Tyronne Green, Auburn lineman, defines himself as “a cat dog.” It is a compelling answer to the tired “If you were an animal, what kind of animal would you be?” question, because you are an animal, and what the holy hell does this have to do with my ability to block a defensive lineman, anyway?

The answers varied for those at the Senior Bowl, but Rey Maualuga’s had to be easy. He’s capable of flight, can rip a man’s face off with his teeth, possesses the power of echolocation, and is a slave for honey. This leaves only one possible answer to the question: he’s so obviously a bear-bat.

Bear-bat, dude. Easiest answer ever.

HT: Kleph, via Paste’s Obamiconme widget.

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I stand here before you humbled by your choice as your college football meta-chronicler. Literally hundreds of you stand before me today. I will not forget your choice; nor will I remove the annoying Zwinky ads, because they get us that paper, son.

We stand on the edge of a great precipice: the offseason. We have have faced such travails before, and will face them again. Know that we will face them bravely, and that with the help of discounted Spanish wines, drank, online pornography, recruiting service reports, spring football, and endless previewing and re-previewing, we will survive…weakened, sunburned, and likely with five new addictions, but nevertheless intact and ready for the sweet, nourishing magic teat of football to be thrust in our mouths once more.

We promise the following things as we take hold of another offseason:

1. We will uphold the Fulmer Cup. We will not yield to the urge to change the name, nor slacken our eyes’ fixed gaze on the point total, nor be held in thrall by the desire to be unfair to one team. As always, we shall be unfair to all and aggressively so. If this be our Old Testament, we shall play the smite-y god of this chapter with zeal. (more…)

Greg “GERG” Robinson will be the new defensive coordinator for the University of Michigan. Greg Robinson is not a pseudonym, and in fact is a name referring to the man who in four seasons cratered the Syracuse football program in a most crater-y craterous fashion. The same Greg Robinson who craved five for five like anyone else would.

This news may have Michigan fans leaping headfirst off swingsets, but pause: Robinson oversaw good defenses with the shiny, many-starred talent Texas had in 2004. He did not screw this up, and then got a job at Syracuse that he failed at, and then failed again, and then put the whole enchilada in a savory crepe of double fail and deep-fried it in a rich fondue-like mixture of misery, incompetence, and le fail.

This points clearly to the man being a football functionary who, when promoted to the level of his incompetence, lived up to that incompetence to the fullest, and has now bumped back down to his maximum efficient level of performance: assistant. He has good talent, and will put it in the right places most likely, and it will all be passable. This is not what Michigan fans would like to hear, but sometimes life gives you Mehggcellence when you want the top-shelf stuff. With recruiting season is barreling down on Michigan like Steven Hawking on ski holiday, though, it may be time to plug a gridiron bureaucrat in a hole and watch him attain “good” until someone else comes along.

(Firing him won’t be painful: it’s done been done befo’. Like fiftyleven times, mayun.)

Jim Tressel is not on vacation yet, but this is pretty much what it will look like.

Las Vegas. 10:17 a.m., yesterday.

Cooler: You, uh…need me to go over there, boss?

Pitboss: I dunno. I kind of want to see if he can keep going at this pace. I’ve never seen anything like it.

Cooler: He’s a machine. Barkley passed out an hour ago.

Pitboss: Yeah. We woke him up with a cognac enema. That always perks him up.

Cooler: I’ll head over there if you want–

Pitboss: Nah. You don’t stand in the way of a storm like this.

Stunning Floozy 1: Daddy, you want me to blow on the dice?

Tressel: Oh, yeah baby. Whore germs got me this pile of chips, and they’ll make it bigger.

Stunning Floozy 1: You’re mean!

Tressel: Roll them bones, baby, and we’ll see what else gets bigger.

She rolls the dice.

Dealer: Another seven! I’ve never seen anything like this!

Waitress: Need something from the bar, sir?

Tressel: Another Panty-dropper, please.

Waitress; But that’s your 38th, sir.

Tressel: Do you see my panties on the floor?

Waitress: No.

Tressel: Then keep bringing ‘em. Then we’ll see what we can do about yours.

To be continued.