If you haven’t seen Tombstone, you are doing a severe disservice to yourself and your future heirs to not grant them the knowledge, wisdom, and dramatic testosterone offered them by this huge throbbing penis of a movie. Tombstone posits a compelling vision of the world where everyone has mustaches and is doing one of the following at all times:
a.) kicking someone’s ass
b.) preparing to kick someone’s ass
c.) getting ass kicked
d.) is drinking
e.) is drinking and dying of tuberculosis
f.) is drinking, dying of tuberculosis, gambling, and kicking someone’s ass
g.) is addicted to laudanum
This perfect vision of the world still applies to our world. (Though you could slip “is watching pornography on a cell phone while high on crystal meth and preparing to shoot a stranger in traffic” in there, too.) So many good things are in this movie: Billy Zane getting killed in cold blood, Kurt Russell saying shit like “Skin that smoke wagon” and “Hertz, donut” when he’s trying to say “Hurts, don’t it?”, Sam Elliott firing shotguns, pre-manorexic Billy Bob Thornton getting bitch-slapped by Russell, and Billy Zane getting killed in cold blood
We haven’t even touched the obvious quality–Val Kilmer as Doc Holliday–mostly because its quality as obvious as the parallels between Lane Kiffin and Urban Meyer in the clip above. Nonsense, I have not yet begun to defile myself. Just remember that line for when someone tells you you’ve had too much to drink. It sounds great, especially if you vomit onto their shoes just after saying it. In case you needed one more selling point, take the bit of trivia from IMDB that we may get as our epitaph:
Director George P. Cosmatos is quoted as saying that all lightning and mustaches are real.
No higher compliment can be paid to a life. (HT: Kevin.)
Chris with further praise and analysis of Paul Johnson’s maddeningly simple offense. Some coaches get irritated with the media for questioning their ability, or for criticizing their players, or because some part of them still looks out at a room full of reporters and thinks “NERRRRRRRRRRRDS.” When you interview him, the consistent look of mild contempt on Johnson’s face when you talk to him stems from your insistence on making what could be such a simple game so needlessly complex.
AP–LOS ANGELES. The Jackson family said they were moved by Lane Kiffin’s tribute to Michael Jackson yesterday in a formal statement issued through the Jackson family publicist.
“From one active recruiter of 13 year olds to another, we thank Coach Kiffin for his moving tribute to Michael’s work with youth,” read the statement. “We certainly appreciate it in this trying and difficult time, especially from someone so busy. Sincerely, the Jacksons.”
Kiffin could not be reached for comment, as he currently has his arm caught in a snack machine on the Tennessee campus.
Oh, you sexy Flexbone. Now with added passing, so you can avoid or at least mitigate those early skunkings against your brother when you fumble three times running the option and then have to pass like Mike Leach, but out of an option set just to have a chance at getting back in the game.
The best part about EA revising the NCAA series again and again is the annual admission of “Yeah, that always worked, because we did it to each other once the game came out, too.”
Not to be a historical statistical nihilist, but let’s be historical statistical nihilists. Cut any program deep enough with injury, and you will end up with a team bleeding out from the quarterback spot. Hinton and Blutarsky go back and forth on whether the SEC is experiencing a slump at the position. As a tangent to any and all discussions of whether the conference has a slump right now, just examine the OMG STELLAR SEC roster under center in 1995, which you probably in the fuzzy halcyon memories of yesteryear remember as a crew of titans lost to history.
Nope: just dudes, for the most part.
Ronnie Gordon, Vanderbilt. Freddie Kitchens/Brian Burgdorf, Alabama. Mike Bobo, Hines Ward, and Brian Smith. Barry Lunney, Arkansas. Danny Wuerffel, Florida. Peyton Manning, Tennessee. Jamie Howard and Herb Tyler, LSU. Josh Nelson, Ole Miss. Steve Taneyhill, South Carolina. Patrick Nix, Auburn. Derrick Taite, Mississippi State. Billie Jack Haskins, Kentucky.
Holy shit, we can only hope someone with a name like Billie Jack Haskins is at this moment kicking someone to death with a pair of alligator skin boots in the name of redneck justice. Also, as a point of interest, it should be mentioned that Vandy qb Ronnie Gordon had a 9/15, 2 INT, and 9 yard day against Alabama to open the 1995 season. You can’t see it, but we’re rocking the devil horns as hard as we can right now like it’s a Ratt concert.
Regression to the mean is the norm in a multifactorial equation like that of quarterback production, and the current bubble of say, Big 12 passers is pretty much what you see in any major conference: around two guys who will get drafted, say one or two lesser but still notable qbs, and the rest are the Derrick Taites of the world, and will do quite well with a dealership or brokerage with their name on it one day.
Uncle Rhabdo, Your Least Favorite Relative. Rice is proposing mandatory testing for sickle cell trait across all NCAA schools, something they learned the hard way in 2006 when Rice football player Dale Lloyd II died of “acute excertional rhabdomyolosis,” a condition often associated with the gene.
Uncle Rhabdo is not your friend: what happens is a rapid breakdown of skeletal muscle tissue through extreme exertion, with the resulting proteins traveling through the bloodstream and into the kidneys for bad things and occasionally fatal kidney failure. To show you how hard you have to work to get to this point without a genetic condition exacerbating the damage: rhabdo is particularly common in earthquake and bombing victims. So, yeah: if someone with sickle cell is going through their own private London Blitz during every brutal two-a-day, then you might want to test for that.
During one scene, each of the coaches greeted Bullock — who is portraying Leigh Anne Tuohy — at the front door of the Tuohys’ home. Once inside, the coaches had to recruit Oher and the Tuohys’ young son, Sean Jr.
“Orgeron came out of his seat and forearmed the couch,” Tuberville joked. “The rest of us looked a little more in control.”
Arkansas is your quiet blue-chipper here.DUI, off the team, and we’re in need of some Fulmer Cup scoring updates like WHOA.
We’re broadcasting live from McCarran Airport, where we’re waiting to leave the glittery hell of Las Vegas where we plumbed yet another new low in our athletic ineptitude by playing perhaps the 25th or 26th game of ping-pong in our lives against people who can do it with their eyes closed and a beer in their hand. It would have sucked, but grading ourselves against anyone there is like expecting a bear with oven mitts to land a helicopter cleanly and safely. It’s not even really a question of “how bad” so much as “Why, and with how much fire and screaming involved?”
Over this same sleep-deprived weekend we watched the United States cocktease the universe before getting a harsh tutelage by Brazil in South Africa at the Confederations Cup. The star of the tournament was the vuvuzela, the infinite farting noise you heard in the background of all the games of the tourney made by horns tooted incessantly by South African fans. It got us to thinking: What noisemakers not currently utilized by college football teams should be employed by whom, and in what fashion?
There’s only one clear answer, dear reader, and it starts with “air” and ends with “motherfuckin’ horn.”
Air horn.
Annoyance rating: 10/10. Probably a 15 yard unsportsmanlike penalty waiting to happen, but who cares because you’d never hear the call anyway. Or anything ever again, really. Not a renewable resource thanks to short shelf-life, and expensive to replace over the course of a season. Hot upside: when thrown, they stand a real chance of concussing someone. When employed by 10,000 at once will make players claw their faces off with frustration, much like the [NAME REDACTED] Coachin’ System for Gettin Better ‘n Better™ and a well executed triple option.
Team to click: Real threat of physical harm combined with near total hearing loss and hail of garbage? Temple University, your signature move is just waiting. Philly fans and airhorns are match almost as tasty as Philly fans and so, so many other things: stabbing, throwing bottles at each other’s heads, cheering paralysis on the part of an opponent, and general acts of malice. Alternate Match: Wisconsin, but only for the free-flowing riots resulting from that many drunk people firing airhorns at each other over a span of three and a half hours.
Also accepting nominations for: triangle, taiko drums, rape whistles, bass cowbell, 10,000 old smoke detectors all set off at once, everyone in the stands playing the “Sex And The City” ringtone at once (feminizing effect FTW!).
He will now broadcast rarely, and then only from the light towers.
Paul Maguire will take a “reduced role” in ABC/ESPN’s college football coverage this season, doing the occasional game and some radio and studio spots. Part one: no explanation is given. Part deux: Paul Maguire is 70. Part three: there’s your explanatio, Maguire probably just wants to putter around and do all the things old men do in the fall: futz around cleaning out the garden for winter planting, watching football with the kids, and holing up with the still, 400 shotgun shells, and some squirrel jerky in a handy cave until the county men stop looking for his shine-hole. Ah, Grandpa. We miss you every time we smell burning cordite.
If the notion of the Erotic Zorro of college football broadcasting reducing his role this fall makes you sad, let’s engage in some immediate emotional transference and heal that sadness with “Irish empathy,” aka pure, burning rage:
Other changes on ESPN’s college football will include adding Matt Millen as a game analyst.
Yup. It’s like that, and Gary Barnett wasn’t available. EDSBS officially offers ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS to the ESPN analyst who first reminds Matt Millen of his complete inability to do anything correctly on air. Craig James, you’re our only hope, and mostly only because you sometimes talk like you don’t even know you’re on air when you’re talking.
Collapsed lung: Minor injury. Nate Irving, NC State linebacker and the team leader in INTs in 2008, ran off the road early Sunday and pinballed his car off two trees before coming to a stop in a ditch and not doing anything too terrible to himself–if you don’t count breaking his leg and collapsing his lung as being too nasty a thing to do to yourself. Irving is fortunate to be alive, but after the backiotomy we realize that doctors are fond of the art of understatement and ironic omission when they diagnose your condition. A broken leg is indeed “non life-threatening,” but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt like a five hundred bee enema after a long bike ride.
There will be no Marques Slocums for the Wildcats. Arizona athletes must have their Facebook pages set to “private” as of this fall. A violation of the policy could result in the non-renewal of their athletic scholarship, even if it’s vitally important that the world know how well a starting linebacker is doing in their ongoing game of Mafia Wars.
Today, 13 year olds,tomorrow, promising fetuses. “His vigorous kicking and induction of painful morning sickness in his mother clearly indicate a fetus with a real potential for on-field domination.” Eric Berry’s 13 year old brother commits to Tennessee, gets long quotes in Rivals, and takes recruiting ever closer to the barren, rocky border between real life and Skeevy Internet Stalkistan.
In transit, again. Life returns to normal tomorrow, but we’re in transit again following our spectacular second round debacl’ing in the Hardcourt Table Tennis tourney. Posting will occur when possible.
This week’s installment of the Digital Viking: The EDSBS Guide to Spicy Living salutes a real American hero, Edwin Eugene “Buzz” Aldrin. Aldrin’s badass resume needs no full recap, as he was the second man to walk on the moon, which is clearly the best position ever since you’re not stupid enough to take the first step and therefore tramp right into the mouth of a waiting lunar sandworm. No, heroes go second, and suckers go first.
Aldrin also flew 66 missions over Korea, got a Ph.D. in Astronautics from MIT, took communion on the moon, appeared both and the Simpsons and on Punky Brewster, and has sick, sick flow on the mike. He also knows how to punch a bitch if he has to:
As the Prince of Astronauts, we salute you, Buzz Aldrin, and gulp floating orbs of martini in your honor. Cheers.
Our guest this week: Matt “Ufflepuff” Ufford of Warming Glow. Bon appetit.
Drink.
Holly: As previously honored on other, lesser websites, a nod to being on vacation for the next two weeks in 95 degree heat and 99% humidity — The Bull Gator: (more…)
How could they overlook Auburn/Mississippi State 2008? The ending to that one was so much better than any of these. Especially the rivers of uncontrollable vomit pouring from the stands after watching the TONY FRANKLIN EXPERIENCE shit itself uncontrollably against the contrasting craptaculosity of THE SYLVESTER CROOM PROLAPSED RECTUM ATTACK. Oh well, these will have to do for the moment.
We goin’ diamond, y’all. The fabulous history of Oregon’s uniforms is even wackier than you might remember. The Super Yellows, though, remain our favorite, if only for the screaming noise they make just sitting there and vibrating with radioactive energy.
The title is the only reason to read this article. If there is not, in a parallel universe, a noir crime novel named “Greg Robinson’s Four Naked Fingers”, then something has gone incredibly wrong with the multiverse as a whole. Robinson checked the dame. Her neck was cold. She had no pulse. He thought about the dead, smoked a cigarette, and then walked down the hall into hot dark night alone. Then, Syracuse fired him for sucking immensely. THE END.
ON LOCATION UPDATES! We’re out in Vegas, but two updates for the site. One: Spicy Livin’ will be up with a special guest this afternoon. Two: we’re up after one night in Vegas, and will celebrate by doing our best to change that status for the rest of the weekend. This new pair of shoes: Daddy needs them.
The hard part about memorializing a pedophile who made awesome music for a fifteen year period in his life is this: he is responsible for the ten stroke drum intro to “Rock With You,” the song that always played in my head in 1981 when Papa Swindle drove the Caprice Classic through downtown Atlanta on the way to a Braves game. And then: he also gave some kids a trust fund the hard way.
So, if possible, distill the good from the real, and just turn this up and dance like your ass is on fire. When he and Quincy Jones were in the same studio, shit. just. happened. Good shit, like weird sped-up bossa nova rhythm tracks and freaky horn breaks and session drummers as accurate as atomic clocks.
So, remember that if you like, and leave all the inappropriate and nevertheless funny jokes you like in the thread below. We blame Pepsi’s assassins for finishing the job they began 25 years ago.
Holla at Coach Sumlin, Holla at Coach Stoops. Bob Stoops bathes in the fancy ketchup. His new contract now has him poised–with performance incentives, of course–to make $5 million dollars a year coaching college football in 2011.
An additional bonus, termed in the contract an “Additional Stay Benefit,” of $800,000 will be paid following Jan. 1, 2011. Factoring in the $700,000 bonus already in place, as well as the automatic $200,000 annual private-funds bump also built into the contract, Stoops stands to make $4.875 million in 2011. And that’s before performance-based bonuses also included in the deal. Should the Sooners compete for the
Big 12 championship and a BCS bowl that season, as is typical under the coach, Stoops would clear the $5 million mark.
The contract is not without its humor, however, especially the clause “Oklahoma shall pay a basilisk and eleven billion dollars to Coach Stoops for winning the BCS Title game.”
Honey, get the vaseline. And no, not like that. I’m stuck. Goddamn these dancing hips, I’m seriously stuck here. SOMEONE CALL KRENZEL AND HIS BIG BRAIN TO FIGURE THIS OUT.
Tressel actually took this PR opportunity well once he took those very honest hips and extracted them from the trap of the cockpit of that F1 car. Hyah:
“You know, Graham called after the last couple of bowl games and said we needed more speed. So we said, ‘OK, we’ll get together and try to work on our speed,’ ” Tressel said, tongue in cheek. “It’s just an honor to meet Graham, and it was a tremendous adventure to get in one of those cars. I wouldn’t do it at 230, though, nor could I imagine doing it for 3 1/2 hours.”
…and insert your own joke about Ohio State being unable to go top speed for 3 1/2 hours here.
USC Poops Money. Sometimes on street corners into the hands of Tim Floyd, actually. USC’s total estimated punch in the LA area is $4.9 billion annually as a unit. Add in the supplemental cash thrown in by aspiring sports marketeers to USC recruits, and that sum nearly doubles! [/nevertookamathclass.]
Your fun Florida fact of the day: Did you know Florida had a football team before 1990? We did, and for the most part it was mediocre despite some dedicated and innovative cheating, the sheer balls of Jack Youngblood, and the hiring of a man known by the name of “Bear” Wolf in 1946. Wolf’s 13-24-2 record includes an 0-9 1946 season and a spectacular 7-7 tie with Tulane in 1947, which further proves our theory that not only are all coaches named “Bear” not created equal, but also that one animal name = good coach, two animal names = big ball o’ epic suck.
UPDATE!!! We’re in transit to Vegas to play in a ping-pong tournament. No, really. It’s going to be horrifically embarrassing. Posting will be slow on the whole, though we hope to get something up at midday if the Phoenix Airport Wireless allows.
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Orson Swindle and Stranko Montana are two men pushing thirty who should know better than to run a college football blog, but evidently don't. Both graduated from the University of Florida, and both agree that college football is far too important to be left to the professionals.
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Comments? Questions? Long strings of profanities directed at something we said? Please send your comments to harumphharumph -a- yahoo -dot- com. Please direct all tailgating photos and stories to edsbsfans -a- gmail -dot- com.
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