The Alphabetical is up at SBNation, including the verdict on whether you'll miss this year's crop of supremely unmissable and unlovable coaches: NEIN.
Also, in rapidly developing news shocking no one, Charlie Weis is out at at Notre Dame, beginning the hiring piracy season in earnest, and accelerating any and all Bob Stoops rumors in earnest. Joe Schad said it, and when you see his face see the mouth of a young, fake-bearded Charleston Heston speaking in Hebrew, because his is the word of the Lord and his unimpeachable sources.
OH ORSON [contemptuous and overly rehearsed laugh] UR JUST AFRAID OF LOSING URBAN. WHAT ABOUT HIM?
Sure. We're terrified of losing our coach to a team that cannot and will not outbid our own collection of shady, amoral, and filthy rich boosters.
Additionally, said team will not admit the same marginally literate and occasionally dodgy citizens who populate our rosters here in the SEC into their university due to some sad notion of being "a student-athlete." Oh, Indiana? Is that your collective football base showing its leg? Because if that doesn't turn you on, you're goig to have to find your booty elsewhere, as in sitting on a plane for a third of the year recruiting nationwide, which is fun if you're a photosynthetic being like Pete Carroll who requires water, sunshine, and no sleep, and dogshit if you're not named Pete Carroll, Charismatic Houseplant Genius. And even he doesn't really even have to do that, unlike Notre Dame, who really, really does.
OH KEEP TALKING [ADDITIONAL CONTEMPTUOUS LAUGH!] HE SAID IT WAS HIS DREAM JOB!
Sure. And when we were kids, our dream job was being an X-wing pilot, but did you notice how many of those motherfuckers ended up a fine smear on the side of the Death Star? We checked our nametag, realized that not only were we not named Wedge Antilles, but also that X-wings were not real. Then we wanted to be an adult film star like all other adolescent boys, but time and the thought of staring coked-out and praying for a hard-on over the gaping outflow pipe of a meth addict in a a dreary Porn Valley apartment with the camera rolling quickly disabused us of that notion. So did several negative reviews, too, but therapy is a wonderful thing, especially when you buy it 16 oz of it at a time in Imperial pints.
The point is that dream jobs are just that: dreams. He'd get there, and we bet he'd not do much better than his predecessors because it should be fairly obvious that after throwing three very, very different coaches at the problem with little to no change in their total results, the problem is a structural one, one with recruiting, geography, and most likely the obstructions the administration allegedly puts in the way of every coach--even Lou Holtz, as good a charming Artful Dodger of recruiting and admissions obstructions as exists. (His record speaks for itself in this department.)
SURE, SURE. KEEP TALKING THAT WAY. YOU JUST STAY THERE IN THAT BUNKER.
It is warm in here.