Got that? Did you count up all the things that looked wrong? Good, now check the answer key after the jump and let’s see how you did:

1. It’s all about Sandra Bullock. Not that the woman Bullock plays, Leigh Anne Tuohy, wasn’t an integral part of the story Lewis told in his book; she worked as hard as, if not harder than, anyone to lift Michael Oher up out of poverty. But she wasn’t the main character in the book; she looks like she’s going to be the main character in the movie. And that probably means that . . .

2. We’ve got another white-woman-saves-poor-aimless-black-people story on our hands. You could, if you were so inclined, condense The Blind Side down to that very cursory description, and to some extent film adaptations can only ever be stripped-down, USA Today versions of the books on which they’re based, but still, The Blind Side was so much deeper and more complex than that. We could’ve gotten at least an attempt at translating that complexity to the screen, but instead it looks like what we’re going to get is a lot more along the lines of Sandra Bullock being, in the words of Jack Donaghy, “Michelle Pfeiffer to your angry black kid who learns that poetry is just another way to rap.”

3. The “You threaten my son, you threaten me” scene. Is my memory of the book completely faulty, or did that never actually happen? Someone telling Mike Oher to “sleep with one eye open”? What are your cheap gangsta theatrics doing in my peanut butter?

4. The use of The Fray’s “How to Save a Life” in the first part of the trailer. Of the grown men I’ve known who have ever expressed any affinity for that song (or The Fray in general), all of them fell into at least one of two categories: a) Guys who had at least circumstantial evidence against their heterosexuality and b) guys who played it on their guitars so they’d look brooding and sensitive enough to pull in chicks. I’ve kind of gotten off topic here, but the point is The Fray has no place in any film that purports to be about sports.

Bright spots? Well, Quinton Aaron looks suitably mountain-sized to pass as Michael Oher (no mean feat), and Sandra Bullock is smokin’ hot as a blonde. And there’s always the cameos by Saban and Orgeron to look forward to. (Window treatments FTW!) Otherwise, it looks suspiciously like we’ve got some heavy football movie/chick flick miscegenation going on here, and the outlook, as the Magic 8-Ball might say, is not good. We’ll have to save the final verdict for November 20, of course, but this grand jury is still prepared to at least hand down an indictment.

Cross-posted at Hey Jenny Slater.

PRESEEZUN BUZZ: UR DOIN IT WRONG. Seriously, Pac-10, that is bush. In the interest of a more literary comparison, if SEC Media Days is “Animal House” — a lot of shenanigans go on, nobody really learns anything, but nobody gets hurt — then Pac-10 Media Day (yup, that’s Day, singular) is the equivalent of a Tom Stoppard play: very low-key and dignified, a lot of people talk for what seems like a very long time, but in the end nothing happens.

As further evidence of just how much Scott’s appearance fizzled, Oregon coach Chip Kelly brought the house down, comparatively speaking, with his explanation of how his spread offense relates to the Pythagorean theorem. (As someone who counts finagling his way out of AP Calculus in high school as one of his life’s greatest victories, I find this inconceivable: Math?!? In college football? Too complicated! FIRE BAD!) Even Dennis Erickson’s interview with Fanster.com was positively vanilla (not to mention barely audible), with Erickson offering up nary a story about golf carts, volcanoes, drunken sexual shenanigans in the Far East, or any of the other things for which you’d bother to listen to such an interview in the first place.

Meanwhile, even Big XII Media Days gave fans more excitement in a single tattoo on Brandon Carter’s skull than the Pac-10 had in an entire day. Clearly, Pac-10, you guys need an adrenaline shot, but we, the SEC, are willing to provide it. How ’bout we loan Clay Travis out to you for future Media Days, just to liven things up a bit? Once you’ve watched Aaron Corp field the question of whether he’s saving himself for marriage, your eyes will be opened to a whole new world of possibilities.

PROGRAM CODE “NotreDameCommenter@aol.com”

IF “notre dame” PLUS “EDSBS” THEN “mandatory philbinpic.jpg” NOT “Deadspin”=”Gay_Brady_Quinn.jpg

10 INPUT: “Notre Dame”

20 IF (Mention of ND) Then (EXAMINE FOR SIGNS OF BUTTHURT)

30 IF (Mention of ND)=(lack of BUTTHURT minus FLATTERY) then SKIP TO 50

40 IF (BUTTHURT=PRESENT) then NEXT

50 RUN “BUNKER MENTALITY” NEXT

60 Type COMMENT 1=(accusations of jealousy) + (citations of past glory you had nothing to do with)

70 IF COMMENT 1 clash (malfunction RIPOSTE) THEN NEXT

80 RUN “WILLINGHAM EXCUSE” NEXT

90 IF “WILLINGHAM EXCUSE” clash (malfunction timeframe expired) THEN REPEAT

100 If REPEAT = (clash malfunction) RUN “IMPENDING SUCCESS” NEXT

110 “IMPENDING SUCCESS”= type (”Signs of improvement”) + (”highly touted recruiting classes”) + (”Get your shots in now”) NEXT

120 REPEAT IN LOOP

130 If 120=FAIL Then RUN “ACADEMIC EXCUSE”

140 “ACADEMIC EXCUSE”=(”We’re smart and you’ll work for us someday.”) REPEAT

140 END

This really is nothing when it comes to Jim Leavitt being animated in front of a camera, since you don’t build something from nothing without the ability to at least scare everyone in a 1000 foot radius with a glance. Leavitt’s man-fear-smell-emitting glands may have had as much of an effect on attendance as USF’s disappointing 7-4 season: attendance was down this year for the Bulls overall. Expect to see Leavitt standing on the corner of Dale Mabry with a sign advertising tickets…while selling a few Sunday St. Pete Times, too. Leavitt’s a hustler like that.

(HT: The Wiz.)

The recipients thus far of the shit-flavored sherbet of sadness thus far in ascending degrees of disappointment, beginning with number five and counting down:

5. Christmas/Georgia.

Christmas is disappointing. You get together with your family, half of whom are too busy gagging larvae full of food to talk, the other half engaged in proving you right in your suspicion that your “shared DNA bond” is comparable in effect to the 95 percent of DNA shared with chimps. And like your chimp brethren, you feel capable of ripping their arms off without a moment’s thought from time to time.

Georgia’s season peaked on paper: a preseason number one that, once the ball was snapped, fell into good status thanks to injuries on the offensive and defensive line. They’ve only lost two games and look to finish in the 10-2 category, numbers most other programs would dub as success…unless you came into this rodeo thinking you’d be number one and cruising into the SEC Championship game at this point. Their two losses were Hulk-ish beatdowns that were over by the second quarter on national stages with nowhere to hide, with the Georgia defense coming in for special opprobrium in allowing forty-plus in both contests to Alabama and Florida.

What failed? Not “heart,” or whatever fuzzy phantom that is, Chip “Miss Cleo” Towers. Losing Trinton Sturdivant at the most important position on the offensive line and then losing his his replacement hurt the run game more than it hurt the passing game, and not even Stacey Searls could overcome that kind of dent put in a unit’s depth.

The only thing worse would be losing a key defensive tackle, and that….wait, that happened, too. There is little need to worry about coaching dysfunction, lack of “heart” or whatever other bullshit Pop Warner pablum you want to crap out there. We like Towers as a matter of policy, but refusing to use substantiated events to back up a team’s in-game failure is beyond the pale.

Both Alabama and Florida were much better teams untouched by severe injury this season, and beat Georgia because they were both superior and healthy. Admitting one is a matter of a fact. The other is a matter of checking the injury report.

So, in summary: The spice cake was nice…but there’s something about getting a tie when you wanted the Rock Band 2 cymbals, or anything else other than the tie, which you can wear to work, or to your funeral. And that heated political argument with your uncle? The one that made your mom cry? Well, we’ll just hope to avoid that next year. Other than that, it went swimmingly.