“I look at Daryl Clark and see the nightmares he can open for Ohio State. And if that happens, Penn State will win by 30.” For the Redneck Rocker, every game is a Hellraiser Box to be opened with someone being ripped apart by chains, usually you, you non-Buckeye bitch. If a hipster needs to have their soul crushed today, just play this entire video and wait for Justice’s “Genesis” to crank through. Yes, he probably got it from the Cadillac commercial, but it should still reduce them to a fine, shimmering cloud of dust in a matter of seconds.

A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. Specialization is for insects.

Fulmer Cuprising! Iowa; Ohio State; and Arkansas. All three strike with a boozy determination to bolt their teams into the Fulmer Cup race. Full update shortly with points awarded, but the most active weekend of the Cup season has a common thread running through it: the need to get crunk no matter if you’re walking the streets of Fayetteville, cruising the barren, stray-dog-ruled barrens of Columbus, or weaving through them hot streetz of Iowa City. Crunk happens. Prepare for its embraces accordingly. (Stay home and watch Spike like the rest of us, young ones.)

Phil Fulmer did this, but only for EKG tests. The Wild Boyz Stomp lives at Tennessee, where Ed Orgeron continues to work hard and play hard like it’s the Anvil. From Markeith Ambles’ account of his recruiting visit to Knoxville.

“We were in a dark theater and all of a sudden they turned on the lights and the coaches ripped off their shirts,” Ambles said with a laugh.”It was like in the army and it got crunk up in there. Some of the players that were in there did some chants. It got crunk.”

EVERYBODY DANCE NOW!!!

Freedom Williams can surely find a spot as a graduate assistant with Tennessee to increase their hypeness in the Lane Kiffin era. Offseason conditioning at Tennessee now includes generous slices of the revolutionary conditioning featured in You Got Served, Krumping, and approximately 100 percent more homoeroticism. Shocking news from the account? Monte Kiffin has the eight-pack of an 18 year old lightweight MMA fighter. Like a flesh-colored turtle’s shell, they say.

Seatbelts: Preventing Amateur Cannonballing Since 1849. Oklahoma sophomore wide receiver Corey Wilson flew 45 feet from the rolling wreck of his Chevy Trailblazer in an accident on I-35 Saturday afternoon. He was not wearing a seatbelt, and is in critical condition at OU Medical Center. Wilson is extremely fortunate to be alive; all obvious happy thoughts sent; wear your fucking seatbelt next time.

I Thought Duke Would Be More Cosmopolitan. Now David Cutcliffe realizes there are heels in more than one burg in North Carolina, as his witty banter falls on deaf ears in Durham.

“Y’all don’t get it. I don’t believe it!” he said jokingly. “Do y’all not watch the news, the last days in politics? Anybody pay attention to what’s going on? Anybody know what Joe Biden’s quote was? Good gracious guys, you have your heads buried in the sand. Never mind, you won’t get what I just said.”

It beats those staff meetings at Tennessee, though. The noise Jimmy Ray Stephens made slurping mucilage straight from the rubber nipple drowned out nearly everything you tried to say. Your talents are being wasted on the lowbrows of Cancer U, Cut: come to the University of Alabama English Department’s Flag Football Team, where your pithy allusions to our body politic vis a vis football will be appreciated (provided Jon Gruden turns them down.) (HT: Kleph.)

FAIL comes in four flavors. If we’re talking about the transition from college to the NFL, of course. Commenters FTW: pigeonholing Katzenmoyer as a non-injury case is inaccurate, and his sample size was far too small to consider whether he was a success or not, unless you are a Michigan fan and assuming steroids destabilized his spinal column by artificially bulking his skull up to unsustainable size, which you go right ahead and do.

Le board, courtesy of Brian, who as always is hung like Reggie Fuckin’ Nelson. Notes without clarification or apologies follow.

Notes:

Dane Cook’s refusal to pay a cabbie and subsequent arrest-related party tricks earn Ball State 4 points, a formidable total for Muncie, yes, but one that like a sprinter’s early lead in the Tour de France will likely be erased by serious, heavy lifting work from a large state school recruit who throws a fellow student into a tree shredder at a party, plows a forklift into the side of a water tower, or otherwise eclipses this total in one fluid motion. Ball State, you’re the Tom Boonen of this race: enjoy the maillot jaune while you have it.

An honorary point was assessed for Alex Boone, the Ohio State offensive lineman who was technically ineligible for points as he had played his last game for the Buckeyes, but who did such an outstanding job going apeshit and resisting arrest while blind Viking drunk that NOT honoring him would have been a crime in itself. A single ceremonial point is awarded to Mr. Boone and the Ohio State University; this point will not serve as a tiebreaker in the event of a tie, nor will it figure into the actual standings of the Fulmer Cup.

THE UNITED STATES/MEXICAN BORDER. 9:12 a.m. MEXICAN SIDE

A crowd of migrant workers headed north mills around on a desolate patch of yellow earth covered in scrub. Three sad strings of rusty barbed wire mark the border. There is a sudden stir in the crowd. The men focus on a single hooded figure walking through the crowd carrying a jug of water.

Mexican one: Mira, mira! (points) Es El Escarlata!

Mexican one: El Escarlata! El Escarlata! Usted es una leyenda!

Mexican two: El Escarlata! Impregnar mi esposa! Por favor!

Mexican three: Pis en mi dedos de los pies! Sería una bendición, El Escarlata!

Mexican three! Por favor, díganos las verdades esenciales del universo El Escarlata!

A silence falls. El Escarlata pauses, and then intones these words.

El Escarlata: Ha sido 1889 días desde Michigan derrotados del Universidad de Estado de Ohio. Now out of my way. There’s a hot lassie with gorilla fever in Columbus, Ohio. She needs a banana, and I’ve got one to give her.

In unison: VIVA EL ESCARLATA!!! VIVA EL ESCARLATA!!!! VIVA EL ESCARLATA!!!

Woman: Hello?

Man’s voice on bad, third-world connection: Hey, honey. It’s Jim.

Woman: Jim…just tell me you’ll be home soon.

Man’s voice: Oh, sure sweetie. But you know I have to do this every year, and I have to do it alone.

Woman: I know…I just worry.

Man’s voice: Don’t worry about me, sweetie. Say hello to the poodles for me.

Woman: I love you, Jim.

Man’s voice: Oh, pooky, I love you too. See you in ten days.

[he hangs up. The wind howls indifferently outside.]

SCENE: The high plains on the Bamiyan Plateau, Afghanistan. Desolation. An encampment of tents surrounds a single well on the blighted landscape. SHEIKH MASOOD reads from the Chinese menu in his hand.

MASOOD: There’s no way they will deliver us our food out here.

Enter Masood’s second-in-command, AHMAD PASHTO.

PASHTO: But they promised delivery, no matter our location?

MASOOD: We shall wait another three days, and then cancel our credit cards.

A loud uproar goes up behind them. They turn to see the dogfighting pit, surrounded by Afghan men in half-turbans and baggy pants. Each bristles with weaponry and facial hair. Dust rises from an unseen fracas in the middle of the ring. The noise of man and dog fighting can be heard clearly even from a distance.

MASOOD: Has the Scarlet one joined us again?

PASHTO: Yes. For the eleventh year running, he has joined us, Sheikh Masood.

MASOOD: He brought his customary entry fee?

PASHTO: Yes, his passport. He said he has no need for it where he travels.

MASOOD: Was he in his customary state?

PASHTO: Yes, Sheikh Massod. Ragged. Covered in dust and blood. Arrived on horseback at 2 in the morning last night and lay in his tent all night screaming for women and opium. He went into the ring at 8 this morning, and has not emerged since.

MASOOD: He has demanded nothing…unusual?

PASHTO: No. He has only asked for more dogs to fight to feed that which never sleeps within him.

MASOOD: Allah help that man. I see angels in that man’s demoning, I do.

PASHTO: Yes, Sheikh Masood. I do, as well.

MASOOD: He brought only his dog and African this time?

PASHTO: Yes…this…”Steve-ah,” I believe.

MASOOD: And?

PASHTO: Together, the Scarlet One and his dog have killed all they have fought. I have made much money from their fighting today.

MASOOD: As have I, Allah be praised. Come, let us watch their rage.

PASHTO: Yes, Sheikh Masood.

They approach the ring. In it, a man and dog are fighting a man and dog.

JIM TRESSEL: YEAH!!! KICK HIS FUCKING ASS MAUAJI!!! RIP HIS FUCKING THROAT OUT!!! KIIIIIIIIIIIILLLLL!!!

MASOOD: He lives only for blood and mayhem and the singing it puts in the blood. To see this…it chills the blood. Allah never saw a more pure killing machine, Pashto.

PASHTO: No, Sheikh Masood. Allah help us if we do, though.

MASOOD: Indeed.

To be continued…

Have you considered this pamphlet OH GOD OW OW OW OW STOP. BYU, Trey Parker; TCU, old lady at door.

If you would like the story of the game in an easy image, imagine every single player on TCU’s defense kicking every player on BYU’s offense in the balls for four quarters, over, and over, and over again, winding up with each one in a Rochambeau so decisive you couldn’t imagine being any worse than the prior, and then pulling back for another grape-smashing swing at holy-underwear-covered jumblies.

TCU sophomore DE Jerry Hughes had four sacks, including one in the first half where instead of tackling BYU qb Max Hall, he simply punched him down like a goalie fisting out a threatening shot. The loss had BYU so flummoxed they resorted to extreme profanity.

“We played like crap tonight. That’s the bottom line,” BYU defensive end Jan Jorgensen said.

The Utah bolus in our poll is half unknotted; for undoing this, we thank TCU, who make our rankings slightly less absurd now.

O-H! He-OWES! Joe the plumber, ower of back taxes and cheaply constructed national avatar, wore this sweatshirt to interviews:

Personal foul, touching the quarterback. Florida State’s offensive line continues to be the strength of their team, but Antone Smith is getting battery-prone in the run game, popping defenders with audible transferred energy. The Noles won 26-17 over an improving but still vanilla-thrilling NC State team. BTW, if the ruling on the field is any indication, it’s now illegal to hit the quarterback on an option, as NC State pulled a weirdass penalty for smacking Christian Ponder on a “helmet-to-helmet” that appeared clean to us.

Penalties don’t matter. Don’t tell the AJC that, though, who somehow ignores the massive losses at left tackle and defensive lapses made by the Georgia Bulldogs in favor of harping on penalties.

There’s just this huge pile of cash out here on the porch. Just sayin’. The spread for the Ole Miss/Alabama game sits at a whopping 13 points. Anyone familiar with the dangerous, erratic powers of the Houston Nutt Phenomenon knows this is free money, because if you are shy of actually calling the upset, then at least you can agree that Houston Nutt teams excel at scaring the shit out of superior teams in games, and then blowing it against lesser opponents. That’s free giggity right thurr–take it.

From time to time we like to invite a member of the Ohio State Fanbase to comment on their team’s campaign thus far in 2008. Today, we present Kevin Banks of Columbus, Ohio, a diehard Buckeye fan and guest contributor to EDSBS. Enjoy.

I had to come on today because we have kind of a crisis in the Buckeye nation, and I want to address it head on and just come out and hit it in the mouth, because that’s what we do at THE Ohio State University. We hit the shrugs and the weights and we then we hit people in the mouth like Andy Katzenmoyer. Just like I’m about to hit this red-hot topic right in the mouth like its name was Mike Hart.

Are you ready? Are you ready Ow-WAH-AH-AH-AH!!!! Get down with this sickness, Buckeye:

THE PISTOL FORMATION ISN’T GAY.

Can you feel that? Oh shit, there, I said it.

It started gay, sure. A lot of good things start gay. Like hair product, for example. I don’t hit the town without putting some shit in my hair to make sure I’m looking good, and it sure as hell isn’t my grandfather’s leftover airplane engine grease from World War Two. That shit catches flies in it.

No, I use a little bit of gel, which if you’re honest with yourself, is something that started with the gays. See, they’re like pioneers. Pioneers who try stuff so you don’t have to look stupid. When you see something you like, you take it from them, and then bang-o, they’ve gotta go try something new, because they don’t want to be confused for poon-wreckin’ sex hound like me, because I’m into women, and they’re into dudes.

Also, they’re like pioneers because they like cowboys and wearing leather. There’s a lotta them out West, which explains my main point: the Pistol was gay, because it came from the WAC, which is nine times of Nancy-dancin’ Scissor Sisters gay. All of ‘em. Hawaii? Shirtless guy in a dress. Boise State? Buuu-rokeback! San Jose State? They’re the Trojans. That’s all you need to know, right there: THIS IS SPERM-TA! Up top! YEAH!

There’s other teams, and they’re all gay, too. But one of them thought up the Pistol, which was totally gay until Ohio State manned up and covered it in AXE body spray and got the bitches running. Just look at the old one:

The running back and quarterback practically start in a game of San Fran Leapfrog. I just wanna leave the two of them alone for some private time. We’ll just be in the next room guys, and if you’d play some Cher to cover the noise, we’d appreciate it. That formation is clearly the gayest thing I’ve ever seen that doesn’t actually involve two dudes fucking. Which I’ve never seen. Because I like chicks, and not dudes.

Whatever. I don’t judge. All I know is that Tressel saw through the fog of Chanel for Men and thought: “Maybe I can totally ungay this by making this package un-gay with Terrelle Pryor and Beanie Wells, which would be the manliest thing ever.”

See the difference?

If you hear something at your door, it’s a nude woman ready to go and hump it up with this scheme. There’s three dudes in the backfield now, meaning it’s like the extremely straight I-formation, but all bent up like a crooked dick. Some chicks really like those, so it’s all good and hetero. Also, twins right with a tight end. AND TWINS!!! YEEESSSS!!! Nothing’s straighter than twins, and I think you know what I MEAN!!!!

See, there’s an accredited process here. Something’s gay, which is cool, and I’m not judging or anything, even though I like chicks. More for me, man. That’s all I’m saying. Anyway, then someone in power or cool or famous takes something exclusively gay like the Pistol and turns it into something ungay like the Pryor pistol, which by the way whipped some Badger ass on Saturday. Suck it, Wisconsin.

See, take this example:

Before: Gayer than spending Christmas in Cockstown, Republic of Manassistan:

Hold it, though: we’re about to reverse polarity here.

After: BOOM! What’s the sound of 45,000 pairs of panties exploding all at once? THIS:

I’m ordering one in scarlet foil as we speak, and it’s gonna get me more ass than a toilet seat at fat camp. Woman ass, that is.

O-H! I-O!

OUT!

“I’m not looking to have the biggest package in the world,” Tressel said. “I’m looking to have the most effective one. Give enough so you apply pressure to the preparation of the defense, but do it well enough so that you’re really applying pressure.”

An assassin like me only needs a dagger, baby.

Remember: winning the Tressel Way means using the most effective package, not the biggest, meaning he never really thought Santonio Holmes was that essential to the offense, and that he’s talking about football…but could be talking about his penis at the same time.

Hi. Chill-sloth just saying hi. No reason. Keep reading.

“Easy” was one word defensive end Kyle Moore used after missing practice two days last week with back spasms before having the game of his life (eight tackles, a fumble recovery, two tackles for loss for 19 yards, including a sack for 15).

“They were still getting into their (first blocking) move, and we’d already be into our second move (on defense) and past them,” Moore said.

Okay. We’re done now. Really. Please, talented players of USC, stop giving quotable quote about how you whipped OSU’s ass so badly you may have changed the climate in Ohio, thus robbing them of their poisonous but semantically significant namesake. Stop saying them, and we’ll stop printing them. (HT: Ted Miller’s Pac-10 blog.)