Play me off for 6-8 weeks, Keyboard Cat.

No permanent or lasting damage, as the piece of angry, disunited bones in my back aren’t load bearing. They do hurt like I swallowed a plugged-in soldering gun, which is why I’m waking up in a few hours to dust off some more delicious, nutritious Percocet.

Thanks to all the well-wishers on Twitter and Facebook. (Our phone doesn’t work, as the iPhone battery died last night, too.) It’s pill and sleep time, and we’ll see what “we” feel like tomorrow.

So, here we go. It’s time; there’s absolutely no arguing that, but for a city and a team threatened by the remotest hint of change the balance of the season looms dark and our natural pessimism has finally found purchase.  Even with both feet in the FIRE HIS ASS YESTERDAY camp, I was never going to be entirely comfortable when this day came.  He’s the coach of my childhood, the devil I know.  Six weeks ago, I wrote,  “It’s our time at the edge, and the stay will be neither brief nor pleasant.”  I had no idea.

But if there’s anything to celebrate here with complete joyful abandon (for me, campers, for me), it’s that Chris Low scooped the living hell out of the Knoxville News-Sentinel, a terrible paper with a simpering buffoon of a sports editor in John Adams.  Save your preening, sir—you’ve had a public, exhausting vendetta against the guy for years and today you got beat.  ABIGAIL Adams would’ve had that story first, and that bitch has been dead almost 200 years.

This week’s blogpoll is brought to you by hangovers. Kids, we’re gonna lecture you here for a second with a sad fact: drinking after thirty is not fun, and you know this is true because we began with “hey kids,” which is kind of condescending but fuck that THE HEAD IT HURTS AND TO HELL IF YOU DO–

Sorry. Apologies. It’s just…we’re so…emotional today. Because we’re hungover and 32.

Drinking before thirty is a grand adventure, filled with surprises and intrigue. Who’s that guy drinking on my tab? Does he really need that eyepatch? Hey, you’re the only guy in a bar full of black dudes! (Who all have eyepatches.) You really boxed a kangaroo once? Yes, my pants did disappear quite a while ago. Say, is that a real ultralight? Sure, I can fly one.

Look! A place that serves eggs at four in the morning! (Repeat; rinse vomit out of hair; repeat.)

Sometimes, drinking still retains its halcyon glow, its moments of beauty. Anthony Bourdain has described that moment when you should be asleep, an undefined time between 11:00 p.m. and 1:00 a.m. when your work is done but you’re not, and you’re probably three drinks into the evening, and a song comes on and sets everything perfectly well on its axis. It’s still a wondrous moment.

This particularly evil egg sac of hangover around the eyes and forebrow right now? The lingering feeling of doom? This is not one of those wondrous moments. This is called a hangover you wouldn’t suffer before the age of 30, a Lucky Jim special from a shockingly small number of drinks that Kingsley Amis can only properly describe:

“He stood brooding by his bed…The light did him harm, but not as much as looking at things did; he resolved, having done it once, never to move his eyeballs again. A dusty thudding in his head made the scene before him beat like a pulse. His mouth had been used as a latrine by some small creature of the night, and then as its mausoleum. During the night, too, he’d somehow been on a cross-country run and then been expertly beaten up by secret police. He felt bad.”

To repeat: don’t drink after 30. It’s not a good idea and hurt will head it your. Secret police will be waiting for you in the morning, and you won’t like what they do to you.

And now, hangover lecture concluded, here is the blogpoll draft. It’s gibberish as usual, but we have an excuse, and it starts with our idiot attorney deciding it was a good idea to start drinking Sidecars, which as far as we know is a drink so ancient and mysterious Joe Paterno associates it with Freemasonry and the Shanghai Vegetarian underworld of the 1910s.

Voila:

Rank	Team	Delta
1	Oklahoma	—
2	Alabama	—
3	Penn State	—
4	Missouri	2
5	Texas	—
6	LSU	2
7	Brigham Young	1
8	Texas Tech	9
9	Utah	2
10	Southern Cal	—
11	Vanderbilt	2
12	Georgia	3
13	Florida	2
14	Oklahoma State	2
15	Ohio State	4
16	Northwestern	5
17	Kansas	3
18	Boise State	6
19	South Florida	12
20	Michigan State	2
21	Wisconsin	3
22	Virginia Tech	1
23	Ball State	2
24	Tulsa	2
25	Connecticut	5

Blogpoll: Now in Lundquist-vision! The Blogpoll is now Verne-enated, an official associate of CBS Sports, who’s visionary, forward-thinking, and fond of thinking of new ways to enrage college football fans into discussion with random, unscientific polling. This means that we’re kind of metaphorically tied to Dennis Dodd, too, and it is not half as kinky as we hoped it would be.

LSU down only because they didn’t play, and Missouri and Texas did. We’re still waiting for Missouri’s defense to catch fire and drag the team under, but the remaining schedule is so weak the likelihood of that happening is minimal to nil.

The rest: Texas Tech is too high, likely, but they looked thuggish against K-State, which is easy because the Wildcats turn are Halle Berry, and turn everyone they pair with into abusive, cruel boyfriends. Georgia takes three spots down due to a loss to the bye week. In order to prevent Bulldog fans from getting to upset:

Look heerz ur noshawn a-leepin!

And yes more rest: Wisconsin is on the verge of being de-ranked for being generally sluggish and unimpressive. (Like, Sidecar hangover sluggish.) Probably still undervaluing Kansas. A morass at the bottom, but it usually is…and why not give Tulsa daps? Also, no Notre Dame at 4-1 because, like everyone else in the known universe, we won’t trust them until they beat someone of substance, and with the schedule they have that is dubious, dubious stuff indeed.

It says much how degraded the absolute value of the Irish football brand has become when voters–ourselves included–are willing to give a fluffy undefeated record for Northwestern far more credit that a one-loss ND tally in week six. Bowl losses add up in unexpected ways. Much like Sidecars * and red wine JESUS ARE WE A FIFTEEN YEAR OLD GIRL?

In conclusion: If you turn 30, don’t drink unless you like the demoncock of hangovers doing unspeakable things to you in the harsh light of day. Right now we feel like Nebraska’s defense on Saturday night, and the only one to spit on is ourselves.

*They call it a Sidecar because, in the event of an accident, you are ejected from the vehicle and killed.

The above article was followed shortly by a chaser of nightmare fuel.  He’s determined!  Good morning, sunshine!  Sleep well?  Did the football being  played around you last week and the week before disturb your nappytime in the pocket?  If there’s a delicious deep-fried lining to this clusterfuck, it’s that the Cromptonites, bottom-feeders in action and in onomatopoeia, are at last shaken free of their delusions of any modicum of competence on the part of their carp-faced idol.  Say what you will about Ainge, but the Bad Erik label wouldn’t have been necessary had there not been Good Erik to mirror it.  Occasionally, shit got done.  That is painfully and entirely no longer the case.

“I’m still gonna be the guy.”  Damn right you are.  The guy with three touchdowns and four INTs in four games.

Which brings me to this:  You’re late, Tennessee. “It’s easy to point fingers at somebody else,” Fulmer said. “I know we didn’t make every perfect call as coaches.” Here’s the question:  Why didn’t you?  Auburn didn’t show you anything we didn’t all see shades of against Missy State.  They couldn’t get past the 50 in the second half except by punting.  There was a conference opponent on the other sideline who played eminently beatable football on Saturday, and Crompton didn’t complete a pass in the 4th quarter.  Most troubling of all, there are trained football professionals who still thought as late as Saturday evening that having this kid pass on third and fourth down is a legitimate method of moving the football.  Here’s Jonathan Crompton against Florida, passing on third down: 2 of 7.  Here he is against Auburn: 3 of 9.  Three of his four interceptions have come on third downs.  That clutch is busted, son. These are grown men who gave their lives to the game of football, who looked at all available data and made a conscious decision to hang in there with Ol’ Faithful(ly Flatfoot). I’m not a pitchfork-and-torcher hollering FIRE FULMER…but everyone who is has yet to be logically rebutted.

So here we are.  Crompton in one corner, utterly untried sophomore Nick Stephens in the other, with all-purpose scramblebot Gerald Jones lurking.  This is Tennessee.  We are frightened by change, and brightly colored birds.   But Crompton isn’t clawing his way up the learning curve like an SEC first-stringer ought.   If this is even going to be salvaged as a rebuilding season, it’s going to have to be constructed around somebody else.  We’re starting from the bottom of a well either way.

Big ups to LSUFreek.  Oh, ‘Freek.  You’re the ‘freekest.

“’Tis the maddest trick a man can ever play in his whole life, to let his breath sneak out of his body without any more ado, and without so much as a rap o’er the pate, or a kick of the guts; to go out like the snuff of a farthing candle, and die merely of the mulligrubs, or the sullens.”

In his own words, we give you Marques Slocum, remixed in sonnet-ish form. Read, remember, and mourn.

got a fuck lion now come fuck wit me
i hope my wife know ima be man! fuck dat spider
I like 2 licky licky licky licky
My mom CARLA i think she da realest bitch alive

i dont give a fuck i just want 2 get on
sprint/nextel bitch! dey got da best phones

We’re at Division One Sports in Franklin, Tennessee getting foot placed to ass by trainers who, in the name of journalistic science for the Sporting News, are doing unholy things to us in order to convey exactly how much pain it takes to get in college football shape. That is an EDSBS shirt, and we do have a rubber band between the legs, and yes, we gave up on dignity somewhere around age seven.

Fun fact: football programs want speed more than anything else! And ponies! Pretty, pretty ponies.

(P.S. Small victories: they told us we did better than Clay Travis on day one, so we’ve got that going for us.)

On October 31, 2006, Knowshon responded to Brad but resubmitted the same incorrect sanction. Brad once again informed Knowshon that he needed to format the paper correctly and resubmit the sanction. In addition, he warned Knowshon about the possibility of having his record flagged…

And then there’s the essay itself. From the conclusion:

To show the responsibility that I have gained over this situation I was recently asked in my room one night after quiet hours if I could do a back flip. My answer to this was yes because I can, but I kindly stated that I would not be able to perform this act at the time because I did not want to disturb my fellow neighbors below and around me.

He goes on to state that he will resolve this issue by living off-campus next year. The document further informs us that Knowshon’s record “remains flagged.” Knowshon himself….does not.

Clearly, the wrath of Brad has had devastating and far-reaching consequences.

Mistakes: we make ‘em.

On Tuesday, we mentioned that Bo Pelini’s middle name was “Steven.” This is incorrect: Pelini’s middle name is Wrathhammer. We regret the error.

On Monday, we quoted the number of sacks allowed by Notre Dame last year as 58. This was correct, but left out the other stat lines.

Pressures: 324

Disembowelments: 15

Decapitations: 7

Drawn and Quartered: 9

Thrown off cliff in Iraq by U.S. soldiers: 3

Strapped in chair and forced to watch Ang Lee’s The Hulk: 1

Again, we regret the error.

On Wednesday, we referred to Bobby Bowden as a former lover of Rudolf Nuryev and “one of the most notorious power bottoms in the Castro’s jet-set weekend crew in the 70s” This was based on false information and bad sourcing, and we regret the error.

Also on Wednesday, we implicated Bobby Bowden in the shooting of Tupac Shakur. This, too, was based on bad information. (Thank god we didn’t actually do that…unlike the LA Times actually did to someone.)

On Tuesday, we referred to our consumption of Tylenol Orange Flavored Cough Medicine in Las Vegas. This was a misrepresentation. We were actually smoking moonrock and huffing benzene at the time and chasing it with the Orange Drank. We regret the error.

On Monday, we suggested that Rutgers coach Greg Schiano was lactose-intolerant. This is not accurate. He is just naturally gassy and has a problem processing complex starches. We regret the error.

On Thursday, we reported on the death of Brent Musberger in a Texas hotel room following a squabble with Mexican drug dealers and an unstoppable, shadowy killer fond of coin flips. This did not actually happen, and was instead the plot of the Oscar-winning No Country For Old Men with the words “Brent Musburger” put in place of “Josh Brolin.” Again, we regret the error.

“If we had an early signing date, you wouldn’t have another outfit with a guy in a wizard hat selling snake oil get a guy at the last minute, but that’s what happened.”

Of course, he is most likely talking about the last-minute poaching of recruit Roy Roundtree from Purdue to Michigan on Signing Day. Bitches, you just don’t know how gangsta Joe Tiller can get with this shit. You just don’t want to know.

Sometimes, even for a pimp, it’s all too much. (HT: RCR.)

Polling is becoming like composing the UN’s HDI rankings: at the top, you’ve got indisputably happy football people quibbling over the tiniest and most subjective of details.

Norway: We have universal health care and the highest standards of living in the world.

Denmark: Oh yeah? Well, that is a valid point.

Then there’s the middlins, who have one glaring weakness they can’t possibly help, like South Korea’s situation with having a crazy, psychotic, and very well-armed brother just over the fence, or Florida’s dazzlingly talented yet immature youth movement. These are followed by the bottom dwellers of the rest of the top. Think of Hawaii as South Africa: Exotic! Exciting! Awesome relative to its neighbors, but still not punching G8 weight! But have you seen our lions and dazzling gold jewelry!

This week’s abomination is below. One clarification: our ballot below is the corrected ballot, which was not the hasty-as-usual ballot crapped into Brian’s inbox this a.m. that had–among other errors, a rise in Cincy after a loss, a few curious bunches of teams in the same conference, and a vote for ice cream at eight. Because we really, really wanted some ice cream this morning. Again, we remind you:

1. The arrows mean nothing.
2. We fucked up.
3. We’re clearly an ass. Asses. Damn plural first person…

Off with our heads, and on with the ballot…

Rank	Team	Delta
1	Ohio State	—
2	Oklahoma	—
3	South Florida	—
4	LSU	—
5	South Carolina	—
6	Boston College	—
7	Kentucky	—
8	Arizona State	1
9	Kansas	1
10	Missouri	2
11	California	2
12	Oregon	2
13	Texas	2
14	Southern Cal	1
15	Florida	1
16	Penn State	1
17	Auburn	1
18	Cincinnati	10
19	Texas Tech	—
20	West Virginia	—
21	Tennessee	—
22	Illinois	—
23	Virginia Tech	—
24	Hawaii	—
25	Wisconsin	—

Clarifications, errata, and outright shames.

WHA OK? Yes, Oklahoma. If you wonder what the methodology is, it’s a hybrid of resume balloting and truthiness subject to coffee, mood, and whatever we saw in the intestines of our daily pigeon kill this morning. (Augury–it’s what’s for breakfast.)

Which means that at this point, it’s absolute value voting, and that’s the absolute value we see. Boston College helped this by not trouncing Notre Dame, or even scoring as many points as Purdue did against the Irish. And South Florida could prove us very wrong by running Rutgers over with their Charismatic Fiero of Tampa Bay Area triumph. But for the top ten, that’s our value, with two notable creepers…

The last midgets up the hill. Arizona State may have peaked on the year with this ballot, since they’re both going into the grinding end of their conference schedule. Kansas, though, could pop up a few more spots over the rest of their angel-soft schedule. Their real bid for top 5 comes with a defeat of resilient Missouri and an appearance in the Big 12 Championship game. For an instant, the picture of Kansas in the national title game just flashed across our consciousness. We saw the Eternal Footman hold our coat, and snicker, and in short, we were afraid.

Climbers: Pretty much anyone between the 11-20 spots, really. We think brand name bargains are a-plenty down here, since many are retooling in angry fashion. Texas has begun this process, and we think Florida will do the same. This is the point in the movie where the soft version of the heroic theme song is playing, and they’re working out in montage at the gym like a madman. Or puking their puppet guts up in an alley in a drunken wallow of self-pity (see: USC.)

Texas Tech is always the dark horse in the Big 12, but keep an eye on them for real now that their defense isn’t playing under some exotic curse.

The rest? A glorious mess, of course.