Arian Foster is sorry he dropped your baby on his head. He would have held onto it, but it flew out of his hands while he was busy trying to catch the coffee he’d just dropped, which he paid for with money that slipped out of his hand while attempting to pay, which came from a wallet he also fumbled onto the pavement, which he dropped while thinking about the other cup of coffee he’d just dropped on a woman, staining her dress permanently, something he’d done while trying to hold a door for her, which he’d let slip and crash into her forehead, knocking her onto the pavement, where he’d dropped the coffee on her while simultaneously trying to catch her baby, who she had dropped because Arian Foster cannot hold onto things for longer than a second before his hands repel matter and send it crashing to the ground, because he is Arian Foster and has powers like that.

Fortunately, Dallas Baker came in, caught everything before it hit the ground, and saved the day.

Oh, they were so close to letting it slip from them, but a single incident of unpaid parking tickets qualified the USF Bulls for the Fulmer Cup team competition. That’s how teams function: even the smallest of players can, at the last moment, make a small contribution to block the extra point, open up a running lane, or get a driving on a suspended license charge to put USF into the Fulmer Cup race on a team basis, and thus nip the Hawaii Warriors in a low-scoring 18-16 tussle for the Fulmer Cup crown. Barrington was on the team and enrolled at USF at the time of the arrest, so the points stand.)

Sluggish scoring was partially to blame, but the aberration of USF’s title really comes as a tribute to the Ellis T. Jones Winner this year, Trent Pupello, the man who singlehandedly pistol-whipped USF into contention one fateful night in a parking lot. You can always blame Florida for the dubious honor of the crown, as Pupello was a transfer from Florida.

The Fulmer Cup is now closed until the cold, deathly embrace of the offseason reaches us again. Huzzah! Go in peace.

Thanks as always to Brian and SAS Wiki for keeping this going. ONE HUNDRED COCKTAILS all around.

So I’m here to discuss the Florida Georgia game with you. That game in Jacksonville, yes. So you want it moved? Right? Because it’s…hot. Oh, you mean in this room, too? Yes, it’s somewhere around 75 degrees in here. You require an exact temperature of 74 degrees in order to not wilt? Really? Well, sure I guess we can do something about that. There, adjusted it for you. Gonna make it? Sure?

Okay! Let’s talk. You want to move the game to Atlanta because it’s hotter in Jacksonville, and because going to Jacksonville isn’t really playing at a neutral spot. Right. Does that mean Georgia might win with a greater frequency than once every six years if you move it to the Georgia Dome–

The tea? Too…what? Warm? Yes? It burned your mouth? Would you like–

Water with lemon. Of course. No ice, right? Somehow I knew that would be the case.

There you are.

So somehow moving the game from a place where the entire stadium is divided evenly, and both teams regularly fill their allotment of seats in perfect balance, and then play a game in extremely pleasant conditions in front of said balanced crowd after both teams spend a night in a hotel before the game, that this has something to do with losing 16 of 19 games since 1990 in this rivalry…even after your university ran through similar nasty streaks in similar fashion in the year leading up to this reversal?

That somehow, after 75 years of competition, this arrangement suddenly became a problem in 1990? Like this is the product of some kind of Wilson Phillips “Hold On”-influenced curse? Like, pre-1990, no problem, we’re rolling along nicely, and then BAM OH SHIT THE TOP SONG OF 1990 WE’RE DOOMED–

I know, you love that song. It’s inspirational. I sing it when things get hard, too. But if you’re telling me that pre-Wilson Phillips=Jacksonville RULZ, and post-Wilson Phillips Jacksonville KILLZ BULLDAWGZ DED, I’ll be happy to believe it, because nothing else explains it. Ray Goff can’t quite be blamed for the whole thing. Neither can Jim Donnan. You know what you’re doing and even you still can’t win with any consistency in this series–and you were the one propping FSU up in the late 90s while Bowden began to rust through his floorboards. So I know what you’re going to have to do.

The sandwiches too spicy? They’re just cucumber and white bread with a bit of mustard, but–why, yes, Coach. I imagine mustard is too spicy for some people.

Anyway, you may be a Christian, and that’s great. Because you’re going to have to kill Wilson Phillips, Coach Richt. All of them. I know, not doing that is part of the charter ten. Desperate times call for desperate measures. I know they all live somewhere in California. If you’re looking for the big one, she’ll be sitting by the Grand Canyon behind a piano. I’m fairly certain she’s chained to it at all times. Otherwise, move the game to Athens on an away and away series for Florida if you like, for all Florida cares. As long as Wilson Phillips breathes in the third rate concert halls of this nation, you stand no chance to break free break free from the chaaaaaaiiiin.

Go Gator.

Suddenly, we remember why we hate the state of our birth:

Griffith also has this to say about Mike Leach: ” Mike Leach still has his name thrown around, but I don’t see it. No one is going to come into the SEC and win with Xs and Os – it takes talent, not gadgets.

And, I just don’t see Leach (47) being able to handle the level of scrutiny that comes with the UT head football coach job. It’s a regal position – hardly a post for someone with erratic and eccentric personality traits.”

Regal? What kind of simpering bootlicking shitkickers think of a football coach as necessarily regal? What’s more regal than the Texas Tech offense, the one that keeps quarterbacks clean, moves the ball, and scores more points than Tennessee’s ever scored in their most fevered, ham-scented dreams? Total gadgetry, just like the Urban Meyer offense.

Want to know what we hate about the state? That fucking attitude. Not even Alabama’s that stodgy. They paid 4 million bucks a year for a rageaholic mercenary dwarf not because he was “regal,” but because the man coaches his ass off, recruits like a Ponzi scheming con man, and constructs football teams capable of knocking the marrow out of opposing teams. Even they went pragmatic when competition eliminated the tribal approach to choosing coaches, and that’s from a school situated in a state where vibrators are illegal and their old constitution is based.

Please, don’t hire Leach. He’d be successful and fun. He would be “eccentric,” not crazy, because “eccentric” is “crazy” plus “success and money.” He would give conference opponents fits. He and Bruce Pearl’s cloud of awesome would be visible on Google Earth maps. It would suck like a thousand leeches for other fans in the conference. Go with someone else…you know, someone who looks all kingly and GRRR MANLY BEARDS. Results are secondary to concerns of etiquette, a Hapsburg chin, and some hokey 1950ish concept of what an authority figure is.

(P.S. You’ll notice Joel, a Tennessee fan, is essentially in agreement on the “new scares me” argument, but without calling an entire state a collection of skyfall-fearing troglodytes. THIS IS WHY HE’S A BETTER PERSON THAN WE ARE.)

The chain of events was set in motion with the assault of Florida State wide receiver Taiwan Easterling at the Florida State Student Union in Tallahassee, Florida on Tuesday. Easterling, allegedly harassed for several days by members of the fraternity, fought back with the assistance of numerous teammates in a large brawl. The exact scope of involvement for the members of the football team is unclear at this point.

What is clear is that a mistranslation of the article caused immense havoc over the next 18 hours. Before the smoke cleared, the PRC had launched over 75 missiles into the Eastern Taiwanese seaboard, the United States Pacific Fleet had been put on full war footing, and the Phi Beta Sigma fraternity house lay in smoking rubble by an American commando team.

The Foreign Minister of Taiwan: “We regret the error, and any harm it may have caused.”

Shortly after 5:30 p.m. EDT, Taiwanese jets scrambled from bases around the island, according to military insiders. The PRC in return launched missiles at military targets along the coast of Taiwan. In response, the PRC launched at least 75 missiles at No casualties were reported, as most of the Chinese missiles misfired badly or failed to detonate. There is concern about lead poisoning and high melamine levels in the missile casings however, and authorities are urging locals to avoid sightseeing the missile strike sites.

“The missiles were launched in retaliation to Taiwanese aggression, which in retrospect was made in error. Nevertheless, the People’s Republic of China will never hesitate in defending its borders, which includes Taiwan, who launched the attack, and now we’re confused. Pardon us. We need a moment.”

The most bizarre incident of the night came in the bombing of the Phi Beta Sigma house. Witnesses reported seeing a cruise missile strike the building around 7 a.m. 911 records report a loud explosion in the area, followed almost instantly by a sonic boom.

The Defense Department had no comment this morning, but an unnamed source said the confusion over U.S./Taiwan/China policy likely triggered a tragic automatic United States defense response. “Our official policy is to stand with Taiwan and protect them, but that’s very poorly defined. I’m afraid someone in the Pentagon should lay off the sugar-free Red Bull.”

The Phi Beta Sigma house is destroyed after threatening “Taiwan” in beautiful downtown Tallahassee, Florida.

Surviving fraternity members were stunned. “Some motherfucker owes me a DVD player and a shitload of porno,” said a member who did not give his name to this reporter.

President Bush commented this morning by saying “Huh?” before slipping on a banana peel and invoking uproarious applause and laughter from a nearby sound effects machine.

Art Briles used to coach at Houston and win games. He now coaches at Baylor, where he will–for one year at the least–lose tremendous amounts of football games. Briles is no rube: he’s clawed his way up from the petri dish in his coaching career, starting as an assistant at a high school and working his way alllllll the way up the coaching ladder. This will make and keep someone very, very humble, and Briles’ quote about spring practice certainly oozes that:

“First of all, we didn’t get anyone injured; that was our number one goal,” said Baylor head football coach Art Briles.

They’ve gone 7-33 the past five years, meaning they’ve had “not getting anyone injured” as the mission statement for a while now, coach. We are just discussing spring practice here, and we wouldn’t want to unfairly excerpt him. (We never do that.) Briles did get financial candy to move to Waco–a 1.8 million dollar contract will do that–but we wonder what kind of naked BASE-jumping while wrestling over a single chute with a Spetznaz assassin does Briles indulge in? The Baylor job is straight fiendish danger for coaches and their careers; Guy Morriss, calling from a high school, would like to reinforce this point vigorously.

WE’RE FUCKING PRACTICING! Aw, shit couldn’t crack a fucking egg.

This is Jon Tenuta practicing at Notre Dame. You should watch it before they take it down. As they say at the beginning, it’s not suitable for children or work, just like most of the good things in life.

And now, a weirdass commercial from Judy Tenuta in 1989, who is of no relation and curses less that Jon.

(HT: Matt.)

MORGANTOWN, W.Va. — More than two weeks after he was sued over a $4 million buyout clause in his contract at West Virginia, Rich Rodriguez turned in a second resignation letter, claiming university president Mike Garrison reneged on a deal to reduce and possibly eliminate that clause.

Jeffrey Wakefield, the school’s attorney in the case, denied Friday that such a promise was made.

And that’s your story, essentially unchanged from day one: he said/we said. Oh, and your obilgatory, never piss off a West Virginian item of the day.

Again? Dammit.

Therefore we welcome UCLA WR coach Eric Scott to the damn club, son. He probably woke up this a.m. and thought, “Man, did I allegedly break into a house yesterday and get arrested for burglary? Nah, that didn’t…oh, shit.” And like us in the park, he has to spend the rest of the day dealing with that fact (though fortunately for him, he’s likely clothed and doesn’t have to do the American Werewolf in London thing we have to do all the time. Do you know how few men in this world own a decent pair of 35 inch waist pants?)

The details are burbling up through the L.A. Times, and they’re not very flattering to Karl Dorrell and the hiring process at UCLA. Scott had priors, including a misdemeanor concealed weapons charge and a disturbing the peace charge. Both charges could and are easily picked up on a lively weekend, but they look worse than they perhaps should in light of this police report snippet:

Authorities said Scott was arrested with Jesus DeAlba, 23, and Timothy Williams, 23, Tuesday afternoon after deputies received a 911 call about a possible burglary in the 11600 block of Pioneer Blvd. in Norwalk, Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Dept. Sgt. Craig Harmon said.

“A neighbor saw the three suspects on the porch of a single-family home, then saw them force their way in,” Harmon said. “When deputies arrived, the three were seen walking from the location, and were found with property from the house they admitted to taking.”

Scott’s attorney issued this statement:

“From my preliminary investigation, it appears that a mistake was made by the Los Angeles Sheriff Deputies that should be cleared up within a few days. There is no evidence that any crime was committed by Eric Scott or anyone with him.”

Which is entirely possible–this is the LAPD we’re talking about here. Scott’s been placed on administrative leave for the time being while the charges are sorted out. Dorrell’s standing by his man, but at a safe distance of a few feet just in case this turns out to have merit. Scott’s been an inner-city recruiting force for UCLA–perhaps he just succumbed to that infamous inner-city pressure we’ve been hearing about.

(The flying car is not, repeat, is not just a naieve futurist thing, though. Blade Runner has them, and if you think Blade Runner is optimistic, then you are a current resident of Detroit. Orlando is ready when you are. )

Even if we do get our walk in turbo-showers, benign robot servants, and tasty insta-food ready and loaded, know that the grip of superstition will never fully release its moldy grip on humanity because we will never, ever cease to be fascinated with drama we cannot control. Someone, presumably after parking their flying car with the “HONK IF YOU SACKED BRODIE” bumper sticker on it, will still be doing the 27th Century version of the Needham Hex.

There’s a ball of energy in my hand right now, and….HEX! The only thing dorkier would be shouting “EXPELLIARMUS!” when you really need the other team to fumble in a tight spot. We’ll let you know if it works, because you know we’ll be doing it at one desperate point in the season.

Drive with the fear! Our own father put us through the Swindle Tradition “The Month of the Wolf,” where we we turned loose in the woods as a five year old to survive or die, and thus allowing the gods to pass judgment on our virtue with life…or death. Fortunately for us, we were discovered by Irish Travelers on day two, passed into a human trafficking ring, and became the houseboy for powerful Guangzhou Triad boss with a predilection for kite-fighting and the works of Gino Vanelli between the years of 1983–1987. Happiness, for us, will always be the sound of kites blowing in the wind to the mellow sounds of mediocre balllads.

So Father’s Day’s always fraught with emotions, some of them requiring therapy of the professional or the amateur chemical variety. Thus we sympathize a bit with the pressured quarterbacks of the world whose fathers unfortunately turned the spotlight on themselves.

The list of our top 5 malevolent college football fathers includes both the negative effect they had on their son AND the deleterious effects they had on the fanbases.

5. Ken Wright, Miami. There’s little documentation of what he was like to his son, Kyle Wright of the Miami Hurricanes, but there’s plenty of evidence of Ken Wright completely flipping out after his son’s two picks doomed Miami in a game against Virginia Tech and becoming an ugly spectacle of a sports dad on tape. A Herald reporter caught the whole thing on audio after the defeat.

Click here to listen to Wright Sr.’s back and forth with Miami fans. Amazingly, it’s not a zero sum game–everyone ends up sounding like a huge asshole, Wright’s father included.

4. Jim Clausen, Sr. A relentless promoter of his children to recruiters who claimed amazement at all the interest in Jimmy Clausen…

“He’s just little Jimmy,” the elder Clausen said. “He didn’t ask for all this.”

…before allowing the infamous, nationally-televised monstrosity of a press conference where Clausen announced his commitment to Notre Dame after entering the scene via a Stretch Hummer stolen from a Cash Money video. Oh, and he had his own PR firm by then, too, but we had one in high school, too. (Those damn sexual assault charges can’t be fought in the courtroom alone, you know.)

Attention? Heavens, where did that come from?

Clausen Sr. then went off the Coach Weis script by commenting directly on Clausen Jr.’s wonky elbow, announcing that “We’ve been aware that this was an issue” when Weis insisted Clausen was ready to go for spring.

And at number 4 and still meddling, Clausen Sr. has serious potential for a rise in the rankings.

3. Curtis Leak. Father of both Chris and C.J., and a “domineering” presence in recruiting in both the negotiation phases (handled like Trans-Asian pipeline agreements) and in the promo phase. (Chris Leak’s notoriety coming out of high school was as much a product of Curtis’ PR campaign as it was Chris’ talent.) Tennessee fans in particular tasted the wrath of Leak Sr. when C.J., a highly pumped freshman, couldn’t crack the starting lineup and eventually dropped out of the program.

Florida fans thought Tennessee fans were cracked, of course, until Curtis went on talk radio and said he’d been told that “some Florida fans don’t want a black quarterback breaking Danny Wuerffel’s records.” We handily pointed out that this was not because of Leak’s blackness, but rather his being Jewish, which anyone could have seen if they’d noticed the Nike Swoosh yarmulke Leak wore on the sidelines. (Duh.)

2. Chris Rix, Sr.“My son was made a scapegoat for the offensive ineptitude,” said Chris Rix Sr., the father of Florida State’s much-maligned former quarterback. “Funny, but the many problems Chris was blamed for are still there now that he’s gone.

All true, sure. Rix, Sr. didn’t stop there, though. He went as far as showing up in person to harangue Bobby Bowden, an incident that may have gotten him tossed out of FSU’s offices by security.

In Dec. of 2003, I found my son was lagging in some of his courses. I talked to the Academic Athletic Support Director at FSU, the President, the AD, the Compliance guy, and then made an appointment with Coach Bowden’s secretary to see him one hour after I talked to the Compliance guy. I got to his office because I was not to pleased when the Academic guy says: “I failed your son, Chris”. While I’m cooling my heels, two FSU police show up carrying automatics, and, catch this, say they are here to “escort me from the building”, as “per Bob Minnix (the compliance guy I just talked to”, due to Coach Bowden’s “bowl preparations”.

A nightmare of a parent whose perpetual riddle to reporters regarding his son’s role in the FSU offense was “If you’ve got the keys to a Ferrari, you’ve got to drive it?” Rix Sr. never realized that his son was more of a well-maintained Ford Pontiac! Fiero caught in one of the worst coaching/parent traps we can remember a player being in ever.

Caught between dad…and these guys. Good luck.

And with no due surprise…

Marv Marinovich. The tale’s a bit tired, but here’s a precis: Created the planned cyborg quarterback for the future, his son Todd, by controlling his wife’s diet during pregnancy (only lean protein!) and continuing the iron discipline through Todd’s childhood. Put his son through workouts, reportedly tied his son’s hand behind his back to make him left-handed, and put the creatus through a training regimen that included everything but its own Heidelberg scar.

Marinovich excelled through high school, but then fell to pieces with a taste of freedom, picked up a very disciplined drug habit, and fell through the ranks of the NFL, CFL, Arena League, and eventually into a Newport Beach, California public bathroom, where he was arrested for possession of child porn and drug paraphernalia after a short chase on a children’s bicycle.

Of course: Marv makes the top spot, and with good reason.

Vitamin F–as in Facenda, John.

Vitamin P–as in play-action bootlegs galore from the 1982 Texas Tech Red Raiders.

Vitamin J–as in the wanky guitar ridden Jazz fusion which was the soundtrack for every sports film made between 1975 and 1985.

Vitamin H–as in Home Run Throwback, the most improbable of special teams plays, executed in the finest of pulled-from-the-ass fashions by SMU in the waning moments of the game.

There! Nutrition of the highest order. You’re more than welcome, unless you’re an SMU fan who, like the flabby ex-jock twenty years out of washboard abs wondering where his feet went, watches this with the bitterest of sorrows. For you, there is no consolation. Umm…sorry?

“I understand why certain teams get exemptions.

Oh, and Fermat’s Last Theorem? Someone’s solving that bitch someday, and that someone is gonna be me.”***

And…INCOMING!!!

Most anyone paying attention to college football tends to get postmodernish about Notre Dame. They’re football Russia: once great, hit by a long, long, long slide, and now building for a comeback using their single natural resource (the brand) with a skilled despot at the helm. (Unfamiliar with Russian petrochemical diplomacy? Good on ya for having a life.)

Bashing them for easy ins to the BCS, though…that’s so 1999, no? We know why Notre Dame gets in–Lucini, lucre, loot, simoleons, yuan. That’s passe, given. Kevin’s got the valid points re: Wisconsin’s weak in-conference schedule and their worse out-of-conference slate, but we’re far more interested in why people still get furious about this when nothing changes without a playoff.

And getting even more postmodern, hasn’t the richest postmodernish storyline of post-2000 football been the perpetual comeback/death/comeback of zombie Notre Dame football? For the fan, it may be better to have Notre Dame continually on the cusp of return, since the annual Irish Bowl Game sponsored by “When Animals Attack!!!” and the Discovery Channel’s Huge Predators Toying With Prey in Sick Slow-Motion Fashion makes for some of the more extreme viewing of the largely irrelevant postseason.

Barring a sensible system, a fan has to mine absurdity for entertainment. We actually fault the BCS for setting up such poor matchups for Notre Dame. After all, they’re working on it. Improving facilities. Upgrading coaches. Going to counseling. Attending 12-step meetings. Installing a whole new CRM system. Not cheating on you at the convention by giving a sales rep from Kokomo the Shaky Fireman after seven Long Island Iced Teas. They’re really, really trying here.

But you keep setting them up against teams they cannot possibly beat for the amusement of the masses, which is…awfully and horribly entertaining at times. We got no joy from OSU/Notre Dame last year. Yet we would be lying if we said we did not enjoy watching huge, fast SEC overlords LSU run Notre Dame off the field, most notably because we love watching predation done right.

(Apologies to Big Daddy Drew for moving in on his “kill kill kill” territory.)

It’s just an excuse to work them in because people will watch, and the absurd system allows them in the front door. And that’s just fine, because people know what they’re getting. We predict the introduction of the 2nd seed in the AFC playoffs into the BCS equation any day now just to boost the ratings. (Notre Dame versus the Patriots! Now that’s entertainment! Is that young man broken in half? Get that fucking Dr. Pepper challenge asshole now before someone zooms in…)

Therefore: until the playoff Leviathan arrives and the absurd quotient ramps down a bit, long live the Irish exception. The only thing more entertaining than watching public schools run vert routes with impunity on them in bowl games would be watching them irk the universe by actually winning a bowl game. This is an idea which after nine straight losses seems just as absurd as any.

*Bret Bielema did not say this.
**And he definitely did NOT say this.
***Have you seen his hair? No way he said this.

Click here to the full NCAA CURSE CHART

The interesting, sure to land you bar legend status when you answer the question as the only guy who knows sports on your team for trivia night: the only player to appear on the cover of both the NCAA and Madden franchises? Shaun Alexander.

PS: the personal hygiene is just a guess. Desmond Howard misses it because we bet he’s still got pieces of lunch in the ’stache.