THE MUMME RETURNS. Today, June Jones wakes up hung over and checks his phone. There's a text message from his credit card company - "LARGE PURCHASE: Please call customer service if you suspect you are the victim of identity theft." But drunk contracts still count, June. Drunk contracts still count.
YOU KNOW WHAT LOOKS FUN ABOUT OFFSEASON CONDITIONING? Not a damn thing. Ok, scratch that - butt-harness tug of war does seem pretty hilarious. The rest of it, not so much.
EVERYONE HAS THIS RELATIVE. The older one, who just sort of says hyperemotional shit without thinking and is a real pain in the ass but doesn't realize it. The grandpa who believes he's entitled to complain about dinner because dammit he didn't want ham and what the hell is wrong with that. DeLoss Dodds is that relative for you, Texas.
THE INCREDIBLE SHRINKING TINY RICHARDSON. He's down to 326 and plans to play at 320, and oh he also wants to raise hell against Jadeveon Clowney. TOO BAD CLOWNEY ALREADY SACKED SATAN THREE TIMES CLICK CLACK.
ON THE ONE HAND. Whoever's next in line as Alabama's athletic director will face a difficult and highly scrutinized decision whenever Nick Saban hangs it up. On the other, Rick Neuheisel will work for minimum wage and bring muffins every morning. (They're really just cupcakes with the icing licked off, but still.)