FUCK YEAH RICKY STANZI. Don't you represent an entire, vaguely defined way of life as imagined by someone who doesn't live there as a kind of wholesome, polar opposite to their cluttered life somewhere else? Well don't you Ricky Stanzi? Ricky Stanzi: I'm going to quote a few bumper stickers and then look back at my teammates to let the world know I'm making fun of your extremely retarded question. Good to see someone's keeping up the heritage of Great Americanhood established by J Leman in the Big Ten. Adrian Clayborn. Goddamn, Adrian Clayborn. The only positive yards Georgia Tech really managed to pick up last night came running away from Adrian Clayborn, which proves that the advice of "running away from Adrian Clayborn is always a good idea, even if his dog is adorable COME PWAY WITTLE THING." Clayborn had eight tackles and two sacks in the first half alone, Tech was destroyed at the line all night, and that made the difference, something anyone who saw Brandon Wegher skating four yards before contact saw all too clearly last night. In both of their bowl games under Paul Johnson Tech has been paved clean at the line by superior talent, which has everything to do with recruiting and little to do with the system--though the month to prepare certainly has something to do with performing well against the triple flexbone lindy. Stephen Hawking, meet a 9th grade science teacher busy filling out law school applications. The matchup between Greg Davis and Nick Saban might not work out that well for Texas, something expounded upon at great length here. They didn't tell Cody about this. Other people got food, meaning the Lowry's Beef Bowl had to happen without Mt. Cody's knowledge. Presumably they distracted him by saying "The citizens of Pasadena taste like sausage and happiness, Terrance!", and then ran the other way while he was busy playing Godzilla. We didn't mean all those horrible things here's some money. Stan Drayton returns to UF, and now we can expect tailback production on par with Deshawn Wynn's 2006 monster season. 699 yards. Get ready, motherfuckers. |
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