“John Parker Wilson, if you throw another pick you punk, I will run after you full speed every minute of every day for the rest of your life, you sissy-haired, seven-named tampon-frill!”

“Let me go! These people are paying me $4 million a year! CAN YOU SAY CRAZY?!?!??!! LET ME GO!!!”

“Coach, just the wallet, and no one gets hurt.”

JPW: “I’ll never wear summer-weight cotton! Never! Especially in that brown!”

Saban: “But it’s a must-have classic! It goes with everything!”

JPW: “It clashes with my complexion! Can you say jaundice, coach? Jaundice, I tell you!”

Or simply: “FREE RIBLET NIGHT ANNOUNCEMENT CAUSES CHAOS AT ALABAMA PRACTICE.”

(Via Deep South Sports and Losers With Socks.)

Herschel Walker tried to kill himself once! News! Right before a book release! Imagine!

After his retirement from football in 1997, Walker said the disorder began to overwhelm him. At one point, while sitting in his kitchen, he said he played Russian roulette with a loaded pistol.

“To challenge death like I was doing, you start saying, there’s a problem here,” Walker told Woodruff.

We’re sure that, if you have at one point put the gun in your mouth at some point and pulled the trigger, then there’s a problem. We don’t know what that is, of course, though the guy who wrote the foreword to Walker’s book Breaking Free claims he knows what it is: dissociative identity disorder, or DID, a condition that may or may not exist, depending on who you ask.

Unsurprisingly, Mungadze says it’s very, very real. Who knows? What else could explain this:

Sad Herschel, sympathies sent; whatever’s wrong with you , we hope you fix it with all due haste, or at least continue to learn how to live with it. (more…)

Brian, who is hung like Reggie F’n Nelson, brings us the Big Board again this week. Notes, invitations to join us for most glorious bearish Russian kettlebell workouts, and refusals to correct follow below.

Notes, corrections, clarifications and obfuscations:

PENDING: MASSIVE POINTS FOR PITT. It allegedly involves a SWAT team, meaning the vaunted Wannstache recruiting charm extends not only to talented humans, but to whatever rough beast requires a SWAT team to remove him from a dorm.

Colorado bumps up another three points and places themselves in the thick of this trailer-park brawl with the arrest of Jake Duren, linebacker, for breaking into a car on campus this past weekend. Duren had just had an outstanding spring scrimmage, so in order to celebrate, he did the logical thing:

Duren, according to CU Police Cmdr. Brad Wiesley, was found bloody and smelling of alcohol in a hallway of a family housing complex near the campus. Duren, his hand bloodied, apparently had broken into a vehicle in the complex parking lot, Wiesley said.

Duren does not live in the complex, and Wiesley said Sunday night that campus police do not know why he was there.

“Found bloody and smelling of alcohol:” The subtitle for our autobiography, ranking right up there with “And now I am filled with shame” for the winner’s spot in that contest. Duren was immediately booted from the team by Dan Hawkins, who surely noted the youngster’s shorting on discipline and love early in life whilst tossing his locker contents into a cardboard box.

Extra bonus SMRT: how did the police link him to the scene of the crime? Duren left a trail of blood behind him.

As spectacular as accosting your teammate with a knife is, the charges remain surprisingly paltry:

Bell, 21, was arraigned before District Judge Daniel Hoffman on numerous charges, including terroristic threats, simple assault, recklessly endangering another person, disorderly conduct and harassment. He was jailed, with bail set at $50,000.

All of the charges are misdemeanors, leaving us with five points on five charges. Even with one bonus point for the spectacularly stupid nature of the crime, the max we can award here is six points. For the perverse Penn State fan hoping for more points here, you should be ashamed. (And, um, no, you can’t have any.)

Anyone’s game at this point. True, boldfaced header: it is anyone’s game. We seriously, seriously doubt Missouri can rack up more points this season. (If they do, the “Pinkel Cup” has no ring to it.)

…for spring, at least, due to dropping a class and falling under 12 hours of registered classes. McKnight can’t sneak in a few Spanish classes at the Taco Shack down the street and get back, USC? Que paso?

Dos burritos, por favor. Mi bacalao es un abogado por las mujeres que no tienen brazos. Cinco dolares para cincuenta Vicodin–solamente en Nuevo Laredo, amigo! Carlos, su esposa tiene DOS PERROS SE LLAMAN MAXIMILLIAN!!!

Helping McKnight get eligible again, Thursday nights at the Taco Shack from 6-9ish p.m.

See? Master these simple phrases and we’ll all be jacked that your back. Pete Carroll included, who “doesn’t think it can get much better than this… football practice and perfect weather,” according to his Facebook profile.

Someone beat us to the satire, but like good ingredients, you needn’t add much to plate it and go: according to Chris Fowler on Gameday Saturday, Tim Tebow performed not just medical procedures during his last trip to the Philippines, but “used a scalpel” under the supervision of medical types. Meaning: Tim Tebow, Jungle Surgeon, lives.

This makes us unbelievably queasy to think about, and not because Tim Tebow could slice precious hand ligaments, forever damaging his non-throwing hand in the process. (Fumbles, kids. They kill more people every year than tetanus. This statistic brought to you by the Swindle School of Handily Fabricated Statistics.) Unless they’re talking about psychic surgery, something we think Tebow could master with a bowl of pig innards and five minutes of training, and which is quite popular in the Philippines.

In a former life, we worked in development/refugee stuff, and part of that stuff included a stint working with an emergency prep unit at a large development agency. They guys who worked there were universally crusty development types, mostly American vets with medical training or cynical Brits (redundancy), and they had tales of being in the field following earthquakes or in undersupplied refugee camps and having no choice but to perform basic medical procedures: IVs, injections, bandaging and perhaps lancing if absolutely necessary.

None of them–and we’re talking about PTSD cases with skin cancers from third-world sun that demanded their own coffee in the morning, damn grizzled types–none of them had stories about actually opening people up. None of ‘em. A large development agency working in shithouse conditions like the legendarily nasty camp at Goma cringes when they hear about that happening, mostly because they try to keep an ample supply of doctors on staff to do the nasty stuff.

It’s not like anyone can sue; there happens to be a paucity of malpractice attorneys on the volcanic plains of the eastern Congo. (Young law school grads—we smell opportunity!) It’s a matter of medical ethics: if you don’t really know what you’re doing, you probably shouldn’t be cutting into another human being. We really, really, really hope Fowler misspoke—or at the very least, got an inflated/inaccurate story handed to him. Because, for lack of a better word, that is some sketchy, sketchy shit, even with the Philippines’ atrocious doctor/patient ratio.