We’re off to the airport for Miami with the speed of angels driving a MARTA train, hoping to witness something as cold…as ice [/puts on sunglasses YEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!] in our beloved mythical national title game. With any luck, we’ll be waving a fistful of dollars at a cockfight by 1 a.m.

You say Colt McCoy won that game. We say Poehlmann’s oily, floppy coiffure and asskicking towel-waving did it. Fox’s cameramen made many an error last night, but the one who kept drifting back to that Tijuana Nightlife Helmet? He’s all right in our book.

Do you watch this show? Please turn yourself in for “voluntary retirement” immediately.

For some illuminating contrast, the Rose Bowl pulled a 12.6 even with an assured Penn State slaughter on the menu. For an even more illuminating and possibly life-altering contrast, consider the contrast with these television ratings, which show that more people watched your average episode of Two and a Half Men than took time out of their week to watch Cincy/Va. Tech. Also: if you were wondering the exact portion of the United States population who might serve the populace better as labor animals, meat, or as batteries to fuel the supercomputers of tomorrow…that number has been recalculated to mean exactly 12 percent of the television viewing audience.

Photo: Tricia Coyne, Gainesville Sun.

And yes, Brandon Spikes said this:

“They are a step slower. It will be different for them when they see the speed of our defense,” Spikes said.

Brandon Spikes is also the father of time, author of Tristram Shandy, an accomplished auto-gyro pilot, dandy man-about-town, and was the second president of the nation of East Timor. We question nothing the man says, does, or thinks as long as he keeps intercepting passes with his telescoping go-go-badass arms.

Hi. I’m an anonymous African American football player at the University of Utah. On the eve of this game you might wonder: why would a talented young black man such as myself go to a place that doesn’t have many of my people in it?

You’d be surprised as to the reasons why. First, Coach Whittingham has done a great job making sure everyone’s comfortable here. He has prayer groups for the Mormons so they feel comfortable. He makes sure we know about churches here in our community, too, and lets us know how welcome and valued we are.

Second, it’s a great community: clean, quiet, and with just enough things to do if you want to stay busy. The outdoor sports scene is great if you like it. There are clubs, and you can hang out with the Utah Jazz if you want to–it’s a big city, sure, but it’s got that small town vibe, too.

Third, it really is a great football program. I’ve learned so much here, and grown so much as a person. I owe the fans and the program so much, and will be a Ute for life.

You know why I really went here?

You betcha: the old-fashioned hot retro gayness of it all.

As a gay football player, I could have gone to any number of football programs offering up a red-hot cauldron of man-meat marinading in a steamy broth of testosterone, hair gel, and house music. Miami, Cal, or Georgia Tech, for example, all would have offered proximity to vibrant gay communities filled with the things most gay men find necessary: gyms, gyms, well-decorated bars with single-word names, dog salons…you know. The essentials.

I was charmed, though, by the retro-poofery of Utah. You know who’s gay from the start. The male French teacher you meet at the grocery store buying spelt bread? In some towns, you might be hitting on a straight guy with “diverse interests,” but in Utah? He’s always 100% totally and completely gay. So is someone’s “crazy uncle,” the guy who wears Christmas Sweaters in May, and youth counselors at churches.

It’s like being gay in the 1950s, really, and that’s what charmed me so completely and utterly into going to Utah. I don’t have to be on the “down-low” here. I just have to deal with being “sensitive” and “artistic,” and that’s my cross to bear for the cost of the guilty, hot, shame-stained sex I’m having with your “zany” hairdresser in the back of his Dodge Caliber on a desert road just outside of Salt Lake.

It’s like I’m James Bond, and I’m on a secret mission every day to infiltrate the enemy. And his ass.

Signed,

Anonymous Gay Ute

ps. Alex Smith? No, though believe me, I wish he was.

pps. Good thing about Mormons? Not clingy, as they never call back.

ppps. We’re going to die tonight, but the upside? Hot confused Bama boys in the Quarter, baby! Mmm, those bangs…

(HT: Kevin and William.) This is most likely some giggle-worthy prankdom by Fox staffers, though Samuel Huntington would say that this is actually the Muslim Tebow, and that the two must meet and clash to determine the path of the 21st century because, um…because he said so. Also, if Tebow has been playing offensive line for Cincy and qb for Florida, we know why: his undivided attention would result in a 12 men in the huddle penalty on every play even though there’s only 11 men on the field. It’s just a matter of necessity, really.

Rose Bowl, open thread, evening and onward. Zombies and angels, the field is yours.

UPDATE! There’s now way in fucking hell we’re doing anything for the Orange BLOL tonight, and we do not apologize. We will do anything for love, but we won’t do that. Fun note, though: from pregame footage, have safely ascertained that Macho Harris has the Mariah Carey effect going on, and could be of any ethnicity whatsoever. Paraguayan? Algerian? Mexican? Half-Maori Australian? Yes.

we are whispering because we bet you have a hangover and because lee corso is yelling about USC getting “screwed” out of the national championship game cool! you can say “screwed” on espn now well the outback bowl is on at 11 which is totally wrong and yet here we are and it is happening.

we recommend pedialyte and we recommend someone else get it for you . this is your open thread for the outback bowl. perhaps you should drink less next time hahaha you won’t but it’s a nice thought.

(image: steve spurrier seen five minutes before kickoff)

Incorrect: the first quarter was ending with the score 17-7, meaning the Armed Forces Bowl has gone just as planned: two of the most aggressive and college-licious offenses running sluttily up and down the field unimpeded by your “defenses.” Air Force is currently holding our heart in its hands thanks to the repeated and vicious fullback running of Aaron Kirchoff Jared Tew, which is already priming us nicely for the fun of watching Jonathan Dwyer through LSU’s midfield tonight.

This game, btw, will last seven hours at this pace. We hope you packed provisions.

The Armed Forces Bowl is just getting started. Bring enough water.

“As I always said, you never underestimate the spirit of a human being,” Quinn said. “A lot of times you look at profile, height, weight and things of that nature. But you can never really see what’s in a kid’s chest, in his heart and what’s between his ears and his smarts.”

Rey Maualuga disagrees. You can see all of that if you hit someones hard enough in the sternum or skull. T.J. Ward also disagrees with your statement, as you can clearly see Zac Robinson’s amygdala fly from his ear on this hit, which we’re posting twice because it gives us a rage-boner like you wouldn’t believe.

Good lord: the Armed Forces Bowl is on. Consider the comments an open thread for the early game today, and please leave work. No one’s getting anything done thinking about the hot sex of Dave Wannstedt appearing on their television in two hours anyway.

After the jump, please find LaGarrette Blount’s muscular run through the slap-happy Oklahoma State defense, who clearly had no idea what kind of angry livestock they were attempting to rustle on this play. Index along in a minute:

…and then watch as we haphazardly employ the rules of the Holiday Bowl drinking game to disastrous effect. As commenters have pointed out, if we drink every time someone scores, we could be speaking with Dylan Thomas directly and personally by halftime. Either way nothing’s going gently into that good night with this game.

Hear you then.

TEARS OF THE BUN: SCENE ONE

SCENE: Refugee camp, Boise, Idaho. Extras cough theatrical coughs in between wailing at the sky. A low thumping from the east reveals helicopters thumping their rotors against the brilliant yellow blastlight of a rising sun. The choppers touch down.

Armed men exit. Colonel RALPH FRIEDGEN enters the frame, his handsome chins framed in the light.

FRIEDGEN: Where are our support troops?

COMMANDER CHRIS TURNER steps into frame.

TURNER: They…there are only 800 of them at most, sir.

FRIEDGEN: We’re stranded out here.

TURNER: Yessir. That happens when you lose games down the stretch and Clemson actually travels to bowl games. It’s a heapshitpile, sir.

FRIEDGEN: Yes, it is.

TURNER: But the Roady’s guys gave us these goody bags full of over-the-counter methamphetamine substitutes and porn mags, coach. We’re not completely stranded.

FRIEDGEN: We could run…but that’s not what soldiers do. We’ll take on the Wolfpack and their eight foot tall, 200 pound anorexic white Vince Young of a quarterback.

TURNER: Yes sir.

FRIEDGEN: And we’ll muddle around for four quarters like we always do.

TURNER: Yes sir.

FRIEDGEN: And we’ll get back in the game off a punt return or a reverse, only to win or lose it by three points with no real ability to control which way it goes because that’s how we do at Maryland.

TURNER: That’s right, sir.

FRIEDGEN: Where’s Heyward-Bey, Turner?

TURNER: I don’t know, sir. Why do you ask?

FRIEDGEN: Just remind me to ignore him for three quarters, and then finally get him the ball when we’re closest to actual doom and everyone knows he’s getting it.

TURNER: Right.

FRIEDGEN pauses, and casts a steely glance into the distance.

FRIEDGEN: God, you have the curls of an angel, Commander.

TURNER: Um, thank you sir.

FRIEDGEN: You use Bumble and Bumble on that, don’t you?

TURNER: No, sir. This is all natural.

FRIEDGEN: You lying bitch.

Wolves growl in the distance. The men reluctantly suit up.

ANNOUNCER: Some wars you fight. Some wars fight you. And sometimes, you don’t even know what you’re fighting for, especially when you’re the eighth bowl pick from the ACC and don’t travel well.

TEARS OF THE BUN: It might be good. It might not. Just like Maryland on any given day.

“Tears of the Bun” is available for purchase as a screen play for 14.97 from Swindle Industries. Maryland doesn’t even want to play this game, which is the Humanitarian Bowl, which will feature no more ACC teams after next year and hip hip huzzah for that.

The rules are open to debate before our final announcement post tonight, so the proposed rules thus far for our Alcoholocast of tonight’s Oregon/Oklahoma State Pacific Holiday Bowl are:

Take a sip if:

–They show that goddamn whale.

–Chris Fowler gets huffy.
–Jesse Palmer happily admits to not knowing something.
–Craig James goes WOOOOOOO!!!!
–An Erin Andrews sign is shown
–A graphic makes a whooshing or metallic sound.
–References to Oregon’s uniforms are made.

Take a full-throated glug for:

–A score.
–A turnover.
–A Craig James giggle-fit
–An Anchorman reference
–An “I’m a man I’m forty” reference

Finish your drink for:

–Craig James being called “Pony”
–Mike Gundy getting angry on camera.
–A shot of Erin Andrews’ astonishingly spaced cricket wickets

Your submissions are solicited and encouraged below.

IN A WORLD where sometimes life doesn’t go the way you’d planned . . .

A vast, severely furnished editor-in-chief’s office on the 32nd floor of a Manhattan skyscraper. Big East commissioner MIKE TRANGHESE sits behind a black lacquered desk, regarding RUTGERS with a critical eye.

TRANGHESE: You were one of our rising stars. Three straight bowl appearances, an 11-win season, this close to a BCS bid . . . what happened to you?

RUTGERS: Just a string of bad luck. Honest. Give me a few more weeks, I can turn it around! . . .

TRANGHESE: (shakes head gravely) I’d like to believe you, Scarlett, I really would. But you lost to Fresno State by 17, UNC by 32 . . . and we just don’t have that kind of time.

ANNOUNCER: . . . one Big East team is about to find that life is happiest . . .

RUTGERS sits dejectedly in a crowded, chaotic airport terminal. She is shaken out of her melancholy by the abrupt squawk of a PA announcement.

GATE ATTENDANT: Ladies and gentlemen, we’d like to begin boarding all rows, all sections for flight 4358 . . .

RUTGERS looks up, waiting for the words.

GATE ATTENDANT: To Birmingham, Alabama.

ANNOUNCER: . . . when things are going South.

A taxi pulls up to Legion Field and RUTGERS, Prada bags in hand, steps out. She casts her eyes to the upper deck, where a WELDER is noisily repairing the decrepit structure.

RUTGERS: Excuse me . . . EXCUSE me!

The WELDER stops his work and flips up his mask: It’s TOM O’BRIEN, redoubtable coach of the North Carolina State Wolfpack. He regards RUTGERS as if to say, The hell do you want?

RUTGERS: Is this — Legion Field?

O’BRIEN: Congratulations, somebody knows how to use a map.

RUTGERS: They don’t actually expect us to play here, do they?

O’BRIEN: It’s this or Hoover High, princess. How ’bout you climb offa that high horse of yours, pick up a torch and start helping me make sure this rustbucket don’t collapse and kill someone.

ANNOUNCER: Starring Reese Witherspoon as Scarlett Knight, the hard-charging New Yorker who’s about to find that life in the Magic City moves at a slightly different pace . . .

Now blue-jeans-clad and grimy, RUTGERS storms away from the stadium to find Birmingham mayor LARRY LANGFORD standing on the sidewalk with a Papa John’s pizza box, munching on a slice of pepperoni-and-extra-cheese.

LANGFORD: You’re not quittin’ yet, are you? We gotta get this thing ready in time for the Olympics in 2020!

SCARLETT’s eyes narrow. Daggers.

LANGFORD: (offers SCARLETT the box) Pizza?

ANNOUNCER: . . . and John C. McGinley as Tom O’Brien, the gruff veteran coach who reminds her that sometimes the most important things in life are right under her nose.

Late night, almost time for last call, at a dive bar in Birmingham’s Southside. SCARLETT and O’BRIEN are nursing PBRs over earnest conversation as the jukebox murmurs a lonely Patsy Cline song in the background.

O’BRIEN: Are you the team that got your ass kicked by the Tarheels, or are you the team that threw 20 TDs and only five picks over the last six games of the season? (beat) You’re tryin’ so hard to convince everyone down here who you are, sometimes I don’t think you even know yourself.

ANNOUNCER: And a special appearance by Cedric the Entertainer as wacky Mayor Langford.

LANGFORD: (bursts in) I’ve got it — we build a gigantic launch pad where the steel mills used to be, and it’s hel-lo, NASA! Tommy, get your welding torch!

ANNOUNCER: On December 29, it’s all about finding touchdowns, love — and pizza — in the last place you thought to look. A place otherwise known as . . . “SWEET HOME PAPAJOHNS.COM BOWL.”

The Papajohns.com Bowl — no, not the Papa John’s Bowl, it is, in fact, sponsored by their Web site — opens at 3 p.m. Eastern on Monday, December 29, and will be more entertaining than standing in the Returns/Exchanges line at Target for three hours. At least, we can hope.