PAC 10 FOOTBALL CLAP CLAP CLAPCLAPCLAP. The mike's all yours, gorgeous.
Somehow stunning and craptacular at the same time. The only possible explanation for UCLA coming back--excluding Tennessee's sphincter-seizure and the grand folly that was the Clawfense--is this: Norm Chow mind bolts and the extremely low resting heart rate of Kevin Craft. Nothing else explains throwing four picks in a half and then zipping off 18 of 25 passes for 193 yards after halftime, or how Craft got off many of those passes with meaty paws inches away from his throwing arm.
He even got slightly snarky with the media in the postgame, which is just fine considering his portrayal in the media as a JUCO Simple Jack who, when pressured by Tennessee's defense, would attempt to peel the ball like a banana and eat it.
"I didn't get rattled at halftime," Craft said. "I have played this game before."
Noted, but even then UCLA was outgained by Tennessee 366-288 and only averaged 0.9 yards a carry rushing. This remains, even in the stunning glow of betwinkled glittery upset, the result of a cripple fight. We just didn't know how much of a stubborn bastard one of those cripples was, or how fatbrained the other was.
(BTW: every time you see a fisheye cam of Chow in the booth, you see the MCP from Tron. You're fucked: it's just a matter of time before he svengalis his qb into hitting some indefensible seam route.)
And Psalm 130 says: Pants. Again. From the depths comes great wisdom, or at least one of the most concise and humor-coated balls of sadness post-loss we can remember reading.
From Joel on Tennessee's excrescence of an offense last night versus UCLA:
The present was covered in opaque, shiny foil wrap with a giant orange bow on it. The card read, "TO: Vol Fans, FROM: Coaches Fulmer and Clawson, P.S. Don't open until September 1st." We were drawn to the gift. When we picked it up and shook it, it made a glorious noise, but it didn't offer any clue as to what was inside. Surely, it was something wonderful. Something worthy of a nickname. Fresh. New. Exciting.
It was pants. Another pair of pants. Same thing we got last year.
We beg to differ. It was a different pair of pants, a pair of skinny hipster jeans handed to a big-butted Southern frat boy who took them and, egged on by an encouraging but loveblind spouse, slammed their fat giblets into them. Monterrio Hardesty averaged 5.5 yards a carry; Arian Foster averaged 7.4 last night.
But sure, go right ahead and pass 41 times with a first year starter on the road. We think that's a brilliant idea. The jeans look fabulous, too, especially they way they cut your balls in half and make it look like you're smuggling a life preserver in your pants. It's a great look. [/shootsselfinSEChomerhead]
Beanie Wells: Influenza of the Foot, 2 weeks. The inconclusive nature of Beanie Wells' injuries remains inconclusive: no broken bones, a boot on his foot, and "nothing definitive to report on his diagnosis or prognosis timeline" per tOSU's sports information director.
Subcommandante Wayne thinks this is all a brilliant ruse by Tressel, who will keep Wells under wraps, fly him out coach under an assumed name to USC, and then just when USC thinks they're going to get the Buckeyes without him, BLAM! He skydives into the stadium and the Buckeyes win 70-14 and Wayne gets laid by a crying Song Girl or hooker or something like that because chicks in L.A. are eaaaaasy, man.
Louis Murphy's new status message: MRRRRRMMPH. Louis Murphy gets a gag order from Urban Meyer for trash-talking the U, which he should really save for after any hypothetical future defeats of said U, since Florida hasn't beaten the U in eleventybillion years, and because we won't believe we can until the clock hits zero and the lamentations of their ample-assed women are audible and sweet in the air. Hypothetically speaking, of course.