but I’ll tell you this: you won’t see me telling you that the government should be involved in making blimps, unless they’re blimps equipped with machine guns to put up along the Mexican border, because it’s a well-known fact that Mexicans fear both guns and blimps. It’s natural law, just like the Constitution and the rules of Yahtzee.

Speaking of games that involve hitting your spouse: football. I’m here to talk about football? Really? Okay, I’ll talk about it. Ron Paul likes football, but doesn’t like a few things about football as it stands in America. (more…)