1.

Everything changes; nothing dies; the soul
Roams to and fro, now here, now there, and takes
What frame it will, passing from beast to man,
From our own form to beast and never dies.

2.

His ear had a real nasty cut and it was dangling from his head, bleeding badly. He grabbed his own ear and tried to yank it from his head. His teammates stopped him and the managers bandaged him. Man was that guy a tough one. He wanted to tear off his own ear so he could keep playing.

(HT: Nathan.)

A few site notes: (more…)

Greg McMackin sits in a clutch of reporters at WAC Media Days. He discusses Hawai’i’s disappointing bowl game loss to Notre Dame. Digital recorders sit silently recording syllables.

McMackin: I know most of the coaches in the country are rooting for us to beat Notre Dame,” McMackin said. “Charlie gives this talk, ‘We do something special at Notre Dame,’ and (the players) get up and they do this little cheer … this little faggot dance.

Giggles. Then: sudden realization, followed by nauseating regret.

McMackin: Don’t write that ‘faggot’ down. I was misquoted,” he said. “Just please … cover for me,” McMackin said. “Go ahead, say ‘faggot dance.’ No. Please cover for me on that, too — right Karl? I’ll deny it. Anything else?

Reporter one: Could you clarify that, please?

McMackin: No, seriously. Please don’t print that. It was–

Reporter one: I just want to make sure you know what you’re saying here. What exactly is a “faggot dance?”

McMackin: No, really, I’m sorry, I chose my words poorly, and I–

Reporter two: [turns around laptop, points to picture.] Like this kind of dance?

(more…)

There’s a new baby rhino at the Tampa Zoo, and travesty already surrounds the process of naming it. Despite Tim Tebow’s obvious similarities to the firefighter of the savanna and his previous title as the Golden Beautiful Baby Rhino of Florida Football (Now the Full-Fledged Man-Trampling Godbeast Rhino of Florida Football,) the Tampa Zoo at Lowry Park has chosen nothing close to our football Lord and Savior’s name to glorify this beautiful animal with a moniker worthy of its blind rage and ability to bowl over other animals with ease.

There are other names, but they all suck massively.

Jaba (jeh-ba)“a flower or hibiscus” Or the Hutt. You don’t want a fatty fatty, frog eating rhino on your hands, do you Tampa zoo? Something every thirtysomething or geek will point to and, in their worst Jabba the Hutt imitation say things like “Jabba no botha!” or other things making you want to toss them into the polar bear habitat.

Jahki (jaan-kee) “of the earth” Too close to “jankety,” our favorite Southernism for “sketchy, fucked up, and ill-functioning.” Certainly not the kind of thing you want to curse a young battering ram with, no?

Jama (jeh-ma) “daughter” Daughter. Too sexist. Why not just go with “kama”, meaning “Thing.” IT’S LIKE YOU DON’T EVEN CARE TAMPA ZOO.

Janya (jahn-YAH) “born of the earth” As opposed to “born in the Dippin’ Dots cooler by the monkey exhibit.” Another statement of the obvious equal to “object” or “animal.” As far as naming goes, it’s like voting “present.”

Jaya (JAY-ah) “victory or victorious” Tebow is in fact a synonym for this, and thus renders this redundant.

Tampa Zoo, add “Tebow” to the list or face the ignominy of having the spirit animal of the finest quarterback in the land wailing sad Rhino tears at not having the same name as his master. That noise you hear in the night? Plaintive wailing towards his keeper 130 or so miles to the north in Gainesville.

The first warp-spasm seized Cúchulainn, and made him into a monstrous thing, hideous and shapeless, unheard of. His shanks and his joints, every knuckle and angle and organ from head to foot, shook like a tree in the flood or a reed in the stream. His body made a furious twist inside his skin, so that his feet and shins switched to the rear and his heels and calves switched to the front… On his head the temple-sinews stretched to the nape of his neck, each mighty, immense, measureless knob as big as the head of a month-old child… he sucked one eye so deep into his head that a wild crane couldn’t probe it onto his cheek out of the depths of his skull; the other eye fell out along his cheek. His mouth weirdly distorted: his cheek peeled back from his jaws until the gullet appeared, his lungs and his liver flapped in his mouth and throat, his lower jaw struck the upper a lion-killing blow, and fiery flakes large as a ram’s fleece reached his mouth from his throat… The hair of his head twisted like the tange of a red thornbush stuck in a gap; if a royal apple tree with all its kingly fruit were shaken above him, scarce an apple would reach the ground but each would be spiked on a bristle of his hair as it stood up on his scalp with rage.

The battery on TCOAN’s car died, so we’re off to the rescue, go-cup of Mai-Tai in hand. (When champagne comes in convenient can form–and we’re not talking that saccharine Coppola shit, either–we’ll take that instead.)

Quick things deserving address:

–Pac-10 Media Days, What! Watch the linked stream as every single coach and their players run back-to-back today. Steve Sarkisian, like Lane Kiffin, is a Carroll clone who speaks very quickly no matter the question. Oh, you can also tweet in questions here.

–Conference USA is having their media days in an all-virtual setting, and Graham Watson is doing an extremely entertaining job covering the spasms of doing a media event with live mikes and technical strokes happening all over the place. “One of the media members, maybe not know his line was open, just said, “This isn’t going very well.”"

–USF just became eligible for the Team Fulmer Cup award, and is now likely tied. No formal award yet, but if the usual one point suspended license sum applies, they would be tied at 17 with Hawaii. Since we don’t like ties, we’ll have to have some kind of method of breaking this unholy arrangement.

–Also: seen, and points to be assessed in separate entry.

A knock at the door of a bachelorette party somewhere in Iowa City.

Ladies, I’m sorry to interrupt the party. I’m gonna have to ask you to quiet down, ladies. I know, I know. You’re having a bachelorette party, and you want to have some fun.

But we’re working on film next door, and discussing coverages, and it’s all really distracting for a group that could become the best linebacking corps in the Big Ten. The offseason is particularly important to us. It is the time when we gel as a team, study the opposition, and prepare ourselves physically and mentally for the rigors of the upcoming season. I know this is a special time for you, ma’am. Congratulations on your special day coming up.

We have a special day, too. It’s our opener against Northern Iowa on September 5th. What position will I be playing, ma’am? I’m a linebacker, though if you need me to switch positions, I will. Especially if you ladies happen to need…

This music starts playing.

…A QUALITY TIGHT END FOR THE EVENING. WOOOO!!! LET’S GET THIS PARTY STARTED COWBOY STYLE!!!

The camera fades as he begins to gyrate toward the bride.

FIN.

HT: Doc Saturday.

And here face down beneath the sun
And here upon earth’s noonward height
To feel the always coming on
The always rising of the night

I’m telling you all–it all falls down…

Scene: The post Big Ten Media Day dinner at Gibson’s Steakhouse in Chicago. Rich Rodriguez is dining at a table with several Michigan types. Jamie Foxx sits down at the table next to Rich Rodriguez.

RR: Hey! Weren’t you in Booty Call?

JF: Among other things, yeah, man.

RR: I remember that. You put a rubber glove on your stuff instead of a condom. That was GREAT.

JF: Thank you. What do you do?

RR: Well, I coach football. At the University of Michigan. But we had a pretty bad year last year.

RR looks hurt. He trails off.

JF: Hey, now. Let’s turn that frown upside down. You can talk about it.

RR: Naw, it’s…it’s difficult for me. It was so painful.

JF: It can’t be that bad, man.

RR: (pauses) We lost to Toledo.

JF: Oh, now, I didn’t know it was like that. You’re gonna have to sing that one out.

RR: I’m sorry?

JF: It’s the only way you’ll feel better about it. I’ll drop the beat for you, and you can just sing it. You heard my hit song, “Blame it on the Alcohol?”

RR: Have I? You bet. Gary Moeller loves that jam.

JF: Well, I just lay the track down like this…

RR: Really, I don’t know if I could…

Sultry drum machine kicks in. Rich Rod pulls an autotuned mike from his pocket.

(more…)