“When we forgive evil we do not excuse it, we do not tolerate it, we do not smother it. We look the evil full in the face, call it what it is, let its horror shock and stun and enrage us, and only then do we forgive it.”

LSUFreek would like to point out that though Trindon Holliday didn’t qualify for the Olympics, LSU runner Richard Thompson did. He finished second running for Trinidad and Tobago, beating Walter Dix of Florida State, who celebrated winning bronze by losing by thirty points to Florida. Both would have performed much better had they removed their football helmets.

Next time: helmets off? Got it.

At SMQ’s new digs, much musing is laid on the quarterback situation in the ACC. The Big Ten’s not exactly impressive, either–your triple platinum name is “Todd Boeckman,” who had a season high of 253 yards against Penn State last year. We’ve never heard of him, but wish him luck handing off to Beanie Wells.

Arizona’s TE Rob Gronkowski is impressive and can eat footballs whole, if the picture included with this article is to be believed.

The opportunities for jokes if somehow the Michigan Wolverines had a miraculous season and pulled off a bowl matchup with Georgia would be endless. No pullout from excellence seems likely for WLA and their glorious gift to the people.

It’s good being Chris Rainey, avowed white girl man, in his natural milieu.

Jordan Steffy will again be given the privilege of losing the starting job a second time to Chris Turner, something the gentlemen at Hell in a Red Shell are just bouncy giggle happy-thrilled about:

Yes, that same Steffy who sucked so badly that we were all happy to have Turner under center, and made everyone assume that Turner was the presumptive favorite to be the starter this fall. And since, we’re here to ask the hard questions, we’ll do just that:

What. The. Fuck?

Josh Portis will play in spots, something his mother is just enraged about, frankly.

The Wiz is moving to his very own site. Be advised.

Neither of them were such supple, funky dancers. OMG MISSOURI LOST ITS BEST LINEMEN. Blutarsky addresses the question of overreacting to Trinton Sturdivant’s season-ending knee injury, and why this isn’t affecting Missouri’s buoyancy in the polls.

We’re officially on record as thinking that naming a Bo Schembechler-themed merlot is sacrilege enough to wake the dead into a punching rage, though it’s hard to be enraged about much of anything when the schedule for SEC games has been leaked (blanket allegedlys here.)

We at EDSBS, however, love making a cheap buck as much as anyone else, and therefore pitch the following beverages to the masses. Consider yourself a little focus group, if you will: tell us how you feel about these beverages on a scale from “would drink out of [IMPOSSIBLY ATTRACTIVE FAMOUS PERSON'S ASSCRACK]‘ to “would not drink with a loaded blunderbuss held to our heads.”

Sylvester Croom’s CRÜM. Smooth. Strong. Those who hold on fourth and one, hold CRÜM.

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Brian, who is hung like Reggie F’n Nelson, provides this week’s emergency edition of the Fulmer Cup. Now with more siren to denote lack of time to score points and looming finality to this season’s FC race. Scanty details and refusals to change anything at all follow the jump.

9.0 ypc, 0.16 BAC. Zach Luckett, a wide receiver at Virginia tech, earns the Hokies four points for a DUI and operating a vehicle under a revoked license. The offense is Luckett’s second DUI, but with a 0.16 BAC he’s not even at the Eddie Sutton level of automotive drunkenness. (To be fair: Eddie Sutton’s average may be a 24 hr. constant measure, not just a one-time thing, so Luckett could only top him for short periods, anyway.)

It’s officially garbage time, leaving only two teams really in position to catch Alabama: West Virginia and Missouri. The viability of any team really exchanging places with Alabama is low, low, low: practice is in full swing, players are worked to the bone and under close supervision, and the math doesn’t look promising. Only the promise of returning students, opening week parties, and a slightly weakened out-of-drinking-season tolerance to booze holds any hope of significant change. Kappa Delta rush party and Everclear Sidecars, you’re our only hope!

The sexiest football coach in all the game is Alvin Wyatt, the father of the Wyattbone offense and noted exemplar of the philosophy that stuntin’ is not a talent, but instead a habit instilled by hard work and the choice of only the finest African-American menswear from 1974.

Backstabbers…BACKSTAAABAAAARS!!!

How does Alvin Wyatt afford such fine threads on a Bethune-Cookman salary? Without raiding George Benson’s closet? And on top of the Caddy bill? Easy. He lives in the dorm with his players.

No one has the manual for life since, as Douglas Adams once observed, it’s attached to the umbilicus at birth, and thus continually discarded by careless medical professionals. If you did, though, it would tell you not be a shitbird at the gym and precisely how not to be a shitbird at the gym. You need to know this because in one manner or another you are a total asshole at the gym, and everyone silently hates you for it. We’re the only one who’ll tell you these things, and you’re welcome, really. It’s our pleasure.

Not only are you weak at the gym, but you are annoying as hell, too.

So, before we get to the season and the pseudoephedrine pace of real, living, breathing portion of the year, let us list our proper rules for gym use and happy co-existence with your fellow gym-mates, mostly because we’ve already written it, it’s two weeks before the season, and we’re still pissed at Professor O’Dorkley who spent 20 minutes in the squat rack on Tuesday reading the New York Times and doing sets of one rep at a time while promising “I’ve just got a few more.” We hope you choke.

One: Don’t stink. Everyone stinks at the gym, but the occasional fragrance frotteur insists on wearing the gym clothes they pulled from the trunk. (more…)

Take this segue and freeze it in amber, as someday, when all of its kind have been killed by some kind of editorial asteroid, science may find it, extract its DNA, and create a new army of inconceivably strong awkward lead-in segues for columnists to admire, fear, and learn from:

USF defensive end George Selvie still has a dent from the time a Buick rolled off a car jack and hit him in the head during his infancy.

He has spent the past two seasons causing similar dents in opposing quarterbacks.

You’re in awe. That’s normal. Your heartrate is also probably Alp-ing and you’re seeing spots right now, too. We accept no legal responsibility for this, either.

Selvie is God’s Own Badass, though–this is a crucial point that must not be forgotten. In the Stoops-ish Cover 2 scheme the Bulls run, edge rush is crucial, and DEs are more often than not let loose on the qb like so many hungry hounds. When you have a defensive end who can wreck shop on a blocking scheme like Selvie, you can avoid making some of the potentially risky adjustments defensive coordinators have to make against the WVU spread and its zone read game. The 14.5 sacks is a glamour stat, but the 31.5 tackles for loss waxes even more impressive when you consider the deep holes USF put its opponents in on a regular basis.

George Selvie, seen here surprising Pat White by performing the “tackle” maneuver on him.

In the mortality indices offensive coordinators use to draw up insurance policies, he’s “category 5 hurricane with chance of shrapnel showers.”