Mentioned before we get too far over the horizon of your attention span, located approximately somewhere in the fourth word of this sentence, but what the hell we’ll do it anyway.

Arizona State had a theoretically perfect spring game: a tie. Dennis Erickson says equivocations and coachspeak a-plenty in reference to the game, so we’ll review what one can learn from a spring game ending in a 17-17 tie: Jack Shit and his friend Null Sett. (He’s a Dutch designer.)

The new shirt is here! The new shirt is here! Notre Dame’s new motto for “the shirt” for 2008: TAH-NOO-TAH!!!! That’s if they knew what was true and awesome in this world, and they don’t, instead choosing to roll out “Wake Up the Echoes” once more. Notre Dame: where doo-wop never died! But then again, you knew that already.

The Echoes: Is that Urban Meyer in the back?

Prepare to be boarded, first-string. Pirate Mike doesn’t like what he sees at spring practice, senses complacency on the first string, yarr! Michael Crabtree, ye floundered two passes through yer mitts? Possessed by the spanish pox after too many ruts in the brothels of St. Simon’s, eh? A flogging and mercury treatment fer the lot of ye!

Nebraska’s offense got flubby in their spring game, and so did Demarrio Williams, a former Husker standout returning to do what Americans in the middle of the country adore doing: taking big public pledges not to do things, and then watching half of them go out and do precisely what they just promised not to do.

And there were instances where you were glad not to be the other guy, such as when the football audibly smacked I-back Marcus Mendoza in the faceguard, or former Husker Demorrio Williams lost his place while reading a drug-free pledge at halftime and omitted a few lines.

He had to omit the lines about marijuana, right? Intentionally? Because der Gropehfuhrer says it’s a leaf, and not a drug, and if Arnold said it then it must be true and perfect like his massive 1977 biceps, which he created through more weight and more reps, and like his 1990 classic Kindergarten Cop, marketed in East Asia under the even more perfect title Devil, King of Children.

It’s already that bad. David Cutcliffe, unfairly excerpted on Duke’s otherwise cautiously optimistic spring game:

“If we could split me in half, we would do that,” Cutcliffe said.

Not only is he a blogger talking in the first person plural, he’s admitting the pain of coaching at Duke already.

In light of recent events, we proudly present our line of Colorado-themed student section wear. In the case of The Majestic Buffalo vs. Man, there can be no neutrality. Who ya got?

(more…)

Rarely, oh so very rarely, do we actually get contacted voice to voice by anyone we write about. This includes indirect contact through secondaries, flunkies, coolies, whatever. Being a blogger has that advantage: writing the sort of fever-dream metafiction most blogs consist of mean the subjects rarely have time to read, appreciate, or get enraged at what you write.

Au contraire, though. One coach did actually, indirectly, take umbrage with something we included in this edition of the Curious Index. Was it near-libel? A particularly obscene description of a bad play call or team collapse in a crucial game? Or in the case of this coach and the usual tack sailors of the information high seas take on him, a fat joke?

Negative on all counts. What enraged Mark Mangino enough to have his real estate agent call us not two days later and ask for removal of the screen capture we used in the post? Using a publicly available photo of his house from the real estate agent’s virtual website, which is for sale, and making fun of the champagne chilling on a table in the photo.

(This is, removed picture or not, hilarious whenever anyone does it in a real estate photo: “Oh, welcome. We didn’t even know you were coming by, lawya, but that’s cool. You know how we do. Now, please, just have a seat on the plush sofa, chill, and I’ll just grab this Bollinger I just happened to have on hand here.” As if purchasing this house will make you seventeen times instant classy, and that like Gurgi’s bottomless bag of food in The Black Cauldron, the opened bottle of champagne will be POOF! instantly replaced with a new bottle sitting on perpetually frosty ice.)

So, Friday the 11th, the phone rings. (more…)

Brian brings us this week’s Cupdate, featuring an impressive defense and extension of Missouri’s lead thanks to a weed arrest for the Tigers, who have brought the fiya this Fulmer Cup season. Explanations, bad math, and failed rhetorical backflips follow.

Not pictured on the board but making their debut: Boston College. BC doesn’t make it onto the board, but with the arrest of defensive end Brady Smith for on-campus sexual assault (is that somehow worse than off-campus sexual assault?) and breaking and entering, the Eagles earn six points for the double felony charges. Even in their shame, Boston College fans would lie to point out that the six point score is more than the Notre Dame Irish scored against Georgia Tech last year in their opener.

Like Lance Armstrong in an EPO fit raging up the Alpe d’Huez, Missouri continues to pull away from the peloton with expert timing. Austin Wuebbels less than composed traffic stop fumbling earned the Tigers another 4 points this week, proving that when the competition gets close, the Tigers go to the no-huddle and being piling on points daring you to keep up.

Still missing: Florida? Miami? AND FSU? The Sunshine State’s gone soft friends. Blame the kind and benevolent governance of our fabulous governor Charlie Crist, who’s got the economy flaming despite the entire state taking it in the ass in the real estate market. They’re all simply too happy and well-governed to get tasered! (Crossing fingers, looking at the Florida team and hoping everyone’s got their gun locks in the fixed position on their assault rifles.)

Handler One: Ralphie, that’s a good girl.

Handler Two: Man, she’s flipping me out right now.

Ralphie: Trample. Kill. Ram. Trample. Gore. Crush crush trample. Fear. Two legs everywhere. Trample them all. Desperate hunger for grass. Kill.

Handler Three: We’ve got to go in two.

Handler One: Look at her eyes. It’s just one pit of black surrounded by white fear. God, that’s unnerving.

Ralphie V: Hunger. All that grass. Must crush, then eat. Sun. Buffalo in heaven. Demand blood. Ram. Stomp. Run. Kick. Destroy two legs.

Hander Two: Where’s Trey? He’s supposed to be here. We can’t do this with just three handlers.

Handler Three: We ready to go?

Trey, Handler Four: Hey, guys, when are we—AAAIIIIGGGHHHHH

Handler one, hanging on for dear life: OH GOD HER EYES HAAAAIIIIIILLLLLP!

Ralphie: OPEN SPACE RUN KILL.

Handler Four: My insides feels leaky and warm…I can’t feel…my…hands…

Handler One: I CAN’T HOLD ON JESUS CHRIST WHY THE HELL DO WE HAVE A BUFFALO THEY DON’T LIKE LEASHES!!!!

Dan Hawkins: Well done, boys! That’s a division one football mascot!

Ralphie: Sun. Grass. Trampled. Yes. Suddenly tired. Hungry. Stop.

Handler One: MY SHOULDER! OH GOD MY SHOULDER!

Hawkins: Can we get her to skydive onto the field? And then trample someone? That would be EPIC.

(HT: Rashaan Salaam)