You know what’s sexy about Vanderbilt? The teams they play, according to this video. We would care about the lackluster narration, the slow pacing, and the choice of a rather obvious theme track, but we apologize: the instant Knowshon Moreno leaves the ground, we lost all rationality and starting tasting the sweet blood of football in our mouths. We’ll wait for you football wearing whatever you like. Just keep sending us the occasional bits of footage set to dramatic music, and we’ll be your sports Penelope forever. When you come back it will be worth all the lonely. [/takes final sips from Nyquil bottle, totters off to pharmacy.] (HT: The Wiz.)

Blogtoberfest: Because you can actually have one during spring practice time.

Pelini promises multiples! The article begins with some kind of rhetoric about Pelini sounding like a husband, but we don’t know many husbands who go around promising “multiple packages” with confidence and ease. If they do, they’re usually swingers, and if there’s one thing to condemn about swinging, it’s the lack of taste in snack food. (It’s always cocktail weenies, ironically enough.)

It did not exist, so they had to invent it. Rich Brooks Bourbon. It’s for charity. That’s not bullshit. Drink up, humanitarians, as all proceeds from the Makers’ Mark Special Edition go to a local music extension program to bring music programs to Kentucky schoolchildren.

We repeat: Rich Brooks is asking you to drink for charity. Bottoms up, motherfuckers.

UGA Looking For Replacement for Brandon Spikes’ personal tackling dummy. No obvious replacements for Knowshon Moreno yet, as the walk-on Kalvin Daniels pushed for playing time behind Caleb King and Carlton Thomas in practice. ARP IT STILL BURNS. Meanwhile, the Senator has wrathful thoughts at excerpts from an upcoming book about the politics at UGA, which confirms that Michael Adams is basically the huge asshole you think he is.

Le Cutback, Coming to Tennessee: Rocky Top Talk has a superb and glossy summary of zone blocking schemes, coming this season to Knoxville with the Lane Kiffin Experience on offense.

Corn usually tends to run right through people. Nebraska is eight years gone from having their last real playmaker, and that’s if you count Eric Crouch, which people in Nebraska do, and people other places besides the Big 12 kind of don’t.

Sergio Kindle boxes. This is kind of like handing a shark an M-4 and teaching him how to use it properly, but it’s happening, and the public should know about it.

YOU WANT ME CATCH BALL?

Army’s tried a few of the tried and true measures to compete as a military academy: the option, hiring a retread pro coach with some name recognition, and using some ah those biologically engineered killbot mutants left over from Project Universal Soldier. Actually, they’re just getting to that last one, or attempting to make create-a-player a reality by putting 6′10″, 286 pound Ali Villanueva, former offensive lineman, at wideout this spring.

Villanueva has never played wide receiver at any level, but runs a 4.8, making him at least as fast as any of Mississippi State’s starting wide receivers last season. Coach Rich Ellerson is all but admitting that this is a longshot, but that it would be “fun” watching him block DBs and safeties. Ellerson wins you over for attempting one thing, at least: putting players at position by the “really fat goalie” theory of play, which you may as well do because you’re at Army, perpetually at a disadvantage, and may as well get some highlight reel time when VIllanueva falls on a DB and smashes him like a ripe banana beneath a bike tire sometime in November.

Between VIllanueva and Terrance Cody, we’re moving ever-so-much closer to our lifelong dream of fielding our 2003 Middle Tennessee State University National Title team from NCAA. now for the 5′0″, 280 pound running back who ran a 3.2 and jumped lineman like they were flabby hurdles.

We don’t know if this man was an Ohio State fan, but…he was. It’s a biblical certainty. 30 miles east of Columbus, police found what could only be properly described as “The gloriously fractured wreck of what was once the most majestic thing ever” on the side of the road: a barstool outfitted with wheels and a lawnmower engine capable of going 38 miles per hour. Near it: Kile Wygle, a 28 year old mangenius who not only survived the accident, but lived to help a reporter pen the most deathless paragraph ever typed into an AP wire report:

Kile Wygle, 28, was hospitalized for minor injuries. He was charged with operating a vehicle while intoxicated after he told an officer at the hospital that he had consumed 15 beers, police said. Wygle told police his motorized bar stool can go up to 38 mph.

This is what it looked like.

I don’t even know you and I love you.

Note the complete lack of frill, invention, or counterintuitive design. It’s nothing more than what it claims to be: a motherfuckin’ barstool with wheels, a lawnmower engine, and a cartoon steering wheel attached to it. It is about three practical details away from the cartoon that pops into your head when you imagine “barstool with wheels.” For this reason alone, the Homer-ity of the invention, it attains a kind of Platonic idealistic greatness. It’s so completely fucking stupid that it had to exist, and could not be denied from inception forward.

Also, police note that he had to be an Ohio State fan, both because he was pepper sprayed repeatedly without effect, and because Wygle crashed in an effort to keep up with a guy on another motorized barstool with unspecified SEC markings on it.

We gave out cocktails yesterday, but sometimes you have to go back-to-back with the plaudits when life gives you the Awesome Double Shot: ONE HUNDRED COCKTAILS TO YOU KILE WYGLE. Your greatness is now a fact of science, and let no one question this.

Take a picture trick/I am am not on the ballot/You can write me in because I’m so valid.

We’ve moved into a unique stage in our relationship with Texas A&M’s unique football culture. First, a quick toe dip into it seemed fine; then, apprehension as it got stranger, and we found out about the squeeze, the yell leaders, the regimentation of it all; and now, with the introduction of one of the more ineptly conceived and ineptly executed song parodies ever beshat upon the Youtubes? All just to become Yell Leader for A&M’s student section?

Oh, now we’re totally in love. It’s a sign of neglect to just do something shoddily, but putting “On a Boat” on a boombox and then shittily rapping along to it with little planning besides getting a tuxedo, an inflatable dolphin, and letting the sync track blast along audibly in the back? Something this bad almost flirts with genius, and since that’s closer than we’ve ever been, huzzah to you, boys. Reload with Reagan hid behind a fig leaf of competence, but your naked incompetence needs no camouflage.

For letting it all hang in the breeze, ONE HUNDRED COCKTAILS TO YOU, SIRS.

Who knows what Edward Britton did: improperly handled a yardarm, cut a doubloon too skinny for the cap’n’s liking, or perhaps dipped his wick into another swabby’s wench’s personal pitch-bucket…the list of potential violations of the pirate code is a lengthy one.

Fortunately, we don’t have to guess wildly: Britton, the number one receiver on Texas Tech’s depth chart with the departure of Michael Crabtree, was not holding up his end of the student/athlete bargain with his scholarship providers at Texas Tech. The student part, mostly. Therefore, Leach forbade him to practice on Friday and took the already demoted Britton and made him study on the fifty yard line for an hour and a half after practice in thirty degree weather.

Leach even had a desk brought out onto the double T at the fifty for Britton thus confirming that Leach is kind of an asshole when he wants to be, albeit in a cheeky, ninja professor kind of way. (Anyone who’ll ring up fifty frequently on opponents has to be, but add this to the pile of complimentary evidence.) All this for sacrificing his sure academic footing for an easy thrill [/henriducard'd].

“Ed didn’t like showing up and studying at places I felt like he needed to and like the academic people asked him to, so he can go study out there on the 50-yard line,” Leach said. “We’ll take baby steps, and if he does good studying out there, we’ll decide if we’re going to actually let him practice.”

Britton did make it through the entire 90 minutes, thus doubling the amount of time we actually spent studying in college. We congratulate him on this accomplishment, and on Mike Leach for confirming that he is secretly Ras-Al-Goul, and trains his quarterbacks to throw to not five men, but to five hundred, and to become more than a man in the eyes of their opponent. (HT: Dan.)

Oh, death. Thy purple robes rustle in the wind; they whisper of jasmine-scented impermanence, and I hear them even when rushing headlong through defenses without hope of stopping or being stopped. You and the wind: these I cannot outpace.

“Q: What’s your biggest fear?

A: Dying. Nobody wants to die, man. I don’t think about it all the time, but that would be my biggest fear.

Jeff Demps has seen the eternal footman, and in short: he was afraid. He also says he can’t outrace the wind, which shows his deep appreciation for the discipline of meteorology. He ended the interview by saying “I have two luxuries to brood over in my walks, your loveliness and the hour of my death. O that I could have possession of them both in the same minute,” but that was considered too prolix for the Sun.

Demps, btw, is listed as second on the current depth chart for Florida behind Chris Rainey, but at this point the hierarchies of a depth chart really can’t sum up what the Florida backfield is: a split between two quarkbacks and an enigmatic power/speed back, senior junior Emmanuel Moody, the USC transfer who has yet to earn significant time at the carry trough. It remains a complete scrum for playing time, and that’s not even factoring the touches someone like Andre Debose–who arrives in fall–could get if he stays on Meyer’s sunny side. (The sunny side of Urban Meyer being something like the sunny side of Venus, a gassy, caustic place filled with purple lightning and spontaneous firestorms, but still way better than the dark side.)

Sadness, thy name is a coaches’ home for sale after a firing. This year’s inevitable real estate offering is Tommy Tuberville’s lakeside home, featuring 4 bedrooms, 4 baths, a steam shower and step-in tub in the master bath, exactly 734 feet of lakeside property, and a “Stunning Kitchen,” presumably because the Tuberville’s like to eat their meat while it’s still alive. (It’s the freshest!)

There are a few other key features, as well.

The home is offered at $2,375,000, and features a special shack in the woods where your offensive coordinator can sleep in the rustic manner to which he is accustomed.