Orgeron. Perrilloux. SLOCUM? One by one, our best material has gone gently into that good night of jucos and position coaching, and today we hear rumblings that an EDSBS Most Favored Son is an academic casualty and a Wolverine no more.

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

University of Oregon safety Todd Doxey died in a drowning accident on the McKenzie River this weekend. Doxey jumped from a bridge–presumably for fun–and was seen struggling to keep his head above water before he went under and was pulled from the river minutes later by a fisherman.

Doxey was 19. Video of the San Diego native goofing around for the camera on Youtube shows Doxey looking just as you would expect him: playful, a bit hyper, and way, way too young to die.

R.I.P., and condolences to the family.

We all know people that are bad at their jobs; you may even be one of them. This is why it’s fun to look at and make fun of people who are historically bad at their jobs. These are some of my favorites:

Franz Berliner, Captain, LZ 129 Hindenburg

Flew the world’s largest balloon into the world’s largest needle. Not sure what he was doing, but I don’t think it takes hindsight to see that Franz was not watching where he was going. His poor floating skills singlehandedly brought down the entire Zeppelin Industry. 

Mort Lipshitz, Fire Chief, Chicago 1870-1871

Far be it from me to tell a fireman how to do his job, but jesus, Lipshitz*, you gotta let the whole city burn? I know there are intangibles here, but generally the recipe for doing your job successfully is: see flames, add water. So you were saddled with horses, buggies, and lanterns, but come on, firefighting is no profession for excuses. You really dropped the ball here, brother. To add insult to injury, they’ve named a soccer team after your failure. You are on the Mt. Rushmore of fuck-ups.

Charlie Weis, Head Coach, Notre Dame

Charlie Chalupa’s not just famous for his girth anymore. He’s led the Irish to their worst season in school history. The offensive guru has also led this tactiley talented team to their worst offensive season in school history, which is no easy task. He compiles his failures with blind arrogance and the cocksure attitude of someone who’s wildly successful at their job. He’s being heavily rewarded for his failures too. No matter what he does from here on out in his coaching career, this season, this trainwreck, this audacious failure, will be his legacy. Chew on that, Charles.

M Beanie, Boy Toy Wrangler/Driver, George Michael

This job seems pretty easy -

Step 1: Find a fucktoy for a rich, faded, liquid-hipped pop chanteuse a couple times a week.

Step 2: …

Step 3: Profit!

M was good at it too. He had Michael elbow deep in ass for a year. However, in an embarrassing parallel parking incident, Michael carped one time too many and his driver quit, leaving M holding the keys. When M was promoted to driver, things went to hell in a handbasket. In the past year alone, Mr. Michael’s been arrested three times for drunk driving, twice for soliciting sex in a park (who knew that was illegal?), he’s been to rehab twice, had Hoof & Mouth Disease once, and is now the more pathetic of the two (2) former members of Wham! This is a bad year and elevates Beanie instantly into the Hall of Fame.

Pam Ward, Broadcaster of Iowa football games, ESPN2

Pammy is not pretty. This is no crime, to be sure, but she sought out a career in television so I think this shows a tremendous lack of self-awareness. She also talks for a living and her voice is… unfortunate. Her voice has the deaf tones of a demolitions expert and all the warmth of a well digger’s ass. To complete the hat trick, she talks about football for living and doesn’t know anything about football, at all. She is positively the worst announcer in the history of man.

General Pickett, Confederate General, Battle of Gettysburg

You don’t need to be a military strategist to see why this was the turning point in the Civil War (GO NORTH!!! WOOOO!!!). I’ve been to Gettysburg. I’ve seen the battlefield and I can tell you, it’s no small jaunt. It’s really flat, but it’s a hell of a long way from one side to the other. I made it in cargo shorts and running shoes and I was tired and crabby as shit when I got to the other side. Also, I did it in March, not in July when Pickett made his hike. I can just imagine doing it with a musket and those fucking hideous wool unis! Were they a marching band or an army? Horrible fashion choice on their part, nearly as bad as their walk directly into the line of fire across that field. The Confederacy suffered a casualty rate of over 50%, many of which were Pickett’s men. Pickett’s Charge** was the beginning of the end for the South in the Civil War. Bad move, George.

Lucious Picard, Dialect Coach, Kevin Costner for Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves

Costner was doing what all American actors do when they’re surrounded by “yes” men, he decided to take a role with an accent. The studio fearlessly cast the paunchy 40-ish rock hound as the young Brit Robin of Locksley. All they needed was someone to help the would-be archer to sound authentically British so they went with wunderkind Lucious Picard from the Royal Albert Hall of Drama. This did not go well. Costner’s accent came and went like a Yorkshire breeze; when it was good it was bad and when it was bad it was awesome. Sadly, unintentional comedy is not what they were going for and Picard spends these days replying to Madonna’s fan mail using “British sounding words”.  

* Mort would be higher on this list (or lower?) but he made the best bratwurst chili in the history of man. This cannot be discounted.

** Pickett’s Charge inspired the Lost Cause, which was one of Beck’s best singles from his “mopey period”.

It’s the last call for Da U at the Orange Bowl this Saturday night when Miami hosts Virginia under the lights. I’m not a ‘Canes fan but I’m a football fan and if I had to name my most vivid college football memories, half of them would be housed at the OB.

The ‘84 National Championship Game: Greatest game I ever saw. The call Osborne made to go for 2 at the end was like a perfect storm of stones, musk, and arrogance [for the young pups, see: Miles, Les]. This is the game that hooked me on college football and it’s an addiction I’m still battling today.

The ‘87 Orange Bowl: Brian Bosworth stalked the sidelines while on suspension from the team sporting a wicked haircut and wearing a t-shirt that spelled out N.C.A.A. with the words National Communists Against Athletes. On the field, the Sooners laid the wood to Arkansas 42-8 but all I remember is the Boz and his stance against the man, trying to hold a brother down.

The Brawl and The Call: Not one word needs to be said.

It’s not just about the games, it’s about the fear, loathing, and feral atmosphere that permeates the old joint. When they come out of the tunnel, I used to wonder if it wasn’t fog at all, but rather a blizzard of crack smoke. The electricity in the air isn’t something synthetic (unless you count the fans, players, coaches, and broadcasters fueled on Charlie and Cris) either. There appears to be something very real that turns people into maniacs with a riot mentality when they enter the hallowed walls of that place. It may look like it’s on death’s door, with the crumbling walls, dilapidated toilets, and mysterious yellow fluid that leaks from its bowels, but if you look her in the eye, there’s still a fire raging in there that will take all you got, all night long, and laugh in your face when you’re done. Kind of like Peter O’Toole.

But thanks to criminal city management, fiscal nightmares, and $2 whore, Donna Shalalalalala, the OB is shutting her doors. What’s worse, the ‘Canes’ new home will be Dolphins Stadium. The thought of the ‘Canes playing in that synthetic place makes me sick. The concessions serve tater salad and tapioca; it’s like a goddamned nursing home. Look what it’s done to the Dolphins! But alas, this isn’t about the future, it’s about the past, so this weekend, when you’re tailgating, whether you’re at a game or on the couch, do a rail of blow and pour a little out for a fallen homey. You don’t have to love her, but you gotta respect her.

Recognize.

Memphis Tigers defensive lineman Taylor Bradford was shot and killed by an unidentified gunman on the campus of the University of Memphis around 10:00 p.m. Sunday night, according to WREG-TV in Memphis.

Bradford was returning with friends to his apartment to get his keys, according to witnesses, when the gunman shot Bradford. Bradford was taken to a local hospital shortly afterwards, and died later that night.

The shooting took place at an apartment complex owned and operated by the University of Memphis. We wish there were other details here, but there’s not much at this point–just an incident so violent and random even WREG’s headline pops with a totally genuine exclamation point.

Pants, dignity. On this we build our republic.

Overzealous coaching is something we understand. Stealing someone’s pants outside the bounds of a friendly prank is not. Curt McKinney, coach of the Cincinnati rec league Midwest Marauders, is a pants-stealing, batshit-crazy bastard, according to one Aucherae Washington, a 10 year old booted from practice for walking down a hill during sprint drills at the Marauders’ practice. The saga of a boy who lost his pants follows in brief (boxers, actually, but on with the story:)

The boy said his coach berated him in front of the other players.

“He wanted a pair of pants,” said neighbor Yvonne Workman. “He was upset, and he seemed like he was nervous and he didn’t know what to do.”

The coach has not been suspended because he has not been charged with a crime in the case, according to league officials. He should be, of course: the kid is ten years old, playing football for fun, and obviously mismatched with a zealot of a coach who stripped him of his dignity in front of his teammates before making him walk home pantsless at the age of ten. Remember that blogs are the little invisible words in between the lines of regular newsprint, and in this case, those words read: Oh my god, what a complete and utter waste of carbon this man is.

And if you don’t think everyone in life wants a little dignity and a pair of pants at the bare minimum…then you, sir, are not part of this man’s Republic of Awesome. Seek citizenship elsewhere.

HT: Odell51

Forget? Hell, no!

HT and cocktails to Holly, our pinch-photoshopper.

Terry Hoeppner has died at the age of 59, according to sources close to the Miami program. This is still breaking, so we’ll update shortly. Hoeppner had recently announced that he was not going to coach Indiana in 2007 due to ongoing treatment for cancer.

Hoeppner: 1947–2007.