We have plans in 2010. We don't know what, but the whole year's off the books with the news that West Virginia will be traveling to Baton Rouge to play the Tigahs. GIRL SCOUT FIGHT.
The luster may have faded off West Virginia a bit: their strength and conditioning coach no longer owns wolves, their coach cites odd bits of West Virginia political wisdom to the bafflement of outsiders, and they may have settled down into an 8-5ish trough under Bill Stewart. Yet the concept of the Mountaineer fanbase trekking to truculent Tiger Stadium at night rivets the imagination. Not only is there a real potential of the selling of brown liquor futures for immense profit possible prior to the event, but it also may be the largest collection of people who can taxiderm anything in one place ever for any reason in the history of the universe. (The list of things they are willing to taxiderm includes people, of course.)
It will be a Pikey wake minus the restraint of passing out due to too much alcohol. It will be badass in eighty different degrees. It will smell like Richard Harris's handkerchief. It will be necessary in every single way. Can a single musket shot blow up an airboat? How many men with hunting beards does it take to subdue a single tiger? QUIEN ES MAS FEDERALLY SUBSIDIZED? The amount of chaos in this single frame could make the ghost of Hieronymus Bosch throw his hands up and run away from the scene weeping. The Garden of Girthly Delights is on the way, and you're not ready. (Too bad, says Hell and All That's Coming With It.)
If we have to die, this would be a noble way to go. (Also: corpse stuffed and mounted on a handsome wall plaque within minutes of our death.)
(The post title references the fact that Rasputin might be there. It's that kind of event.)