Tennessee Football Offices. 11:30 a.m., November 4th, 2008.

Fulmer: Well, that does it. I’m off Atkins for the next month.

He takes a donut from green and white box. A solitary tear runs down his cheek.

PF: I just…what am I gonna do with the rest of my life?

[A GREAT RUMBLING OF BASS AND MUCH SHAKING]… (more…)

To cap off a lackluster hate week, we salvage by threatening each other with the worst tortures we can possibly think of. Enjoy?

Orson: Ready to hate?

Holly: It’s been too long since I was referred to as a “dick mitten.”

Holly: (yes. hateyourface.)

Orson: I will open this with: I will throw you in a closet full of BEES and name Dave Clawson as your offensive coordinator.

Holly: [yourpastorheardyousaythat'd]

Holly: I don’t even need to do anything to you. I will strand you, as is, in the Wisconsin student section. They’ll love your fluffy widdle fauxhawk.

Orson: I’ll die from the fumes first. SO….MUCH..BOOZE….

Holly: Or from the FREE HAM sign I will place about your neck.

Orson: Speaking of Booze: how is Johnny Majors? (more…)

We rarely pre-empt the Curious Index. Today, there is a reason. Read on, because Holly found something majestic.

Raise ya glasses, shake ya asses, Vol Nation: For unto us is given this day that greatest of football blogosphere treasures—a Catlab masterpiece of our very own. It’s like staring into the sun, but it’ll get you drunk. Behold:

Have you ever seen anything ring so true? I’m about 85% sure the guy holding the pennant is my cousin Maxie. Had this wondrous creation hatched just a scant few days earlier, we would’ve been hard-pressed not to scrap the Tennessee list entirely—because this is, perfectly encapsulated, what Orange And White People Like.

Ron Prince is a man with plans. For example, he only recruits running backs who can fit in suitcases, a kind of Kenny Irons in reverse situation. He also likes red post-it notes because they convey urgency.

He’s also been reading up on his Douglas Adams and watching his South Park, because he wants you to remember one simple lesson: bring your towel.

Willie the Wildcat, the worst mascot in America, still appears to be a guy just wearing a head. And not even a proper mascot head, made from synthetic fibers, chicken wire, some felt and a bit of professional stitchwitchery. (more…)

Begin.

Again, from the hypervigilant eye of the Wizard of Odds, the story of the ‘Stutz and the Toledo athletic department’s odd financial practices gets even odder as the Toledo Blade slices into the rich, juicy, sugary sweet yet salty ham of a good story: Toledo’s practice of bartering tickets and other athletic department benefits for goods and services.

This bartering included rounds of golf, cars, and other goods adding up to a $700,000 tab exchanged over the course of the past year. Most shocking of all?

And, according to university records, $4,050 of a $5,000 trade with Honey Baked Ham in 2004 was used for gift certificates for athletics staff members. Another $500 was used for a staff Christmas party that year.

Toledo football: will work for ham.

Tom Amstutz: greasing the palms of his employees with that gold-foil wrapped wicked duchess of meats, the Honeybaked Ham. The ancient practice of barter may be a happy hobbyist’s way of purchasing Canadian real estate on the cheap, but it’s not a fave of Toledo’s President, Lloyd Jacobs, who put on his no-funderoos by saying that bartering–widespread at other universities, and not illegal–”is not the best practice.”

Tom Amstutz, driver of a brand new ‘07 Honda Ridgeline, would likely disagree. Embroiled as he is–man, does the offseason involve a lot of embroiling–in the points-shaving scandal surrounding Scooter McDougle and scrutiny over his recruiting trips to that hotbed of American football Germany, ‘Stutz might have to find some new wheels and a new magical ham fountain soon.