COUNTDOWN: 36
I would make this war as severe as possible…
July 23, 2008
EASTERN KENTUCKY PLAYER STEALS, IS, DOUCHEBAG
Inside the bag: charger, spray, and this.The Eastern Kentucky football player whose flight from a Wal-Mart ended up tearing the tip off a sixty-seven year old woman’s thumb had his reasons for leaving the scene quickly. Not only was he stealing, but Davin Walker had another secret: he was in possession of cleansing products for his lady’s spiritual ladyflower, clearly something embarrassing enough to risk breaking the law over.
Walker dropped his backpack on the way out of the Wal-Mart, presumably in between allegedly shoplifting and inadvertently ripping the thumb off an old lady. Inside said backpack:
The backpack contained a cell phone battery charger, a box of douches and a bottle of feminine hygiene spray, Adkins said.
The real victim here? Walker’s girlfriend. Florence King wrote in an essay once about the virtues of dating a redneck. The redneck, while perusing the aisles of a grocery store, saw floral-scented douches lined up in row on the shelf and asked in a booming voice to no one in particular, “What’s wrong with pussy, dammit?”
Here here, Earl. An acceptance of well-maintained but au naturel hoo-ha could very well have saved the thumb tips of countless old ladies around the Wal-Marted exurbs of this fine nation of ours, or at the least would have saved Davin Walker from assault and shoplifting charges. Until then, the makers of FDS, Femaspray, and “Gee, Your Twat Smells Great!” will continue to reap profit from the quiet tyranny of vaginophobia.
(HT: Alan.)
FLATLINING: CONTINUING A THEME…
Earlier today, The Kid looked at coaches whose odds for a smooth season were looking less than favorable. This provoked commentary from readers, who wondered how guys like Ty Willingham weren’t going to be included in a list.
The reason is simple. Everyone else in the room should make it, except for guys like Ty. They’re dead, irradiated by a critical dose of losing, bad timing, lackluster recruiting, fluctuating oil prices, whatever. Certain coaching regimes are on courteous flatline heading into the season; the final hammer of inevitable firing only awaits one last season of confirmation.
Fatal dosage may vary depending on exposure and victories over hated rivals.
It’s possible they would survive the does, of course. Anything’s possible. But given the numbers, it ain’t likely. And unless you’re a hopeless homer, all you have are the numbers. The only three guys we can think of that are 1000 percent completely irradiated by loss and in risk of seriously aggressive firing follow. If you’re looking for surprise idiocy, look elsewhere. (”Tressel! He only runs the second-best program in the nation and that’s UNACCEPTABLE!”)
Ty Willingham. It’s rare that a coach will give a single smoking gun, a clarion reason to go ahead, contact HR, and tell them they’re about to file a bunch of paperwork they won’t particularly enjoy. (more…)
MUSTACHE WEDNESDAY: GREG NORTON
For today: Husker Du bassist Greg Norton, who possessed a fine handlebar mustache in the early 80s when it was madness to have anything but the Selleck Stripe.
Happy Mustache Wednesday, motherfuckers! It makes no sense at all.
THE ODDS: CUSTOM COACHING NOOSES FOR ‘08
Please welcome our guest The Kid, who you may recognize from Fire Mark May and various other pieces of exceptional ADD theater. With apologies to A.J. Daulerio, we’re going to have him set the odds on the tightest coaching nooses for 2008. Enjoy.
The summer has reached its All Star Break. We’re way way past the eternal hope of spring practice, we’re well into the dregs of voluntary workouts, early commits, and sweaty middle aged men taking bootleg photos of younger sweatier men at two a days is not that far around the corner. Hovering just around the 40 day mark, and we’re playing Noah. Its time to start building that Ark. Bring me two of every internet rumor! Bring me that ooey gooey mortar with which to build my caulk my flood faring vessel so I can storm the coming deluge of hysteria. Its time to start getting crazy. Its time to get pumped about football. 2009 has taken up its permanent home in the Xbox, and there’s nothing left to do but sit and wait.
HOWEVER! We can start throwing around some gentlemanly wagers, so let’s start laying the lines, collecting the vig, and keeping that book of mine all nice and tidy. In what I hope will be recurring as long as I’m allowed on the blogosphere’s cool kids table, I’ll be offering up the odds for a number of college football propositions. Starting things off on the right foot, right there at the tippy tippy top, Im going to set my aims on the CEOs, the Big Men, the head coaches of these fine programs of ours.
We’ve all been there. Hell, I’ve been there more times in the past 8 years than I care to fathom. The coaching search has taken on its own sort of biblical journey in my life, so much that I created my own freaking religion to celebrate the last one, but what I’m really trying to say to a good number of you breaking in the new top guys is that I’ve been there! I feel your pain, and I know exactly what it feels like to start out with so much uncertainty, so many expectatios, all the while worried that you’re teetering on the edge of the abyss and one man, ONE MAN, can pull you out of its gaping maw. The equally dark flip side to all of this is that little voice in the back of your head, a tiny tiny TINY needling voice somewhere in your subconscious that tells you that one day very soon, the honeymoon will be over.
A coach’s best friend, especially if they like being drawn and quartered.
This brings us to the first round of The Odds: Which fanbase sharpens the pitchforks first? (more…)
CURIOUS INDEX, 7/23/08
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Feedback and pain. We bought the Who bundle of songs on Rock Band last night, and have already spectacularly failed out of no less than three of the songs on multiple instruments. IBitePrettyHard, the internet’s majordomo of Rock Band drumming, even struggles on the sightread of “Young Man’s Blues,” which is kind of like saying George Selvie was held to just two sacks by a line of elementary schoolers in a Pop Warner game. You know a band was preternaturally talented when even the bass parts are impossible. We came down in Icarus-like flames this morning off the bass solo in the live version of “My Generation;” we’re typing this with our nose, so nasty were the runs. Then again, we’re not hopped up on Peruvian Pep Powder like John Entwistle, so there’s always trade-offs. “Is simply not tenable.” The Duke lacrosse case explains much of the extreme skepticism by media even thinking about covering Iowa’s sexual assault debacle, but at this point that’s not the issue: though the university president Sally Mason says no protocols were violated in the case, the decision to not inform the regents of the two letters sent by the mother “is simply not tenable.” Anytime the regents call the university president to actually report on something not involving a balance sheet, though, it ain’t good. Without comment from Ferentz or the AD, it looks murkier by the day for Iowa’s football program and their ongoing “management crisis.” The Mayor has some suggestions for questions to be asked at SEC Media days, including this pithy query for Houston Nutt: Houston Nutt: “Assuming for the sake of argument that you will be cast in the role of the Joker in the sequel to ‘The Dark Knight,’ would you decline an Oscar nomination out of principle or would you follow in Henry Fonda’s footsteps by accepting an Academy Award nomination for a role in which you essentially played yourself?” Thanks, T. Kyle. When we’re at SEC Media Days tomorrow–which we will be, bright and early so as to catch the spiritual procession that will be Nick Saban’s entry–we’ll be too busy imagining Houston Nutt in a nurse’s uniform and Joker makeup talking to a half-faced Les Miles saying, “Now Harvey, it wasn’t personal. I don’t want there to be any…hard feelings between us…” Mike Gundy is still 40! But not for long, since he turns 41 in a few weeks, though he retains his man-ness. Monsieur Volume does not favor these internets, though, unless it pertains to his fine Oklahoma fescue: “I’m not a big computer guy,” Gundy said. “I’ve not once in my life been on YouTube. I don’t know how to get on it. “I guess you could Google it. Sometimes I Google things. Like fertilizer and stuff that I want to put on my lawn.” This means Mike Gundy is a man who has never seen this, this, or this. We tell you, Mike Gundy: eventually this will hurt your recruiting in the crucial “slow nerd” department. We promise you. Feed the fever! With blaring house music! Oregon state has a glut of commercials, and Building the Dam sums them up nicely. Our favorite: the “Feed The Fever” ad, which until about 20 seconds in could be an ad for a gay gym, what with all the shirtless men, mood lighting, and lingering shots of oily back muscles. We say “a gay gym” because they look cut and fit, as opposed to “a straight gym,” where the guys look bloated and pec-forward, and the women look “screaming-for-help-growing-white-waxy-fur-on-my-skin-anorexic.” |
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