Masters of Fulmer Cup Nano-engineering. Georgia continues to add to their total in baby steps. Points to be assessed in an entry later today, but the reported footage of the barfight suggests that the action was fast, furious, and ended the way all barfights should.

Peter points the way to archived preseason college football polling records, which after 1985 seemed to firm up in the department of not having unranked teams popping up to steal a national title from the aristocracy of the perpetually ranked. (See: Imaginationland BYU ‘84 team.)

The average? The eventual national champion since 1985 was, according to extremely detailed statistical analysis performed by a Georgia Tech graduate, ranked 6.28th. If this proves anything, it proves that the the real lesson here is that the AP’s apartheid-esque policy against decimal points in ranking will only continue to make them look like imbeciles in the long run.

(If you would like a more statistically favorable manner of losing your money than gambling on college football’s eventual national champion, we suggest roulette horse racing, or anything else at all besides NASCAR betting, which is even dumber. Better yet, take your money and just send it to us at EDSBS, P.O. Box 281, Noah Brindise Place, Kandahar Afghanistan 28828.)

Tony Barnhart is out at the AJC. The south’s best sportswriter, Tony Barnhart, takes the buyout from Cox to leave the paper, no doubt for meatier bones offered by ESPN. Heh RTWT MSM BOO insert other blog cliche here INDEED. Of special interest: Furman Bisher was paid off in his his currency of choice–barter–and Terence Moore was retained, as was Mark Bradley, meaning Atlanta has the brainless two-headed experimental Russian dog of sports columnist we so richly deserve at our terminally-ill daily.

Can we invest in someone else’s life insurance policy? Richard Tuitu’u, Arizona’s only experienced tackle, just quit Arizona State’s football team. The combined 22.8 neocortical neurons of Rudy Carpenter’s brain cells just filed a blanket petition for asylum in “the country of wherever men in helmets killing us in huge numbers aren’t, please.”

Eat an entire casserole–um, sorry, that’s hot dish–by yourself. Then run sprints up and down your driveway until you vomit. Then have your closest Yanomamo neighbor fire a stinging plug of the powerful hallucinogen ibini up your nose with a blowpipe, and then place a sack full of live, buzzing horseflies on your head.

Then, listen to this. Or just listen to it. You could probably get the same effect without all the preceding nonsense…but like Billy Dee Williams and good times without Colt 45…why take the chance? (HT: The Wiz.)