Lou, you tried. They gave you nothing, but you tried. You were stuck out there with a few props, a whistle, and a Starter cap, and you made magic happen. Now they’ve put you in a suit, forced you to commit a felony by impersonating a doctor, and robbed you of your opportunity to look your team–that team, by the way, being AMERICA–and pump us up for the hard week ahead.

Oh, you might have thought you were just talking about Notre Dame, or Nebraska, or whatever doomed team you were trying to hype into believing they could beat a far superior team. But in reality, Lou, we were all taking a knee and drinking it in like wide-eyed freshmen. Like them, for one fateful instant, we believed.

Now you’re Dr. Lou…which forces us to sing songs of lament and instant nostalgia.

(HT: OPS and Holly on the Holtzfarks.)

God forbid you take a second off that spreadsheet, but if your boss is a Mark May-scale dick and won’t let you take two minutes to watch a fine internet production, listen or download below. Boston Market has a great dinner special for $6.99.

MP3 File

Long have we yearned for the right measure of praise for the Economist, our favorite magazine in the universe. After all, they combine airtight prose with ruthless cold sense and snarkily captured pics: everything we aspire to be and will never, ever be. They also make covers like this, for which we love them and would willingly massage all of their black-socked feet:

Someone has beaten us to it. If that’s the price to pay for being well-informed, then too fucking bad. SIR–this rules. Thank you, Orson Swindle, Atlanta, GA USA.

You’re not going to like it when I say this…

Furman Bisher is very, very old: 89, in fact, and still writing columns for the AJC. To be very, very honest, we respect his longevity but have never particularly enjoyed his work, making him the Bob Dylan of Atlanta sportswriting: around, allegedly legendary, and never really doing anything for us. Then again, when we were growing up he was already sixty, so admittedly we’ve never seen him close to his fastball.

The rule at the AJC has been, since time immemorial: Cut Bisher and die. This seems an immensely stupid rule for anyone, since if you line up at a typewriter every day you’re bound to make mistakes. (See our corrections, or perhaps this entire blog for examples thereof.) However, it might be time for someone to begin at least proofing what the guy types before entering “RUN” or whatever command publishes on the FORTRAN-rigged website the AJC has:

“Eight springs ago the Mets and Cubs opened the season, not in Cincinnati. Guess where? Tokyo. That Tokyo, the guys who gave us Pearl Harbor. Some people don’t like you to bring that up, trade with Japan is so hot. But I’ve got a long memory. I saw what a few bombs can do to our property.”

Gadzooks: not only does Bisher anachronistically invoke the Rising Sun paranoia of the late eighties (The japanese will own your brain! They’ll own everything!), he…he says that. Rather than fire up the facile righteous indignation wagon, we simply sent a tattered rising sun flag and this note in an envelope to Bisher at the AJC this morning instead.

Deal Westeln Devir,

Lieutenant Hideo Takeda
Japanese Army
Zambales Mountains, Philippines.

When Furman Bisher takes the red-eye to Manila later this week with a flint-lock rifle, a canteen, and a map in hand, and you hear laughter emanating from the Atlanta area, that would be us.

We Longhorn fans have had an interesting ride during Mack Brown’s 10 years in Austin. 1998-2003 were filled with promise, but mostly near-misses. 2004 saw Vince Young take over under center and another loss to Oklahoma – our fifth in a row. Vince never lost a game after that, though, winning back to back Rose Bowls along the way, including Texas’ perfect run through 2005 to the national title.

Ah, those were the days. The team was loose. The best player in college football history was doing things none of us had ever seen. And Mack Freaking Brown had 50 Cent in his iPod.

Vince Young is a god. For real.

But oh how things are regressing to the mean. Since small town hero Colt McCoy beat Oklahoma last season, the Longhorns have quickly tumbled back to the pack. Texas lost back to back games to K-State and A&M last year, choking away the South Division to Oklahoma, who promptly won their fourth Big 12 title under Bob Stoops. After the game? Malcolm Kelly celebrates:

I’m sensing a pattern here…

Fast forward to today, and Oklahoma’s won their fifth Big 12 title under Stoops, with his fifth different quarterback. Meanwhile, Texas fans are prepping for their fourth trip to the Holiday Bowl in the past eight seasons. Freshman wunderkind Colt McCoy has become the Sophomore Slump. Texas has looked listless for two straight seasons… and today we may have found out why.

Ladies and gentlemen, the Austin American-Statesman presents: Area Athletes’ Top 10 Songs To Workout/Get Pumped Up To.

Colt McCoy’s Top 10
1. (tie) ‘She Thinks My Tractor’s Sexy,’ Kenny Chesney and ‘I Can Still Make Cheyenne,’ George Strait
2. ‘Good Directions,’ Billy Currington
3. ‘Tuesday’s Gone,’ Lynyrd Skynyrd
4. ‘Big City,’ Merle Haggard
5. ‘Cowboy Song,’ Thin Lizzy
6. ‘Yellow Ledbetter,’ Pearl Jam
7. ‘Bad Company,’ Bad Company
8. ‘Hotel California,’ Eagles
9. ‘Lost and Found,’ Randy Rogers Band
10. ‘She’s Every Woman,’ Garth Brooks

One of these things is not like the others.

God help the Longhorns…

(Hat Tip: Barking Carnival)