Hey! There’s no such thing as a yellow tailed gator! Salvaged from the scrap heap of the past by reader Jon, Coach JR delivers his most compelling performance as a pitchman in this ad for Osmose Yella Wood. The jungle clearly brings out the best in the coach:

And if you don’t believe the J.R. Ewing/ Steve Spurrier comparison Kanu’s been trying to convince us of for years, then watch this and tell us you couldn’t see this scene working just as well with a visor and Phil Fulmer in the Cliff Barnes role.

Credit goes to two people for this find: commenter hunglikehussain, and the Auburner, who went to the trouble of capturing Tommy Tuberville’s epic performance in a Golden Flake commercial that suggests Auburn football players run fast because someone is beckoning them towards an open bag of Golden Flake potato chips. (For the record: in certain cases, we believe this could be completely true, as in the case of Kenny or David Irons.)

Mesmerizing! Tommy Tuberville doesn’t even have to be in the same moment and place to hypnotize you with a bag of potato chips: all he need do is call, and you will hear his plea from across space and time.

P.S. Just because we’re having fun with Sir Charles today over at the Sporting Blog, a few Auburn relevant quotes from barkleyquotes.com that should convince you not only that Charles is one of the great bon vivants of our time, but also confirm any and all stereotypes about SEC and Auburn athletes and academics:

“When I was recruited at Auburn [university], they took me to a strip joint. When I saw those titties on Buffy, I knew that Auburn met my academic requirements.”

Those titties. An area of study no young male college student can fail to appreciate.

Urban Meyer’s sales skills are among the worst we’ve ever seen in coaching commercials–they’re downright Fulmer-esque, down to the cue-card missile lock of his eyes to the awkward fist pump he employs about halfway into this abortion of an orange juice ad.

The good thing: he’s actually improved from year one. There’s a jewelry store ad lurking somewhere out there that, if it saw the light of day, would make James Lipton jump headfirst off the nearest tall building.

Screw Obama, Hillary, and McCain: for true bipartisan effort, slug a vote down for Woody Hayes, whose brain in a jar should be put on a ballot this election season. The lifelong Republican (white guy with an anger problem? GOP? No!) stumps for Ben Espy, a former Columbus City Councilman and Buckeye grad…and, gasp!, a Democrat.

That’s cross-the-aisle work right there, sirs and madams. And don’t call him a commie, because he will rise from the dead to punch you in your face, punk. (HT: SBB.)

No fucking way: West By God Virginia is suggesting that WVSports.com (Rivals’ WVU board) is reporting that Nick Saban’s agent contacted West Virginia about the opening left by Rich Rodriguez’s departure.

4 million dollars buys you dick these days.

EDIT/UPDATE/ETC. WBGV reported this first, no WVSports, who confirmed the story, most likely from the same source. As with any of these stories, be ever skeptical, but with Petrino’s rain of back-daggers on Tuesday, perhaps Nick Saban and agent felt the need to flex their skills just to show the new kid in town who the real tiger-style master is.

If you wonder what happy looks and sounds like…this is it.

59-20. All your boobz are belong to Mr. Tebow. 100 COCKTAILS TO YOU, LIFE!!! (HT: Awful Announcing, whose site name in no way applies to Verne “Captain Nuclear Awesomepantsface” Lundquist.)

From time to time, coaches feel the need to shill, most importantly because of contractual obligations and/or the burning desire to pocket some extra sheckels for the kids’ college fund. This yields bountiful comedy, usually of the delicious unintentional kind, especially during the season when the national feed trips for an instant to reveal the wavering, cheaply filmed videotape-quality shot of your coach saying something like…

At the University of ________, we only want the best. Just like the people at Evanson Mufflers and Brakes/Gastric Bypass/Whatever.

Even the greats are anything but immune. Cue Ara Parseghian and one of the most patently false lines ever penned and then force-spat from a coach’s mouth:

One of America’s great traditions is the luxury sedan. One wonders if Ara seized several times while saying this before several rounds of sedation and hypnosis allowed him to confidently belt out such a patently false line without blowing perfectly good blood vessels in his head. Just look at the shit-colored deathboxes behind him for proof: two of America’s ghastliest cars, the 5th Avenue with its “spacious interior…”

Ed! You can fit your legs in there!

…and the dismal setup of the cars. They appear to be two random, derelict vehicles sitting idly in the grass at a state highway median that the crew chose randomly.

Crew: Yeah. We’ll do it here.

(Laughter ensued!)

Parseghian gets an ‘A’ for effort, though, bravely plowing through thirty seconds of complete and utter untruth to make the pitch and pocket at least–we’re sure of this–eighty dollars and the complimentary use of a 1984 Chrysler Shambler Sedan for his troubles. Hey! It came with it’s own popcorn maker, which only spilled magma-hot butter on infants who sat in the front seat, mind you. Suck on that, Nader, you fucking safety geek.

A busy opening day in the Fulmer Cup Market–if this were late afternoon essential Marketplace on NPR, we’d be playing “We’re In The Money” behind this piece to celebrate the uptick in activity.

Hawgz Shoplifitin’ Skillz=unw00t. At least for starting defensive end Antwain Robinson, best remembered by the casual football fan for stealing a shovel pass from Chris Leak in the SEC championship game for a temporarily devastating touchdown. The alleged theft in question this time involves something from a Dillard’s in Fayetteville, Arkansas. Judging from the aristocratic pose Robinson took in his mug shot, we’re guessing it’s a tasteful linen shirt–plum or eggshell?–and a snappy pair of lightweight wool trousers for the garden party season.

Hello, good sir. Make mine a Hendrick’s and tonic, please.

Fulmer Cup score: One point, with possible bonus if we find out he was stealing anything humorous, like a Dillard’s employee.

Drinkin’ in Utah. Utah enters the competition in decidedly un-Mormonesque style with a pittance of a DUI charge for Ute WR Marquis Wilson. Wilson made an illegal turn, was pulled over, and then blew a 0.11 on the breathalyzer, a mere .3 above the legal limit. In Utah, 0.11 is considered legally drunk; in Bulgaria, that’s just getting started. Wilson has been charged with drunk driving nonetheless, and has been suspended from the Utes indefinitely.

Fulmer Cup Score: 1 point.

P.S. If anyone wants to maintain the Fulmer Cup scoreboard, we’re canvassing for volunteers. Payment will come in the form of pats on the back and the mention of your name with the phrase “hung like Reggie F’n Nelson” for the rest of your life on this blog.

It’s division one football!!! It’s the Big Tweaaaaauuuuhhhlve!!! It’s…Dan Hawkins going for the Oscar as a guy ranting and running around his new house in an ad for Qwest Broadband or some other bundle of overpriced media/cable services:

There’s nothing overly mockable about the ad, aside from the hypotheticals, of course. What’s he pumping his fist for at the end? Surely not Colorado game tape. Likely candidates include a very special episode of Ow! My Ballz!, any scene from Cool Runnings, the dragon fight scene from Red Sonya, or the bit in Black Mama, White Mama where Pam Grier and (Insert hot 70s white chick here) are tied together topless and fistfighting in solitary confinement. (Clip isn’t actually that one, and is totally SFW. Sadly.)

At least that’s what we cheer like that for.

HT: Gatorsports Forums.

We have a proposal. Someone give us the budget to do a sting operation on Dennis Erickson, News of the World-style. We hire a private jet, some fancy actors who look like high-rollers and who can affect a passable Alabama accent, and then see if we can get him to agree in principle to taking the Alabama head coaching job just days after leaving Idaho to take the Arizona State job for just pennies over what he’s making at Arizona State.

(This, by the way, seems to be a problem with coaches with the name “Erickson” or anything like it.)

Do you have one of these? Then Dennis Erickson is yours.

We’d bet our nonexistent riches on Erickson taking the gig, even if you offered him just ten dollars more a year to do the job. This will be Erickson’s 13th coaching position in all; it is his seventh as a college head coach. He has bolted unsuccessfully for the NFL twice and left both franchises in tatters. He has no loyalty whatsoever, and has two one-year stints as a head coach on his resume, including a baffling return to his starting point, Idaho, in 2006.

There could have been a nice symmetry to this, with Erickson suddenly getting properly medicated–Adderol, perhaps?–and spending the rest of his days as lord of the manor in Moscow, Idaho. Yet he bolts for the first job that comes a-winking, Arizona State, and leaves his players feeling…well, fucked with. Those aren’t our words, by the way:

“It doesn’t really matter who the coaches are — well, it does — but we’re the reason they have jobs,” he added. “If they’re going to do that and play the politics game, its going to be hard for us to trust our next coach because we’ve been [messed with] a couple of times, so it’s hard to deal with.”

We’d double down the first bet and guess that the [messed with] is “fucked with,” a better turn of phrase that sadly cannot appear in major papers. (Viva la blogalution!) No one expects a coach to not take the business side of the equation into account, and a certain amount of circumspect skepticism must be in a college player’s head at all times in regards to the lifespan of a coach. This is especially true at Idaho, which is cold, in the middle of nowhere, and in Idaho. (Redundant? Sure.)

But one year? There’s a difference between a tryst and a cheap slam in the alley, and that difference is relative brevity. If Erickson had given three–maybe even two–years at Idaho, he could have maintained some illusion of commitment or sincerity. More importantly, if he’d really even improved them significantly, his 4-8 might have looked a bit better in retrospect if he’d followed it up with a better season.

Yet in his mind, Erickson must be still driving the Camaro around with a cold one in the cup holder, a Tawny Kitaen look-alike in the passenger seat, a national championship ring gleaming off his hand, and his gargantuan 1989 cell phone ringing incessantly in the backseat. Show up with a Gulfstream and a wad of cash, and he’s yours, the biggest slut in the often slutty world of coaching.

Mal Moore, take notice–he’s a sure thing, and he’ll put out on the first date fast and like crazy. Do not, however, fall in love. Because we’ll make a third bet that Erickson has one more turn in the NFL left in him, since Orson’s rules tell us that people make the same mistakes again, and again, and again. “People” evidently includes Erickson, NFL GMs, and Arizona State, who just made as bad a long-term hire as you’ll ever make in NCAA football.

Erickson: slut.

Avast! Just as ye skinny lubbers was hittin’ the cobblestones and setting sail for home, yon Mike Leach yarr was a-convoing with the mighty captains of the football program in Miami. Alas, there be plenty o’ other captains who would fain take a spin of the wheel of such a mighty but leaky seamaiden as the Miami program, Black Gary Patterson of TCU and Second Mate Randy “Seawolf” Shannon of Miami included.

Yet name a more bloodthirsty, spit-into-the-wind sea dog than Coach Leach, who goes great guns into the teeth of the opposition with nary a shake or shiver while plundering the seas with an avarice that would make Blackbeard himself. Even if he leads you to Davy Jones’ Locker, the ride would surely be one to inspire sea shanties for years to come.

Yarr!

Jack Sparrow wants Mike Leach. Yarr.

Part Two of our Thanksgiving weekend recap. Naturally out of order, hastily written, and one hundred percent unrefundable.

Friday, cont’d

–One final note on the TAMU/UT game: if Bill Cowher is still around at Pittsburgh next year, he’s drafting handy doorstopper to the gods Jorvorskie Lane. If he’s at NC State, he’ll inquire about a transfer. Fatty running backs and Cowher r made n heaVen luv mates.

–WOOO!!! LSU/Arkansas. Who doesn’t love watching the SEC West? Watching their games is like watching old caveman movies where dinosaurs fighting people get distracted by a flying pterodactyl; when they kill each other in stop-motion animated death blows, the cavemen eat them.

Perfect metaphor for this game, since the spectacular beasts on both teams were brought low by the cavemen playing around them and coaching them. Muddled best describes the play of both teams for the majority of the game with the exception of manmutant Jamarcus Russell and his brother in species advancement Darren McFadden, who spent the majority of the game attempting to elevate the lowly, unadvanced cavemen around them.

Jamarcus Russell did his usual bit: standing with a tackler draped around his knees while firing passes fifty yards downfield without stepping into the ball. Dwayne Bowe answered the evolutionary bugle, (more…)