Oh, make fun of them if you like. That’s genuine affection, the kind you would feel for another man if you weren’t secretly afraid that you would get close and want to feel his rough stubble on your neck, his strong hands caressing your back, his muscular thighs grasping the horse you’re both riding through wine country, the…um…we’re sorry. You were saying?

Today we interview Michael Tunison, author of The Football Fan’s Manifesto and one of the founders of Kissing Suzy Kolber. His book is quite funny, and like all great reading fits on the back of a toilet for convenience of reading. It can also double as toilet paper in a pinch-strike unfortunate words-jiffy. You should buy it. Here’s the interview.

OS: What other purposes can your book serve besides tiring and unnecessary reading? Which fatigues the eyes, bothers the placid brain, and excites overly tense nerves?

MT: If you prop it up with a twig and place a small sliver of cheese with a string attached beneath it, there’s a good chance you could catch one of those sprites from Pan’s Labyrinth.

OS: You went to Maryland, therefore it is not your fault you don’t grok college football. What elements of the college game, though, would improve the soulless, corporate air of a pro football game?

MT: Definitely boosters. They really embody the innocent play-for-the-fun-of-it ethos of the college game. Also, a College Gameday-like broadcast would be nice.

OS: As unofficial arbiter of pro football fan ethics, what does one make of college fans who choose pro allegiances based on favored college players?

MT: I presume you are making reference to yourself and your eventual leap to Chiefs fandom when they draft Tebow and attempt to make him into a tight end. More to the point, I make the point in the book that as long as pro allegiances are made early enough in life, whatever asinine reason you have for liking that team is fine. In the case you mentioned, that could be problematic. Which one player do you use for the basis of your fandom? Once you commit, that’s it.

OS: Who is the more gay-friendly mascot: Steely McBeam or Sparty?

MT: Tough one. Steely’s got that retro-’70s charm, but Sparty has epaulets. Gotta go with Sparty. Did you ever see 300? More gay-friendly than 13 non shuttered gay steel mills.

OS: I pity pro fans for the cognitive damage inflicted on them by NFL commentary.

MT: /awaits question

OS: How many inches of bathwater could drown Merrill Hoge: three, four, or “he could choke facedown in a glass of water.”

MT: Trick question – you must drown him in wienie brine.

OS: As an amateur Sinophile and fan of all things East Asian, I must know: where did you get the ability to write in a completely authentic Korean dialect?

MT: Rockville, Maryland (D.C. SUBURBS HUMOR!)

OS:: Velly funny

MT: Numbel one funnytime broggel

OS: What are some tasteful NFL players names to scream out during the moment of greatest intimacy and pleasure?

MT: Channing Crowder and Stylez G. White.

OS: I like Peria Jerry of Atlanta. You can say in action it like a black preacher. PER-ya JER-ry.

MT: Only reason he’s on the roster.

OS: What NFL fanbase would turn to cannibalism first in a crisis?

MT: Raiders, obvs. In fact, they don’t need a crisis.

OS: You did not attend an ivy league college. Why are you allowed to write a book?

MT: I used to work for WaPo, so HarperCollins must have just assumed that I did. So let’s keep it down, huh?

Michael Tunison writes for Kissing Suzy Kolber and the Sporting Blog when he is not producing classics of American sports subgenre humor. He lives alone with a cat.

For lack of a better term, we’re calling this the “Kiffin Effect.” Pop quiz, hotshot: Coming off a 4-8 season and a 45-0 vivisectioning by your big in-state rival in which you netted all of 37 yards, what do you do? What do you do? Evidently, this:

Houston Nutt phoned in just now to say he has sucked it, as a matter of fact, and the Delicious Creamsicle of Immediate In-State Superiority was everything he thought it could be.

The pressure of being the preseason #1 for the Fulmer Cup must’ve gotten to them. I know all you EDSBS regulars have been waiting with bated breath for the first time I’d make a blatant plug for my dear Georgia Bulldogs, and here it is: For what feels like the first time since I was an naive, apple-cheeked freshman, the Dawgs have gone an entire offseason without a single player getting arrested. One hundred law-abiding cocktails to all of you, gentlemen! By contrast, the Dawgs’ season-opening opponent, Oklahoma State, won’t be suspending two offensive players arrested for pot possession in June. Note to Mike Gundy: If you’re going up against Georgia and you’re the one that looks slack on player discipline, there may be a problem. Unfortunately for the Dawgs, that righteous indignation plus two bucks will get Willie Martinez a grande Pike Place roast at Starbucks.

Your “Suddenly My Problems Seem Pretty Minor” moment of the day. The Tulsa World profiles Tulsa QB G.J. Kinne, whose dad, a high-school coach in Texas, was shot to death by the angry parent of a player four years ago. By contrast, I’ve spent most of the past 24 hours raging at having shattered the screen on my iPhone, and officially consider myself humbled.

We have met the enemy, and he is Tony Franklin. I mean us. We knew the Auburn coaching staff was a wee bit divided during last year’s 5-7 debacle, but evidently so were the players. Why was that, you think?

“The offense had their problems and some guys started hanging their heads – just stuff of that sort,” said defensive end Antonio Coleman. “That led to a 5-7 season. It was just the little things that led to seven losses. Coach Chizik came in and corrected that; and all the guys have their heads up.”

Yeah, it was just the little things — you know, division, not having any semblance of an offense, that sort of thing. You drop off by a few hundred yards here and there, pretty soon you’re going 5-7. It happens.

Hasn’t Detroit suffered enough? With the cash-strapped Big Three automakers pulling their sponsorship of the Motor City Bowl, Little Caesar’s Pizza may be stepping into the void, meaning “We’re gonna probably be known as the Little Caesar’s Pizza, Pizza Bowl,” according to bowl co-founder George Perles. As a Birmingham resident and much-put-upon supporter of the Papajohns.com Bowl, I have but one thing to say: YOU BASTARDS. Can’t you just let us have this?!?

It beat out other mottos including “Bereft,” “Unfulfilled,” and “Empty-Feeling.” Ole Miss’s team motto going into 2009: “Unsatisfied,” taking a commanding lead in the Most Depressing Team Motto of All Time competition. Tip: If it sounds like something you’d circle on a restaurant comment card after a particularly disappointing meal, it probably shouldn’t be your team motto.

The anthem to which the Rebels will be charging into Vaught-Hemingway in ‘09.

Failure to plan means planning to fail. As for the Early Bird Award for Most Absurdly Diligent Scheduling, Oklahoma and Army have won that one in a runaway by agreeing on a home-and-home — in 2018 and 2020. Congratulations, Black Knights, on being the first D-IA program to earn a guaranteed loss in a season that won’t even begin for another nine years.

Now, you go back to doing something latently homoerotic, all right? We’ve already posted Still Life With Shirtless, Oiled Football Players and Lamborghini, the curious poster Tennessee is using to arouse . . . uh, interest in the 2009 season, or something; turns out there’s a “making of” video. Go click the link yourselves, pervs, we’re not posting that nonsense here.

File under “Up, Nowhere to Go But.” UCF offensive coordinator Charlie Taaffe is “pleased” with the improvement his team has shown heading into ‘09. Considering that the Golden Knights finished 120th out of 120 in DI-A in both total yardage and first downs, the fact that there has been improvement at all is probably reasonable grounds for pleased-ness.

Twelve-pack? Better go ahead and make that a case. Scott Wolf compiles every single college football game that will be on TV opening weekend. If you can look at this and not devise a way to remain laid out on your coach from noon straight through midnight on September 5, you’re not really trying.

(Pre-emptive righteous-indignation stifling: McMackin’s free-speech rights aren’t being violated by any of this. The 1st Amendment prevents the federal government from prosecuting you for something you’ve said; it doesn’t bar your employers from fining you for making them look like a bunch of troglodytes. Thanks, carry on.)

With that out of the way, all that’s left is to sweep up the pieces. Can we expect an Obama-style “beer summit” between McMackin, the UH president, and Charlie Weis? Or would a “cosmo summit” with McMackin and the head of the Human Rights Campaign be more appropriate? We’re confident that any institution whose athletic teams were once nicknamed the “Rainbow Warriors” can be trusted to do the right thing here.

McMackin: I know most of the coaches in the country are rooting for us to beat Notre Dame,” McMackin said. “Charlie gives this talk, ‘We do something special at Notre Dame,’ and (the players) get up and they do this little cheer … this little faggot dance.

Giggles. Then: sudden realization, followed by nauseating regret.

McMackin: Don’t write that ‘faggot’ down. I was misquoted,” he said. “Just please … cover for me,” McMackin said. “Go ahead, say ‘faggot dance.’ No. Please cover for me on that, too — right Karl? I’ll deny it. Anything else?

Reporter one: Could you clarify that, please?

McMackin: No, seriously. Please don’t print that. It was–

Reporter one: I just want to make sure you know what you’re saying here. What exactly is a “faggot dance?”

McMackin: No, really, I’m sorry, I chose my words poorly, and I–

Reporter two: [turns around laptop, points to picture.] Like this kind of dance?

McMackin: [cocks hip to side.] Now, that’s a bit too static. Too Paris is Burning for my tastes. When I said it, I meant–

Reporter three: How about like this? [turns around laptop, points to picture.]

McMackin: [laughs] Well, that’s closer. The first was too theatrical, but this is just salacious. Far too Fosse for my tastes, you know? It’s like Tom of Finland meets Fame, right? I mean you can just smell the bathhouse here.

Reporter two: Tell me, girl. All that dance is missing is a tub of Astroglide and some Sylvester playing in the background.

McMackin: Right?

Giggles.

Reporter one: So you’re saying you want something more akin to a heteronormative inversion expressed in dance instead of something so overwhemingly masculine?

McMackin looks relieved.

McMackin: Yes! Yes, yes, yes. You understand what I’m trying to paint here. Something truly sissified.

Reporter four: Oooh! Ooh! Coach!

McMackin: Yessssssssssssth? [they laugh]

Reporter Four: You mean like this?

McMackin: PERRRRRFECTO!!! Magnificent! Fabulous. Exactly what I was talking about: feminine but strong, fierce, with Frank Gatson all over it. Yes, yes. SOMEONE knows what I’m going for here.

Reporter four: I’m so glad you got that!

Reporter one: Pure Beyonce!

Reporter two: Give us a hug, hooker! All of you!

Reporter three: SINGLE LADIES!!!

They all group hug passionately.

Awkward silence.

McMackin: Um, but yeah. That’s F-A-G-G-O-T. Just make sure you spell it right.

Reporter Four: (scratches balls, spits.) Yeah. We’ll print it. Right after we go drink some beer and have sex with some women.

Reporter One: Right-o.

Reporter Two: Hey, who likes vagina?

All, in unison: US!!!!

Awkward silence. They leave.

When asked if he was a racing fan, he flashed a big grin and replied, “I’m becoming one. This is my first race.”

“Some of them,” he said, almost embarrassed to talk about it. “I’ve gotten to meet some people, some really cool people.”

Why so shy, shrinking violet?� Could it be….this isn’t your first race?

[NAME REDACTED]:
Summer practice had me a blast
Didn’t know that we’d finish last
Didn’t know how bad we would be
Had to watch Urban win more than me
Summer dreams ripped at the seams
But oh… those summer nights…
[DANCE BREAK]

Thanks to all for having me here. You may not know that one of my passions outside of sharing the gift of the love of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ is for college football, that most American of games. Orson has asked me to share my top five for 2009, and well I’m honored to do just that.

5. East Carolina Pirates. This year’s wild-card breakout team in one of my favorite colors: purple. Who doesn’t like pirates, with their habit of sneaking up on opponents from behind and overpowering them with their swords? I know I do. I’m a sucker for their mascot. Just look at that beard!

He almost seems to be beckoning you on to a score, doesn’t he, with the saucy earring and cocksure grin surely beaming beneath that thick black man-muffler? I bet it smells like aftershave and heaven. I’ll happily go raiding with these Pirates any day, though no one will be sneaking up on them this year (unless someone lets them!)

4. The Cal Bears. Nothing fights like a bear! Grrrrrr. Despite the immorality and sin surrounding them in the cesspool of the Bay area, I feel like this is the year Jahvid Best breaks out and lifts Cal into the burly, delicious hairy arms of success. Bears like honey, and by honey, I mean crystal meth. I mean: success.

3. USC Trojans. They never seem to break, no matter how much pressure gets put on them.

2. Florida Gators. It’s great to see a man of God like Tim Tebow inspiring so many. He’s so…thick…with the holy spirit! Also, their entire two-deep returns, and we’ll go deep with that roster any time. Given the amount of talent they have. Yes. That is exactly what I meant to say.

1. The Texas Longhorns. Who doesn’t love the Longhorns? And Colt McCoy, whose gotten so much more muscular over his three years at Texas that it’s hard to wonder just what he does in that weight room? Maybe he squats a lot, letting his perfectly sculpted glutes do the work for him. Maybe he just does a lot of sprints, letting the sweat just pour off of his chiseled musculature as he runs the steps wearing only a pair of compression shorts. Whew! Whatever he does, it’s working well enough for me to pick Texas at number one thanks to the weak defenses of the Big 12 and Will Muschamp, that excitable scamp of a defensive coordinator they have. Colt’s my horse for the year, and my what a steed to ride for 2009!

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go on a nine mile run.

Remember. It’s not gay if it’s with Tebow, who will be back for his senior season. Also: Tebow has to go back to Baton Rouge this season. We wouldn’t miss that for the birth of our first legitimate child, much less anything else.

Hi. I’m an anonymous African American football player at the University of Utah. On the eve of this game you might wonder: why would a talented young black man such as myself go to a place that doesn’t have many of my people in it?

You’d be surprised as to the reasons why. First, Coach Whittingham has done a great job making sure everyone’s comfortable here. He has prayer groups for the Mormons so they feel comfortable. He makes sure we know about churches here in our community, too, and lets us know how welcome and valued we are.

Second, it’s a great community: clean, quiet, and with just enough things to do if you want to stay busy. The outdoor sports scene is great if you like it. There are clubs, and you can hang out with the Utah Jazz if you want to–it’s a big city, sure, but it’s got that small town vibe, too.

Third, it really is a great football program. I’ve learned so much here, and grown so much as a person. I owe the fans and the program so much, and will be a Ute for life.

You know why I really went here?

You betcha: the old-fashioned hot retro gayness of it all.

As a gay football player, I could have gone to any number of football programs offering up a red-hot cauldron of man-meat marinading in a steamy broth of testosterone, hair gel, and house music. Miami, Cal, or Georgia Tech, for example, all would have offered proximity to vibrant gay communities filled with the things most gay men find necessary: gyms, gyms, well-decorated bars with single-word names, dog salons…you know. The essentials.

I was charmed, though, by the retro-poofery of Utah. You know who’s gay from the start. The male French teacher you meet at the grocery store buying spelt bread? In some towns, you might be hitting on a straight guy with “diverse interests,” but in Utah? He’s always 100% totally and completely gay. So is someone’s “crazy uncle,” the guy who wears Christmas Sweaters in May, and youth counselors at churches.

It’s like being gay in the 1950s, really, and that’s what charmed me so completely and utterly into going to Utah. I don’t have to be on the “down-low” here. I just have to deal with being “sensitive” and “artistic,” and that’s my cross to bear for the cost of the guilty, hot, shame-stained sex I’m having with your “zany” hairdresser in the back of his Dodge Caliber on a desert road just outside of Salt Lake.

It’s like I’m James Bond, and I’m on a secret mission every day to infiltrate the enemy. And his ass.

Signed,

Anonymous Gay Ute

ps. Alex Smith? No, though believe me, I wish he was.

pps. Good thing about Mormons? Not clingy, as they never call back.

ppps. We’re going to die tonight, but the upside? Hot confused Bama boys in the Quarter, baby! Mmm, those bangs…

[Snow Patrol's "Open Your Eyes" swells in the background]

(….which, let’s face it, could be anywhere…)

One team returns for their first shot at glory in ten years…

and another is about to get the awakening of a lifetime.

“That tingling….it’s not just coming from the outside.”

Heads will roll. Pants will drop. Mike Stoops loses football games.

THE LAS VEGAS BOWL: Bend, don’t break.

The Las Vegas Bowl opens December 20th at 8:00 PM on ESPN. For a summary of the entire weekend, please see Messr. Swindle’s summary of the weekend over at The Sporting Blog.

Reporter: “Any further questions: what do you expect to see from the Sooners in terms of game management and strategy on Saturday?”

Pinkel: “I’m gonna just be frank with you. I expect them to put sixty points worth of ungreased football schlong right into our outflow pipe, frankly. Take that down: I expect them to sodomize us with an excellence unseen since Halston took on three members of the French Men’s Rugby Squad in 1980 in the VIP at Club 54. We’re going to be rammed from the aftside by a battleship that, frankly, will likely split our humble clipper ship in two. We’re Edward Norton in the shower in American History X, and we know what’s coming. It doesn’t mean we like it, but in life, sometimes you’re the plunger, and sometimes you’re the toilet begging for a mercy flush.

So, in return what I expect is a quality reacharound. Not a half-assed flubbing of the old Atari Boystick, no, what I want in return for taking the biggest Barbary Pirate Handshake since Joel Klatt watched his brain fly out of his nose is a quality courtesy butter-churning from the man in return. Let us get some points back in the third and fourth. Make sure Chase has at least one eyeball when the game is over. Take out Demarco Murray when they’re up by thirty. The little things.

If you’re going to flesh-kebab someone, you might as well give the courtesy of rubbing their meat before applying the heat. That’s all I’m saying, and you can quote me on that. We’re not looking for a pastor’s handshake here. I want my team to feel the concerned but firm grip of a closeted plumber on holiday in a Miami bathhouse, dammit. It’s the least they can do after what will probably happen to us on Saturday.

Any other questions? What? Why are you looking at me like that?

[/the sound of flashbulbs, furious scribbling, and phones being dialed.]

We hear his voice reading the words he is typing on screen.

SJPW: But what if, in the rush to find love, we have forgotten sex somewhere in all the rush? And is there enough sex in our love, and enough sex in our love? And where do both fit with the urge to have sex while you’re in love with someone else? And when facing a zone blitz, what the fuck do I do? And the sex? What of the sex?

The phone rings. BRODIE CROYLE is on the line.

SJPW: Hello?

Brodie: What’s up bitch? ARE YOU WEARING SHOES?

SJPW: No, I’m just stuck on my column. But I love shoes!

Brodie: Then put on some EXPENSIVE SHOES and get down to the bar. First Cosmo’s on me!

SJPW: You always know how to cheer me up.

Brodie: Whatever. And bring your vagina!

SJPW: See you in an hour

The scene changes to an expensive bar you would never go to unless you like whorish displays of wealth and hair gel. At a table sit SJPW, BRODIE CROYLE, PAULETTE FINEBAUM, and Terrance Ann Cody.

Terrance Cody: I like sex!

Paulette Finebaum: I’m looking for love, not sex. There’s more to life than just sex, you know.

Brodie: There’s shoes AND sex, Paulette!

ALL CACKLE.

Brodie: How’s the diet going, Terrence Ann?

Paulette: That’s private, Brodie.

Brodie: WHATEVER! SHOES!

SJPW: You can talk about it if you like, Terrence Ann. It’s your call.

TAC: I…I can’t stop eating lineman.

Brodie: They are fatty.

SJPW: And delicious, if you know what I mean. RIGHT GIRLS!!!

ALL CACKLE.

A suave, diminutive gentleman in a trenchcoat approaches the table.

Mr. Big: Good evening. I’d like to show you something, ladies.

Brodie: Oh, I bet you do big man OH MY GOD—

TAC: I’m hungry.

Paulette: I’m disgusted by your lack of discretion, as I’m the only person in this series who knows their ass from a moral hole in the ground. Also, I have the best ass, by far, but am never seen naked for some cursed reason.

SJPW: Is that…covered in diamonds?

Mr. Big: Not many men can afford a codpiece this big, or need one, for that matter. Fewer still can afford to cover it in rubies and diamonds.

Brodie: Is that…

Mr. Big: An elephant pattern.

SJPW: Where’s it’s trunk?

Mr. Big: I can show you that later.

ALL CACKLE.

Brodie: SHOES! MORE COSMOS! TELL HERM I’M NOT COMING HOME TONIGHT BECAUSE I AM A WHOOOOOORE!!!

Scene: an abandoned parking lot in Hoover, Alabama.

SJPW: I’ve hit another predictable crisis where my complete lack of self-awareness and need for approval from any man, no matter how sad, has me walking the streets alone. Lacking acting chops, I will stare at the ground and purse my lips while wearing a five-thousand dollar dress.

A black limousine with Alabama tags pulls up. A window rolls down. Mr. Big smiles from the window.

Mr. Big: Hey, gorgeous. Need a ride?

SJPW: I…(she swoons. From lack of food.)

SJPW: How did you find me?

Mr. Big: I followed my heart…all the way to Hoover.

SJPW: You followed me to the Galleria? That’s at least 50 miles. That’s more than most Alabamians travel in their whole lives–

He puts a finger to her mouth.

Mr. Big: Shhhhh. Distance means nothing between you and me, JPW. I’ll make sure you never have to think about anything ever again. Just like we’ve been doing all along.

SJPW: Run on almost every first down?

Mr. Big: Yes.

SJPW: Play-action? Screens? Simple stuff, right? Big, I can do the simple stuff. I can!

Mr. Big: Yes, baby. Yes, you can.

SJPW: I’m…I’m so glad you found me.

Mr. Big: Me, too, baby. Most quarterbacks actually want to do something.

SJPW: No, Big, no. I’m yours. Whatever you say, from now on. That’s what I’ll do. But what if it’s too predictable?

Mr. Big: Predictable or not, baby, you can’t stop unstoppable.

SJPW: You’re right, Big. You’re always right.

Big: Now let’s go find that elephant trunk I told you so much about, huh?

SJPW: You naughty boy, you.

(They embrace.)

FIN

It really is superior bathroom reading, and was actually written to be digested in the exact length of a single average bowel movement. For Drew, who subsists entirely on Trader Joe’s snack foods and other foofy white person foods, these are violent, explosive episodes, so they might be shorter than you think, depending on your diet.

Buy here, buy often, and if you’re a Georgia fan, be sure to hide it when your pastor or mother comes around, or you’ll go to hell, because there are bad words and evolution ‘n stuff in it!

He had this to say about being afraid, drawing chuckles from around the room: �I can�t wear my wife�s dress right now � but if I ever get afraid, I�m just going to stay at home and probably start cross-dressing.�

Promenade!

And suddenly, we realize we liked him better when he didn’t talk and give us erection-killing images for the ages. But we don’t judge, John. You could probably actually coach in a dress right now and escape all scrutiny: the Tennessee defense is 11th in the country in total defense. The hate-rays directed at Dave Clawson’s booth have the eyes of Vol fans fully and completely occupied. There is one advantage, though: all that booze-fueled infrared energy is saving a bundle on heating bills at Neyland.

Hi. You know who I am. This thumb’s for you, Colt McCoy, because you’re a champion who takes my breath away and turns in slow motion away from onrushing defenders bent on crushing you. You took the highway to the danger zone but took the exit toward Victory Lane, and for that I’m buzzing your tower and oiling myself up for a one-on-one volleyball game. You’re invited.

No more playing with the boys, Colt: just you and me, a Colt and a Maverick out in the field doing what animals do. I’m bringing this thumb. Let’s role play: this time, you be Sam Bradford, and I’ll be Brian Orakpo and Sergio Kindle.

This is your open thread for the afternoon. We don’t judge you, whatever you’d like to do with or to Colt McCoy and the rest of the magnificent Texas Longhorns, who played the finest game of the year thus far against the Oklahoma Sooners. Boom. Motherfucker.