The Emperor thanks you for your patronage, your patience, and your loyalty. All these years, since the grand experiment began, we have devoted ourselves to one idea and one idea alone: The Great Experiment. Its concept took root from the fertile soil of the ancients, a wellspring of ideas that flows through us today. Our idea was theirs: that athletes and academics could not only co-exist, but thrive under the guiding hand of a all-knowing, beneficent leader. Separate, our weakness makes us snap like twigs; but bonded together as one, we can combined cut through the hardest of times like a great axe.
So we celebrate outlasting another failed ideology today, Penn Staters. Another dictator gone while our beloved Emperor before us in his august robes, healthy and ready to face another season, another year, bold, fierce and just as he was the day he assumed power! Tyrants fade like Ozymandias, while our brave emperor dons the laurel yet again.
Credit goes to two people for this find: commenter hunglikehussain, and the Auburner, who went to the trouble of capturing Tommy Tuberville’s epic performance in a Golden Flake commercial that suggests Auburn football players run fast because someone is beckoning them towards an open bag of Golden Flake potato chips. (For the record: in certain cases, we believe this could be completely true, as in the case of Kenny or David Irons.)
Mesmerizing! Tommy Tuberville doesn’t even have to be in the same moment and place to hypnotize you with a bag of potato chips: all he need do is call, and you will hear his plea from across space and time.
P.S. Just because we’re having fun with Sir Charles today over at the Sporting Blog, a few Auburn relevant quotes from barkleyquotes.com that should convince you not only that Charles is one of the great bon vivants of our time, but also confirm any and all stereotypes about SEC and Auburn athletes and academics:
“When I was recruited at Auburn [university], they took me to a strip joint. When I saw those titties on Buffy, I knew that Auburn met my academic requirements.”
Those titties. An area of study no young male college student can fail to appreciate.
Le Big Board for the week, brought to you as always by Brian, who is hung like Reggie F’n Nelson. Notes and clarifications follow.
Notes, clarifications, and blatant affronts to logic and good sense.
Missouri is the tiger in your tank this week–your holding tank, that is, since the vandalism case of Zachary Wayheart puts them at a firm but not unassailable lead in the Fulmer Cup point race.
But Tennessee pushes for their birthright this week with the arrest of Britton Colquitt (AKA Colquitt 4823293 Model P-234) on DUI charges. The concern is that Tennessee may have exceeded their threshold for the season with one big early rush, and are now depleted of mischief energy. We keed! They’re obviously the Obama of this campaign: a hair behind, but pushing with the wind at their backs.
Kansas picks up three points with a pair of incidents we failed to report. As always, we blame society and post-Orange Bowl giddiness for their points.
Still missing: Miami, Arizona State, Marshall…all classics without an entry thus far. If you’re looking to hedge bets on a strong riser, take bids on any of them. Oh, and Florida, especially given the lack of weed and FnDC arrests thus far. Gainesville will burp a few up before the end. We can feel in in our scales, man.
This is all alleged, and no charges have been filed yet, but it’s not an encouraging sign. The good news is that if the WVU police arrest him, they’ll have to catch him first. We’ve seen that that chase scene will look like, and it won’t be an easy one. Devine runs like he’s got an unquenchable thirst for gold coins. rings.
Urban Meyer’s sales skills are among the worst we’ve ever seen in coaching commercials–they’re downright Fulmer-esque, down to the cue-card missile lock of his eyes to the awkward fist pump he employs about halfway into this abortion of an orange juice ad.
The good thing: he’s actually improved from year one. There’s a jewelry store ad lurking somewhere out there that, if it saw the light of day, would make James Lipton jump headfirst off the nearest tall building.
Terrelle Pryor is still thinking about schools, beating all your asses. Terrelle Pryor still has no idea when he’s going to make up his mind. You can do this when you’re phenomenally physically talented. You can also threaten to go into the crowd at a basketball game when you take particular issue with the taunts, but remember, Terelle: you can only take the crowd so long as they’re rushing away from you. When they surge back, it’s trouble time.
John Adams–the Tennessee columnist, and not the second president of our country, we assume, unless he was a vampire and has been living off the blood of the innocent all these years–comes out and makes the “time to go” column for Phil Fulmer. This prompts Losers With Socks to play Buffy, go down the hellmouth, and put a stake through Adams, who as they pointed out graduated from Louisiana State University, and must therefore after thirty years as a sleeper cell in the heart of Vol country has gone active in attempting to overturn the Fulmer regime. Spies, everywhere! Spies, I tell you!
Everett Withers, Minnesota DC, is leavingTim Brewster’s new operation to join North Carolina, a move way, way up in the football world considering Withers spent last season weeping drops of pure sorrow watching Minnesota’s defense get annihilated. Now he moves on to Butch Davis’ rebuild of North Carolina, a team piling up talent and toys to play with a-plenty. Assume Withers, in a past life, was killed randomly by a meteorite or something; only karma can explain the lucky strike.
Bomar’d redux: BCS Frenzy says they’re going to review the entire 2004 Rivals top 100, and we wish them luck with that. The thing reminding you to remind yourself that recruiting is one very large, overhyped back-alley craps game? Rhett Bomar.
Don’t do drugs, kids. Because one day you’ll be sitting in an apartment with newspaper and tinfoil on the walls, zonked out of your mind and watching Immortal Beloved, and there will be the scene where Beethoven’s dad flips out and begins beating the daylights out of him, and like all people doing drugs you’ll have music on over the movie, and you’ll forever associate the song with the image of a guy whipping a kid’s ass like a riot cop pouncing on a legless WTO protester.
Your reminiscence of “Gainesville, 1996″ is brought to you by a forgotten band of the forgettable decade: Skunk Anansie, and their really frightening lead singer.
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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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