They weren’t alone in cursing today, but unlike Nick Saban they’re not supposed to rain verbal hellfire from their mouths on air when things go wrong.

Holly: Huzzah, Homecoming!

Orson: Northwestern@ Iowa. Mediocre thing to match: Push-ups. Insubstantial, cold, and frustrating because after all that pushing and licking, it’s really just z-grade corn syrup, carageenan, and fake citrus flavoring all jammed in semi-appealing package. Iowa will be the nub left at the end, the little useless plastic wheel you’re left with at the end. We know where this season is headed, and it is sad Push-Up territory.

Holly: That you can’t quite suck all the orange froth out of. Although, don’t get me wrong, a transitive loss to Syracuse would reverse my desire to burn Ricky Stanzi as a witch.

Orson: Right. Neither team wears orange, but that would wreck a barely passable metaphor.

Holly: (I love push-ups. Sorry. Be grateful you left the parallelogram. They’re like currency here.) Virginia at Miami mediocre thing: Virginia football fans?

Orson: Or Al Groh, a mediocre coach for mediocre fans. Which came first? We have an ontological problem here.

Holly: Which came first? According to Miami fans, it’s…I’m sorry, this is just a drawing of an ibis calling me a fag.

Orson: They hand those out pretty liberally.

Holly: Wisconsin at Indiana.

Orson: Wisconsin is going to destroy Indiana. They beat Purdue 37-0 last week, and Indiana is so star-crossed this year they couldn’t win a game where Iowa handed them five turnovers just to amuse themselves. That is Crom laughing double hard at your ass.

Holly: What the hell does beating Purdue count for this year? I like Bill Lynch and his softshoe.

Holly: Speaking of which: Dancing with the Stars. Less talky, more spandex. America’s Best Dance Crew owns your filler-packed ass.

Orson: I pair this game with Wisconsin’s own Miller Lite. Miller Lite: you’ll probably drink it, because it’s beer.

Holly: Sakerlina at Arkansas.

Orson: Ooh, ooh! I’ve got it. Jimmy Dean Microwave Biscuits.

Holly: They make biscuits? (I guess that answers my question.)

Orson: They suck because even when you’re choking them down you can taste that they’re made of pork asshole and sawdust. Even that realization doesn’t keep them from being little miracles of prepackaged crack you can heat up in seconds in your microwave. (Food that requires this little effort has to make you die.)

Holly: So, the Hawgs are patty-fied, you’re saying. (Also, they make your hands greasy. Hope SC’s worked on ball control since they lost to Lane Kiffin.)

Orson: I’m saying that if you put Arkansas into a microwave for thirty seconds, something’s gonna die. And if you apply the heat of the South Carolina defense to them…same result.

Holly: You know what, we should’ve given each of these games a matching abomination, because now we have to cover Navy at Notre Dame, which reminds me of nothing so much as the impending Red Dawn remake.

Orson: Oh, it’s gonna suck. Just drop your pants and get ready for the cornholing of your happy childhood memories.

Holly: I’ll avenge you, Harry Dean Stanton. I’ll avenge you.

Orson: It will have CGI monsters and bad product placement by the bushel, like when the CGI bear cavalry drops from the sky, get distracted by the prominently placed Chipotle, and then emerge, gums coated with guacamole, to chase after a glistening new Ford Escape Hybrid.

Holly: Shivers. The bad kind.

Orson: Appropriate for this game, because with the return of Michael Floyd all Weis is going to do is call jump ball left, jump ball right all fucking day long

Holly: LSU at Bama. HOLY MOTHER OF GOD A FOOTBALL GAME.

Orson: This deserves a pairing with something allegedly mediocre which is not in fact mediocre at all.

Holly: Bubba Sparxxx?

Holly: (NO YOU SHUT UP)

Orson: I’ll take it. Bama wins this football game because Gary Crowton decides to run the Maryland I the entire game “Just because I can.”

Holly: Ohio State at Penn State is clearly Comedy Central’s new horrorshow The Jeff Dunham Show, because it’s patently terrifying and full of skeletons and lost art forms but there’s nothing else on.

Orson: I have nothing to add to that because this game between two REAL DEFENSES will be horrible to watch. I pair it with Jim Tressel’s handling of Terrelle Pryor, where mediocre is too kind a word to use here.

Holly: Washington at UCLA. Does this even rate a Locker appearance? If not I won’t even click over on commercial.

Orson: We can just pair this game with itself for a proper taste flavoring, like a bolognawich: bologna, with thicker slices of bologna to be used as bread.

Holly: And Miracle Whip. Goddamn Miracle Whip. Vandy at Florida. Counterpart: Paul Oakenfold, because it’s going to be sweaty and loud and repetitive and headlined by a perpetually annoying martyrish type.

Orson: Mackenzi Adams can be such a prima donna.

Holly: Oh, well struck.

Orson: We both grab Florida there, no? Because we’re breathing, yes?

Holly: Yeah, I know Vandy gives y’all fits, but this ain’t the year. They can’t even give themselves fits.

Orson: We didn’t make a pick for UW/UCL. I take mediocre thing Washington, because UCLA doesn’t even make it to Meady Oaker Territory.

Holly: Washington, because what UCLA’s doing as a favorite baffles and disgusts me. Holly: USC at Arizona State. Hoku!

Orson: I DO NOT LIKE THIS MEDIOCRE SONG GET OUT OF MY HEAD CHARLES.

Holly: Because I once extemporized this entire song and changed all the lyrics to praise Vontaze Burfict, with dance moves, in my boyfriend’s kitchen and he didn’t murder me. That deserves recognition.

Orson: nothin’s standing in my waaaaaaayyyy

Holly: Dennis Erickson’s red hell-glasses figured prominently. BURFIIICT DAAAAAAY. That said, I’m not taking ASU.

Orson: USC’s not losing this game. Holy shit, I would wager a body part on it. Not an important one, but you know, like a quarter lobe of brain or my spleen or something.

Holly: They lost to GEORGIA.

Orson: Right, making them more Georgia-ish than Georgia. That’s a big ball of suck to lug around on the end of your suck-chain.

Holly: Plumbing the depths of absolute zero, Lord Kelvin.

Orson: Yeah, USC gets revenge on Oregon by beating the teeth out of ASU’s head.

Holly: We’ve all been there.

Orson: Not sure how that works, but the math is too complex to explain here.

Holly: BONUS MID MAJOR PICK: Houston at Tulsa. Houston can’t play defense but Tulsa can’t play offense without Malzahn, but their mascot is a resurrected and sponge-bathed Powdered Toast Man. What to do?

Orson: Ahem.

Orson: I think I just reminded all of us which way to go here thanks to GI, Shazam, and Dino.

Holly: And scene.

“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.

We have suggestions.

–7 freshly circumsised and adoptable Filipino baby boys. (No questions asked.)

“Yeah, seven. But it’ll cost you. Bob Tebow Ministries doesn’t run on prayer and happy thoughts alone.

–600,000 nickels delivered in cheap garbage bags.

–1749 copies of this (ON SALE) classic by seven-time Pulitzer Prize Winner and astronaut Mike Freeman.

–Check written from his Cayman Islands account. (Takes days to clear, sure to draw IRS audit.)

–Three live Siberian Tigers. Black market prices, and surely available on a moment’s notice in Miami.

–Coupon for five favorable calls made by SEC referees in the game of their choice.

All are roughly equivalent to $30K or so, and should suffice in making Mike Slive feel more Roger Goodell-ish by the moment.

Most notably, when BYU’s basketball team played at Colorado State the following winter (1970), protestors threw raw eggs and a flaming molotov cocktail on the floor, and a piece of angle iron struck a newspaper photographer, drawing blood and knocking him unconscious. Approximately 50 blacks and whites charged onto the floor at halftime to disrupt a performance by BYU’s Cougarettes, and police were called in to quell the riot.

That’s how one properly storms the floor. Enough history: bring on the Cougar dong, please.

Ahh, that’s much better. (HT: The geniuses at Shaggy Bevo.) Nothing clears up a moment of solemn reflection like a poorly placed Cougar tail and one kid in an orange hat who looks reaaaaaaallllly psyched about his mascot packing furry womb wand the size of a Claymore in his holy undergarments.

WE WERE RIIIIIIIIGHT. When you’re right so infrequently, you have to gloat when you can. Ahem:

The teams are remarkably similar in build and methodology, but if you have to go with anything, go with Tyrod Taylor’s ability to, on one or two frenetic occasions in the game, reach between his two very talented cheeks and just pull something from his ass.

Ahoy, ass-pulled wonderplay!

Taylor also fumbled once doing that, but he gives, and he takes, and did enough spectacular scrambling to keep Tech drives alive in a 16-3 victory over the ECU Pirates, who shot themselves in the wooden leg all night with drive-killing penalties. Tech freshman Ryan Williams also had 179 clock-killing yards and got to show off the “Sweetness” tat on his forearm for the cameras, so yeah, it was as slow a night of football as one might expect.

Chicken fightin’. Louisianans are not just loyal to Bobby Hebert because he’s Cajun, but because he is Cajun, actually played winning football for the Saints from time to time, and because he’s Cajun and quotable. Hebert’s son T-Bob will line up across from the People’s Republic of Terrance Cody this Saturday in the LSU/Bama game, and Bobby has advice for him involving chickens and crabs.

“I told T-Bob the thing to do is to get into a chicken fight with him,” Hebert said, meaning scratch and claw and do anything short of putting another lineman on his shoulders.

“If he’s aggravated with you, then it’s harder for him to make a play,” Hebert said. “It’s going to be a challenge. He’s got to fight any way he can. He’s Cajun like his daddy and his granddaddy and his relatives, so he’ll be fighting, I know that. He’s got to do what they call the crab block — stay low and aggravate him. I’m not saying to be dirty, but T-Bob’s got to stay low against him and bother him and try different things.”

He’s saying punch him in the balls, scratch at him, and bother him. Also, we think he’s trying to tell him to feed whole chickens to him during the game. Good strategy, but let’s suggest another one and go for turkey, just to get the tryptophan coma working for you in the third and fourth quarter. Possible disadvantage: turkey’s pretty greasy, so if consuming seven turkeys over the course of a game merely arouses him, he’ll be huge and slippery. Take advice at your own risk, T-Bob.

No word: on Urban Meyer’s possible fine/suspension from the SEC. When white smoke comes from the offices in Birmingham, we’ll know Mike Slive is burning hundreds to let people know it’s a fine.

Unconcerned with your Tom of Finland Lion: TP ain’t skurred of your puny t-shirts.

He will be wearing pants. Riley Skinner has been cleared to play against Georgia Tech on Saturday. It is a slow weekend of football when one of the five bullet points to kick off a late morning news update involves Wake’s qb, but that is where we’re at on a lackluster Saturday of football that IS STILL THREE THOUSAND TIMES BETTER THAN ANY SATURDAY IN THE OFFSEASON.

Bad. Ass.

Enjoy.

Category one: Nebulous Statistical Comparisons of Dubious Validity. Virginia Tech’s offense has been better than its dismal usual this year for two reasons: the improved run blocking of the Hokies offensive line and the emergence of Ryan Williams, the freshman running back who enters the game with 930 yards rushing and 10 TDs. If ECU allows 108 yards on the ground tonight ( a respectable average) then Williams will become yet another Hokie 1,000 yard rusher sometime around your third cocktail tonight. Be sure to toast him.

Of continuing and troubling concern to VPIUITAGMNAUCS–we think we got all the initials in there from VT’s title–is the scattershot play of Tyrod Taylor, an extremely efficient passer at 12th in the nation but streaky to an extreme. Taylor can bail an entire game out in a single master stroke, or he can perform tidily when supported by the run game, but the one thing Taylor will not be in a game is the piece you build an offense around it. If the game comes down to him, you need a miracle, and he’s already done that once this year against Nebraska.

Enter the reason ECU made such a nasty opponent for ECU last year: their quality rush defense, the principal quality turning ECU from speed bump into concrete wall for the Hokies. ECU held Noel Devine to 83 yards, and if you can do that to Ninjamountaindwarfman, you can do that to anyone.

The teams are remarkably similar in build and methodology, but if you have to go with anything, go with Tyrod Taylor’s ability to, on one or two frenetic occasions in the game, reach between his two very talented cheeks and just pull something from his ass.

Advantage: Virginia Tech. Yes, we just bet on Tyrod Taylor. We ALSO like to live dangerously.

Virginia Tech, You’ve Been Factor’d!

Category Two: Mascot: Dogfight of the year thus far for the Factor Five since there’s much to admire about both mascots. The Hokie Bird is an endearingly goofy anthropomorphic turkey complete with flapping wattle and a fierce expression, and like all the best mascots no one is supposed to know their identity until graduation day. (We would bet a hundred dollars this claim is exaggerated and inexact, and that someone’s had sex while wearing the mascot head, because that would be the first thing we’d do, because why the hell not?)

He loses points for being that guy in the gym. You know. Major Bonerpants on the bench press who needs a spot.

Hey…ladies…seriously, gonna need some help with this over here…

This is ECU’s mascot. He is a pirate.

That’s really his entire resume besides a resemblance to Edward Teach, aka Blackbeard, who was stabbed over twenty times and shot five before dying in a battle at sea. That and simply being a pirate is enough for us to make the judges signal in the direction of his corner for the win.

Advantage: ECU

ECU, You’ve been factor’d!

Category Three: Aura. Did we mention Pirate-Out? What was already ECU’s highest profile game of the year just went through the roof aura-wise. It will also generate some of the clumsiest drunken requests for sodomy in the Greenville area late tonight because “Yarr that’s what pirates would do.” Pirates around the area will, for the most part, go home to give themselves a Jolly Rogering, and yup that’s the end of our sexually themed pirate jokes. (NOTE PLEASE REMOVE HOOK HAND FIRST FOR BEST NON BLOODY RESULTS)

Advantage: ECU

ECU, You’ve Been Factor’d!

Category Four: Names.

Virginia Tech: Telvion Clark, Germond Oatneal, NUBIAN PEAK, Ju-Ju Clayton, Barquell Rivers, Kwamaine Battle

East Carolina: Derek Blacknail, Kwaku Danso, Doug Mayo-Tapp, Zico Pasut

Advantage: This was over at NUBIAN PEAK.

Virginia Tech, You’ve been factor’d!

Grudges? Scores to settle? Sheer cussedness? Virginia Tech certainly owes ECU for a 27-22 upset last year, so grudginess certainly has to go in favor of the Hokies. [Holds out hands in balance pose, leans back and forth.] Then again, ECU has pirates… Desire to avenge an embarrassing loss at home a year ago….pirates….need to bounce back from nutpunching loss to UNC….pirates. So yeah, that’s totally advantage ECU um VT.

Virginia Tech, you’ve been factor’d!

EDSBS FACTOR FIVE FIVE FACTOR PREVIEW SUM: 3-2, Virginia Tech You’ve Been Factor’d! Remember, this means bet the other way at your own risk.

Nittany Lion Drawn By Tom of Finland: Here, Terrelle. Take a tissue. I know how hard it can be.

Terrelle Pryor: Thanks, I just…I just try so hard.

Nittany Lion Drawn by Tom of Finland: I know, I know. Hey, have you been working out?

TP: Oh, like you wouldn’t believe. I’m so…sore. I just need someone to touch me and tell me it’s all gonna be all right.

Nittany: Oh, let’s just give those sore shoulders a rub and see what happens… [CUE MUSIC}

(The shirt’s been recalled, of course. But the Tom of Finland Nittany Lion attempting to turn Terrelle Pryor lives on in your hearts and in your pants.)

Another cold day, he thought. His breath snapped in front of him like a frozen ghost. It disappeared as quickly as a married woman leaving your bed: suddenly, and sure to return in a few sad, empty seconds. He’d been breathing for years. It didn’t seem to help.

He thought about pouring a scotch. He poured a scotch. Only drunks drank in the morning, he thought. Fine. I’m not a drunk, I’m thirsty. If the water happened to be brown you couldn’t blame the thirsty man. He drank it. It warmed him a bit. It always did.

He then put on a clean shirt. If there was something scotch and a clean shirt could not fix he did not want to meet it.

Of course he had met something scotch and a clean shirt could not fix. She was as long an outrigger to the waist. Treacherous from the waist up if you were a tailor, but he wasn’t carrying a tape measure and thread that night. She stood at the bar waiting for the world to spin around her. He was happy to fall into orbit.

“What’s a lady like you doing in a pit like this?” He tried to look into her eyes when he said this. He failed.

“Waiting for the right tiger to fall into my trap.”

Her voice purred like the motor of an Indian motorcycle, and the rest of her was just as dangerous. They danced into the Waikiki night. The band played luau, the bartender played rum down their throats as fast as they’d drink it, and her fingers played on the back of his neck as if to show exactly where she could break him if she chose. Dames like her were like pickpockets, keen on misdirection. She would go for his heart, not his neck. Like a good pickpocket he would be miles away before he noticed it was gone.

He would have left memory behind if he hadn’t looked at himself in the mirror starting the car. The engine warmed up, and he ran a finger over the scar. That night a native decided to get restless. This one was handy with bottles. Normally he liked men who were handy with bottles, but only when they were pouring him the stuff to make him forget the nights, the broken hearts, the pain a man felt when he woke up alone, or with someone, or sometimes both.

This one was handy with a bottle the other way. He didn’t like those as much.

The islander left a Honolulu Passport on his cheek for life. Only cost the islander a sock in the gut and a chair over his head. This seemed like a fair price even in wartime dollars. He spent that night in the hospital getting stitched up like an old baseball. She went home with a Dago named Sully. No one said beauty had taste or even needed it.

The window fogged up as he waited for the engine to warm up. Everyone has scars, he thought. Not everyone has memories. At least he had that…for now. It wouldn’t be cold in Hawaii today, he thought. It never is, especially for sad men dreaming of blue skies streaming endlessly above the casket of grey clouds covering their limited days.

He pulled out of the driveway. He went to work. That was all there was to do.

We swear this happened. Look:

Colorado fans have opened the first official act of nonviolent resistance this year by starting a Facebook group asking fans to wear powder blue to the game on Saturday against Texas A&M. It’s only fair, since Colorado’s football team has been engaged in an act of nonviolent resistance to opponents all year long.

SINGLE TEAR LULZ. We hope there’s space in the Musee D’Orsay, because we’re hanging this there whether they like it or not.

Block C tracks down the geniuses behind this piece of breathtaking artwork, presumably showing Hillary Swank with a wig and the facepaint from an Empire of the Sun video on watching Bobby Bowden walk into the sunset with suitcases full of Florida State’s money.

Spikes, full game. Brandon Spikes is out for the entire Vandy game in order not to be a “distraction.” In response, Lane Kiffin continues to make us love him just a little bit:

“I did see the rerun,” Kiffin said. “It was pretty bad but we’ll worry about our team and what we can control. We’ve got a lot of work to do. Obviously, he’ll discipline his team – or not – however he feels.”

No, that a royal we. He’ll play a vital part and will respond by hiring his close personal friend Chuck Amato, an innovative young coordinator and recruiter who also brings the novelty of being the only three-breasted coach in college football.

OH SCOTT JURGENSEN I LOVE IT! I LOVE IT! I AM ACTUALLY GONNA MURDER YOU. Urban Meyer, a real stickler, could face some kind of real live disciplinary action from the SEC for his complaints about officiating, though we can’t imagine it coming in the form of a suspension. If Charlie Strong is the head coach for a suspension, you will know it by the sight of Steve Addazio being thrown off the side of Vandy’s stadium. (Not because we know about any personal beef, but simply on the principle of Addazio’s unacceptably low asskicking quotient this year.)

The redemption of the Dennis Dixon curse. If anyone should be allowed to get silly early about a possible national title, it’s Oregon, who is certainly owed some back credit by the college football universe for the heinous case of Dennis Dixon and the slight flick Crazy Old Testament God gave his ACL two years ago. Without that Dixon is a clearcut Heisman winner and the Ducks’ ambition knows no bounds, so in repayment for that go ahead and look forward to the eventual gutting of whatever Big Ten team you face in the Rose Bowl. (Unless it’s Iowa, where you lose despite having 600 yards of offense and allowing less than 250 yards total to the Hawkeyes. You have no choice.)

Ohio State Throwbacks: Ohio State throwbacks are like a degree past throwbacks, since Ohio State’s already so blue-ribbon retro in everything they do (down to, you know, what they actually do on the field) that throwback doesn’t quite cover what an Ohio State retro jersey truly is. Pleistocene would be a better word, but whatever you call it it will look quite awesome versus Michigan. ]]> http://www.everydayshouldbesaturday.com/2009/11/05/curious-index-11409-2/feed/ 22 http://www.everydayshouldbesaturday.com/2009/11/04/lane-kiffin-gets-a-gold-star/ http://www.everydayshouldbesaturday.com/2009/11/04/lane-kiffin-gets-a-gold-star/#comments Wed, 04 Nov 2009 22:20:10 +0000 Orson Swindle http://www.everydayshouldbesaturday.com/?p=13082

IT LEARNS. Lane Kiffin may be staying above the fray for now, but Mike Slive may have an excuse yet to get out his suspendin’ stick yet. Sadly, Urban Meyer may play the part of the honors student who gets to serve as a warning to everyone else.

Ours could be any number of things:

–”STILL MORE MOBILE THAN CHRIS WEINKE”
–”THERE WERE FLOWERS HERE BUT PHIL FULMER ATE THEM”
–”YOU’RE AT THE WRONG TOMBSTONE MIAMI’S SWAGGER IS FOUR SPOTS DOWN AND DIED IN 2002″
–”IF TIM’S RIGHT I’M IN HELL RIGHT NOW GO GATORS.”
–”CANCER: NATURE’S ORIGINAL UNSTOPPABLE SPREAD OFFENSE.”
–”NOT DEAD–JUST HIDING FROM ED ORGERON.”

Please leave your own personalized epitaphs below, and salute Mr. Smith, an American hero, and JBoxt1, who found this brilliance.

That’s what Ole Miss students are chanting at the end of “From Dixie With Love.” Please note that these are Ole Miss students, not alumni, who are certainly trying on the phrase with the kind of naive pissiness you find in high school grafitti artists or a white elementary schooler saying the N-word just to see what happens.

The President of the University has threatened to ban the song altogether, which would work after a period of GRRRR OUTRAGE. Go ahead and do it. Like the Confederate flag flap here in Georgia, it will die off, and racists will latch onto something else because they’re not that smart and therefore easily distracted. In this case, you can distract outraged Ole Miss undergrads with a 12 pack of Miller Lite and a sundress. We suggest the administration subtly stack piles of both at the site of any demonstrations. If this fails, try sparkly pictures of Obama, as this combines both shiny things and the ultimate horror of a Democratic black president.

You could also make the argument that it’s not hateful to the black players who play for your football team, who see your white columned and fictional antebellum paradise as a labor camp filled with death, imprisonment, rape, and the endless annihilation of their families, freedom, dignity, and humanity. Try that. It would be fun! Getting punched by a 300 pound man is just like getting slapped, except that your face comes off and you shit your pants from shock. You’ll find your historical arguments to be, um, unpersuasive to say the least.

Shepard Smith says it better than we can, though, and he’s on Fox News. HE MUST BE RIGHT LISTEN TO HIS RUBBERY PEOPLEMASK SPEAK THE TRUTH. The alumni know better than to do this shit because they know their ass from a hole in the ground, and also because they are old, or because chanting stuff requires energy, and that’s hard to muster if you’ve already had five Jack and Cokes on the day. We like to think positively, so we’ll assume it’s the former and not the latter.

The M reflects light to the M on the floor. Tim Brewster gives a tour of the largest locker room in college football, and at the 2:13 mark shows you what it looks like when you buy the “M” off the demolished Landmark hotel in Las Vegas and strap it to the ceiling of the locker room.

Coach, what fills me most with pride is the endlessly flashing game show logo M we have in our locker room.

Because of 1912. Rich hatred requires a thorough marinade, and when you have aged beef going back to 1912, you have a layered, smoky flavor to rivalry only time and savory bitterness can create. Black Shoe Diaries details most of the whys and wherefore here, but Ohio State/Penn State really goes back to 1912 when Joe Paterno had resigned for the third time from his post at the school to try his fortunes in the rubber trade in the Congo, and then things went to hell for real at the Ohio State game:

One spectator came down out of the stands and began to rush them, but he got no further than assistant coach Dick Harlow who knocked him out cold with a single right fist. Police rushed the field to surround the Penn State players and protect them as fans grabbed some blue and white bunting under one of the goalposts and set it on fire.

It must be good, because it’s scored as a 1-0 forfeit on Ohio State’s side and a 37-0 victory on Penn State’s books.

At level nine they unveil the alien origins of the punt block for TD. Texas has its own special teams secret society, with membership only available upon blocking a punt. The only member at level eight is Michael Griffin, who is the head of the board, and…we really shouldn’t say anymore.

“He’s the head of the board of directors,” Akina said. “Yes, we’ve got a board, but I’m probably telling you too much.”

Shortly after that Akina was run over by a boat driven by a blazed Cedric Benson as a warning. The less you know, the better.

Goddamn you, smash route. Smart Football has all you care to know about the Smash concept, something Florida fans will remember with ass-ripping pain from the 1994 Auburn/Florida game.

Dynamic tension, needed. Blutarsky waxes long on Richt’s available banked credit with the UGA fanbase, and on whether Richt needs some of what we’ll call dynamic tension in the program. If dynamic tension means “axeing Willie Martinez,” the answer is no: that just sets up the inevitable chipping away of assistants and the onset of Tuberville Syndrome. It is one thing to replace assistants immediately: both LSU and Texas make quick work of plugging and unplugging assistant coaches if they don’t perform, and have done so successfully. Delaying it for two years running as Richt does, though, sets up an unpleasant power struggle, since he’ll have appeared to have caved to pressure if he does pull Martinez, and won’t be seen as proactively replacing a faulty part.

It is akin to the difference between doing something before your wife notices and begins nagging, and then doing it afterwards. You both feel significantly better if you, the properly uxorious husband, take out the trash promptly. When the reek overwhelms the house, however, you have become the asshole husband, and your wife has become the nagging bitch, and now we’re all thrilled to be taking out the garbage now, aren’t we? The true problem was not getting rid of him sooner; had he done so, Richt wouldn’t be hip deep in acrimony and the garbage-stink of Martinez’s porous defenses.