GOOD TO SEE OKLAHOMA STATE HAS NO REASON TO BE MAD AT THE MEDIA
by Spencer Hall on Jul 29, 2010 5:23 PM EDT
13 comments
On September 22, 2010, a momentous moment will pass: the anniversary of the "I'm a man, I'm 40 rant." Mike Gundy's soliloquy is now in its third year, and may have improved with age like a wine aging gracefully. Mmm, notes of cherry-flavored rage, tobacco-scented instability, and a finish of--is that sleep deprivation? Why, yes, that's delicious and patience-shredding sleep deprivation in there.
Since that eruption the Oklahoma State media and Gundy have had what has been a mostly harmonious relationship. Gundy has done his part by being a more polite Gundy, even when his teams have suffered high-profile losses in the Big 12 South in the successive "This is the breakout year!" years Oklahoma State have played. He's been patient, affable, and the press have responded in kind by not printing anything that would offend the--
GODDAMMIT IF YOU'RE GOING TO HINT THAT WE'RE ALL HOMOSEXUAL THEN HINT THAT I'M A HOMOSEXUAL I'M A MAN I'M I'M 42 I HAVE KIDS SO I WOULD HAVE AT LEAST DONE MY PART TO DO THE STRAIGHT THING IF I WERE GAY AND GIVEN IT THE OLD COLLEGE TRY NOT THAT I'M GAY OR THAT THERE'S ANYTHING WRONG WITH IT WAS IT THE HAIR GEL? DAMMIT I JUST LIKE A NICE HOLD SO I DON'T HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT MY COWLICKS THEY'RE THE CURSE OF THE MEN IN MY FAMILY ALONG WITH SPLIT CUTICLES AND COMBINATION SKIN AND WELL THIS ISN'T HELPING NOW IS IT?
/drops newspapers on floor.
GARBAGE!
(H/T: Doc Saturday.)
13 comments | 2 recs |
And yet, in less than two years, the man has, quite justifiably, developed into a near-universally despised figure -- and I can't for the life of me figure out whether it's intentional or accidental, whether he's genuinely affected or apathetic about the venom directed toward him. Is he a chronic manipulator who will step on however many toes it takes to succeed, or is he a football-centric savant that never developed basic social cues for appropriateness?
Why not both, Stewart Mandel, but take out the savant bit about Kiffin there?
WELCOME, WILD SAMOAN. HERE IS YOUR EDUCATIONAL PAMPHLET.
by Spencer Hall on Jul 29, 2010 2:32 PM EDT
61 comments
Hello, SEC quarterback Jeremiah Masoli. Welcome to your new home at Ole Miss. We hope you can leave the turmoil of your time at Oregon behind you. My, thousands of words on one stolen laptop! Presidential assassinations have received fewer words. We're talking about small countries, of course, where everyone wakes up one day and has a bulletin on the door reading:
WE REGRET TO INFORM
YOU THAT YOUR PRESIDENT NGATHA
HAS BEEN SHOT.
YOUR NEW PRESIDENT IS AHEMBE.
HE'S A DECENT CHAP, EVEN IF HE DID SHOOT NGATHA.
CARRY ON.
If this reference confuses you, it is because you either are unfamiliar with small African countries' politics, or are unfamiliar with SEC politics. (Because football fans often find this note on their door, and if you don't believe us ask Tennessee fans.) To that end, let's get you up to speed.
YOUR COACH: Is barking mad, but you knew that already. We have several varieties of insane in conference. There's actively insane, like Les Miles. Actively insane calls a bomb into the endzone down by one in comfortable field goal range with mere seconds on the clock, or lets the clock run out for two minutes before spiking the ball with no time left. Les Miles is actively insane.
Houston Nutt, your new coach, is a passive kind of insane. He gesticulates wildly. His eyes bug out in his head like a puppets as he implores his players to "be like his daddy's dog." He may have used the bathroom on air with the Solid Verbal, calls the occasional wacky trick play, and GIGGITYs like no man born before him, but he's at root deeply competent. Nutt is 18-8 in two years at Ole Miss despite being overmatched talent-wise at many positions relative to his SEC opposition. He may look insane, but it's a benign madness with largely good results.
WILL MY COACH ASK ME TO FIGHT THE ROBOTS EARLY ONE MORNING WHILE BRANDISHING A FIREARM? Probably not: Nutt would first try to get the robots to hug, understand the passion they share for life and living, and then just throw his quarterback at the robot horde and hoped something good happened when the going got really tough.
ARE YOU IMPLYING OLE MISS MIGHT NOT DEVELOP MY SKILLS AS A QUARTERBACK? No, we wouldn't imply that. That would be a sneaky way of saying it. Houston Nutt, an offensive coach, has not ever had a quarterback drafted as a quarterback by the NFL, win a Davey O'Brien award, sniff a Heisman, or appear to be anything more than a random Juggs machine with legs under center.
Note that we wrote "as a quarterback." This is because Nutt qb Matt Jones was drafted in the first round of the 2005 draft as a wide receiver. He then fulfilled his contract with Jacksonville by getting arrested for cocaine possession. We totally understand this because there is little to do in Jacksonville but keep warm on frigid winter's nights by sitting next to burning mounds of adult diapers and snorting blow. You're only human, Mr. Jones.
This is not to say, Mr. Masoli, that you will not win at Ole Miss. Your legs might keep you alive behind a line with only two returning starters. Brandon Bolden, a teeth-rattler of a running back, could make play action a real threat in the passing game. (As long as you're running off one side of the line only, but still.) Markeith Summers is your one established target, but that's one more than zero, and that's called winning in a resource-deprived environment.
What you will not do is run one of those fancy passing games like Mr. Petrino, your future coach somewhere down the line in the NFL or possibly college*, has up at Nutt's old GIGGITY'ing grounds in Fayetteville. This is Redbird Reading Group material with some Wild Rebel thrown in, and in college that can get you to the Cotton Bowl. Not bad, but not the Swole Shirt of Draft Rating you might be looking for here.
HR SAYS HERE ARE YOUR BENEFITS: A ridiculously high quality of life at Ole Miss. A complete lack of "friends" at first, which is good if that SI piece is clear on what your friends sometimes get you into. A guarantee of television time, since ESPN/SEC/sitting-in-a-tree-and-fucking-wildly. We put the EDSBS bank on this one, and give it its own line:
ONE WILD, INEXPLICABLE VICTORY OVER A SUPERIOR TEAM.
That's always part of the Houston Nutt package. Additionally, we also guarantee this:
AN IMMEDIATE LETDOWN THE FOLLOWING WEEK.
We do not believe in anything that cannot be counted, but sometimes we're willing to admit that we might sort of be wrong on this point when the evidence mounts. Houston Nutt may be a kind of telekinetic mad genius, and thus can with his will influence events on the field with his mind. The trick? He can only do it once or twice a year, and then watches as his power bar in the lower left hand corner of the screen shrinks to a burnt red nub the following week.
Oh, and you'll have to become deeply bonded to lacy cursive script in a hurry, but don't have to learn shit about a mascot. They don't have one unless you count Shepherd Smith, and if you want to know anything about him you can just walk up and ask him in the Grove. He reportedly puts up his own tents with a cigarette in his mouth and a beer in hand, and regardless of what you may think of Fox News you must admit that is some chill bro-ness of a universal nature.
WHAT IS THIS HORRIBLE FEELING I CAN'T ESCAPE? It's called humidity, and you'll never escape it. Cutting your hair was a really, really excellent idea, though the Polynesian Battle-Fro would have sprung to unseen heights in the muggy Mississippi air, and missing that is a bit of a shame.
*We're just playing odds here.
61 comments | 1 recs |
Orson: "Dear Sorryche: What I'd really like is a video of nothing but Florida defenders knocking the shit out of people to the tune of Radiohead's 'Bodysnatchers.' I'd set my house on fire and tackle it all morning if you did that. Love, Orson."
Sorryche: "Done, and done."
Orson: "Thanks!" /setshouseonfireandtacklesit
THE CURIOUS INDEX, 7/29/2010
by Spencer Hall on Jul 29, 2010 9:46 AM EDT
48 comments
GOVERNOR OTTER WILL NOT INTERFERE, THOUGH HE WILL LOOK CUTE OVER HERE. There will be no government interference in the brisk hatred between Boise State and Idaho and their scheduling. This is leading The Curious Index to remind you that even Governor Otter's power has his limits, even if he is capable of standing on his hind legs and holding a beer in adorable fashion. Any further press inquiries will have to wait until after Governor Otter's band practice.
Mmm. Barbecue.
If we owe the Idaho/BSU blowup for anything, it's giving us an excuse to post Emmet Otter's Jug Band Christmas clips.
DUDE I GOT THE CASH I JUST NEED A FEW DAYS. Texas A&M is not demanding $20 million from the Big 12. It has been promised $20 million a year under the new terms of the Big 12's still-unsigned television deal, the deal Dan Beebe made with God while looking into this special Alamo Bowl hat over here with his magic glasses. This all stems from the Left Behind wing of schools--i.e., Baylor, Kansas, KSU, etc--agreeing to give up portions of their contracts to push OU, UT, and TAMU's share to $20 mill a piece.
UT and OU declined this move, but the Aggies are in the process of repaying a $16 million loan back to the university, and did not in fact decline this payment. Beebe has the cash, and he could pay, but...we'll talk, dude. The Big 12 remains a conference held together by dental floss, hype, and the fluttering hands of Dan Beebe, a raft made of driftwood and garbage coming apart in a light squall, a herd of cats Beebe is enticing across the plains with a dwindling supply of Fancy Feast thrown from the back of a smoking pickup truck with three flat tires and a tubercular engine.
Legal recourse is first, and snuggling into the warm arms of Mike Slive is next.
YURT ROCK. Cal is going to do their training Mongolian-style for the next year as renovations and the construction of their new athletic complex force them into a series of tents the SF Chronicle refers to as "a glorified yurt." It's a fourteen thousand foot yurt, something Genghis Khan himself would have admired, taken from you, and told you about while he ground you to powder and impregnated your women, but he was just nice enough to at least compliment you on the quality of the tent while doing so.
MO ON MO CLARETT: Luke's got the complete review of the Clarett saga, which you think you remember, but then read and recall exactly how bizarre the man's career and subsequent odyssey was, and just how much trouble mileage he got out of one injury-shortened season as an 18 year old freshman.
HOUSTON NUTT AS A BATSHIT INSANE BRITISH COLONEL? Why yes, Michael, that is about right.
FULMER CUPDATE: OKLAHOMA RUNNING BACK ADMITS TO MAGICAL TWO DRINKS
by Spencer Hall on Jul 28, 2010 2:59 PM EDT
57 comments
Why, oh why, does two drinks seem to make the most sense to drunk drivers pulled over for suspicion of DUI? No one admits to having three drinks, perhaps because three drinks is quite a vent of the old steam valve if you're doing it properly. Admitting four is just admitting that you've had twelve, because four properly mixed drinks should get anyone but the most hardened soldier a proper degree of welcome shell shock. Five and above is the truth, and should never tell that when asked the question "How many drinks have you had tonight?" by anyone.
Isn't that right, Peter?
So two drinks it is in the brain of the drunk, the total amount Oklahoma fifth-year senior Mossis Madu admitted to having when Norman police pulled him over at 3 a.m. on Saturday in an overly chill state. (Overly chill to drive, that is.) Madu may not have been lying when he said two drinks as long as they were served in beer steins, and were martinis: he blew a robust 0.19 on the breath test, and was charged with DUI.
Madu's hopes for playing time may not be dead, however. Bob Stoops says he expects Murray to shoulder much of the load this season in an Adrian Peterson-ish fashion. This means Murray has a 66% chance of breaking his collarbone, so stay fit, Mossis. In the meantime, you score two points for the Oklahoma Sooners in the Fulmer Cup. Also, if you're reading this out loud in your head, we're pronouncing this "Moss-Iss," because that is a very, very silly way to spell Charleton Heston's name, and we would say that to your parents and their faces and everything.
A LESSON IN WHY YOUR MEDIA SETUP SUCKS
XOS and the SEC, we are now about to show you why your media setup sucks beyond all belief. You have an entertaining clip of Kentrell Lockett absolutely slaying an imitation of Houston Nutt. It has crazy eyes and everything. It's magnificent. Man, we wish we could give your brand free advertising by--POP!---putting it and your logo right here.
Instead, I have to tell everyone this: go to the link. Hit "original programming." Then hit ""Kentrell Lockett on Houston Nutt." Three steps is more than anyone should have to take to get your content, SEC. And don't even mention your embeddable tumor of a video player. It's like strapping a record player to your head when you really want an MP3 player.
BABY PICTURES OF THE URBAN MEYER OFFENSE. AWWWW SO CUTE.
by Spencer Hall on Jul 28, 2010 1:01 PM EDT
39 comments
Via John, your attention is pointed to baby pictures of the Urban Meyer offense in one of its first appearances against Stanford in 2000. Well, hello Matt LoVecchio: if you remembered that name, your brain officially clings to useless information. Feed it new information and ask that it discard that and the phone numbers from youth you still occasionally dial when attempting to call someone. Your brain will refuse, of course, but it's nice to ask it impossible favors every now and then, which is why you tried to actually read Marquez in Spanish one summer. Man, that was good nappin'.
The video is only the first series, but you'll recognize it soon enough:
That is Urban Meyer you see LoVecchio talking to on the sidelines, and that is a damn Meyer-ish offense rolling down the field against Stanford and Ty Willingham. Play action off the zone read, then the zone read, end-around out of an empty backfield, I-formation option, the wishbone with play-action just for the hell of it, then a double flourish with a shift into the flexbone because fuck you, that's why, then shifting into the shotgun, another qb keeper off the read, another keeper and more I-formation before the red zone finisher of a slant thrown into a void vacated by linebackers crashing the qb draw/blitzing. Six formations, option running, play-action bootlegs, and slant thrown through hapless defense for TD. Ahhhhh.
/has cigarette.
The experiment was short-lived, and didn't produce this kind of yardage for the rest of the game (ND finished with fewer yards than Stanford, who threw the ball 43 times in the game in giving Irish fans a preview of future offensive stagnation and crapulence) or the season. It does, however, give you a snapshot of the moment one of the most influential and widely used offenses in football today began its slow crawl from the mire and onto dry land, where it would succeed the dinosaurs and roam the earth in fuzzy, warm-blooded glory.
(As for the counter-swing towards power-running, the metaphor remains valid. Reintroducing big power runs out of the I-formation and other big sets is a bit like reintroducing the T-Rex into the current ecosystem. It causes trouble, especially when you don't have the requisite artillery up front to counter.)
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