If you’re an SEC fan of a certain vintage, you probably have vivid memories of former Kentucky head coach Hal Mumme: looked like Ted Danson’s awkward younger brother, called plays like a desperate bizarro-world Steve Spurrier, and was characterized by the near-constant presence of a jaunty neck towel that had to have been perpetually sodden with the floppiest of flop sweats. His four-year tenure at UK read like the Cliffs Notes version of a Scorsese mafia epic — lifted the Wildcats up out of decades-long obscurity to only their third back-to-back bowl appearances in program history, but painted this veneer of success on a rickety structure of malfeasance and staff infighting, and flamed out in the third act as player payments were exposed and the ‘Cats were pile-driven into 2-9 embarrassment. Mumme is now the head coach at Division III McMurry University, which currently does not have a name or mascot for any of its athletic teams as a result of the NCAA striking down its former nickname, the Indians, on the basis that it could be seen as offensive to Native Americans.

I’ve got my towel, I’ve cut all the checks . . . let’s light this candle.

As Mumme prepares for his first season at McMurry, Lexington Herald-Leader columnist John Clay took it upon himself to track down Mumme’s UK staff and find out where they’d ended up. What he found was less than inspiring: Of Mumme and his 11 original assistants from 1997, only five are employed at D-IA programs in any capacity; four are college head coaches; two are coaching at the high-school level; and two are out of coaching entirely (though one of them has the convenient excuse of being dead since 2006).

The most successful of these gentlemen, obviously, is Mike Leach, currently leading his rowdy band of pirates at Texas Tech to regular bowl appearances; oddly enough, the guys with the next most prestigious jobs on the list were mere graduate assistants under Mumme. Chris Hatcher is the head coach at Georgia Southern (and being mentioned with increasing frequency as a candidate for D-IA jobs), while Sonny Dykes is breathing life into a formerly moribund passing attack as Arizona’s offensive coordinator.

There is, of course, one guy who still rates a grade of “incomplete”: Tony Franklin, running backs coach under Mumme and currently offensive coordinator at MTSU. At the moment, Franklin is known primarily for being the catalyst that started the Tommy Tuberville administration down the road to doom in its last year at Auburn, a dubious distinction indeed; but if he can work the same wonders at MTSU that he did at Troy, who knows, he might have a D-IA coaching gig in him yet, thereby eclipsing both his old bosses something fierce. The spread offense indeed works in mysterious ways.

Football is like life: it has a playbook, and when it breaks down, people get hurt. Enjoy.

The play begins thusly. We play the part of the quarterback, labeled here as O/S. The idea: to successfully pitch our way through an evening of socializing at a party in DC with the pitchman, our friend the local DC-ite and aspiring political lizard-person, trailing the play. (You ask: how are you friends with a person-lizard? Simple. You just feed them lettuce just like an iguana, and they’ll be your friend forever.)

The design of the play is simple: the blockers here are played by our liver and ability to make small talk. They will block the dangerous elements of the defense in order to free movement throughout the party, and if needs be the pitchman will take the ball of conversation or social interaction when alcohol or the awkwardness of discussing anything with the half-reptiles at this largely politico-style party. (more…)

Percy Harvin is injured. Big deal, we say: Percy Harvin is always injured. Just before the national title game in 2006, Percy Harvin sneezed and severed his femoral artery. Bleeding profusely and on the brink of death, he put on his pants, strapped on the helmet, and after three cups of Gatorade ripped off 82 yards of total offense and a TD against the Ohio State Buckeyes. He then died immediately postgame, but recovered in time for spring practices.

Like a finely tuned sports car, Percy runs at top speed and, more frequently than not, is on blocks during the week receiving physical therapy, being massaged by virgins, and laughing gustily at the jesters and midgets who amuse the court at Florida. For the uninitiated, here’s an easy summary of Percy’s injuries over the years.

We left out an ingrown toenail that had him in the ICU until three hours before the South Carolina game. He was slowed to a mere 8 carry, 167 yard performance as a result. Our apologies. (HT: Holly.)

Disappointment has five flavors in 2008. Numbers five and four are available for your inevitable disappointment, too.

Three: Auburn/Your New Diet. French ladies don’t get fat. Nor do they fire Tony Franklin.

Both are mysteries involving long walks, various forms of starvation, and cultural differences it would take years of dodgy research to fully flesh out. In fact, we suggest you contact the Ford Foundation and other luxurious research institutions fond of giving out fat grant money to let us research these. We, in turn, will take that money, move to Thailand, and do all of our important research on both topics from there face-down in a bowl of pad thai and with an IV of Chang Beer planted firmly in our arm. Trust us: it sounds unconventional, but all new science at first is indistinguishable from fraud. Or magic. We forget the quote.

Anyway, Auburn began 2008 as a consensus top tenth and a half team, getting ten in the AP and eleven in the USA Today poll on the basis of their fierce defense and the introduction of the Tigerbonesplitwhateverthefuckitwas Tony Franklin spread attack, which was double awesome because the Tigers had installed it early for the Peach Bowl to end the previous season. You were were ready, because you were doing this the sensible way, no?

Just like when you switched to sugar-free candy, or light beer, and began tapering into the diet–you didn’t have to start all at once! Just easing into it in a sensible way, and not like the time you just started eating nothing but bacon for three months back in 1997. Man, you smelled like one big piece of pig ass. (But my god, you could almost see that little D’Angelo man dent! It was there, you swear!)

Lookin’ good, Auburn. Just a few more pounds and you’ll be perfect.

Yet…something was wrong from the start. (more…)

12:14, Pittsburgh, PA. Dave Wannstedt, master of motivational ploys, discovers Twitter.

(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…)

I will eat your children, praise Allah. Love, Zippy.

Syracuse in the Gerg Robinson era in the Big East: 2-19 overall, with the two victories coming over the eleven-man sieve that was the 2007 Louisville defense and a 20-14 win mistakenly labeled as a conference win over “UConn.” We’re certain that if the records keepers of CFB look back, they’ll see that was not the University of Connecticut taking the field that day under the Carrier Dome, but instead a plucky but overmatched University of Yukon team. (Motto: Y-U? Y-Not? Answer: frostbite, starvation, wolves.)

In addition to finding sudden joy in mistyping Gerg Robinson’s name, since “Gerg” seems like such a better nickname than any other we can make up, the long, painful, fat-man-tumbling-downhill decline of Syracuse is made all the more interesting for us as teams now seemingly out of league are now licking their chops at the prospect of playing the Orangemen.

Sick lion, meet your menacing hyena of the week:

”This week is our week to show we can really play. We have to step it up a notch,” said Zips defensive captain Doug Williams, a senior linebacker. ”We have to work hard, practice hard, give it all we got and show we are a team that can win a BCS game.”

They’re unaware of the clause excising Syracuse from formal consideration as a “BCS victory” this season, but please don’t tell them that. TNIAAM has the essential review here, where you can admire both his skill in learning all things Akron in a matter of days, and also admire his continued bravery in the face of a continual, unrelenting cockslapping by Fate. Godspeed, you Orange Emperors. You’ll need it: Zippy is gaining on you.

Far, far be it from us to mock injuries to college athletes, particularly those sustained by Bruins quarterbacks, all of whom seem to have been born under the same Mr. Glass constellation. But after learning that Ben Olson has injured himself again, this time while backing away from the center, we did a little digging through the UCLA medical archives, and there’s significant evidence to merit assigning minders to all incoming signal-callers:

2007: Recently unsealed medical records indicate that Patrick Cowan’s knee problems were an aggravation of a previous injury sustained while reenacting the mattress surfing scene from Disney’s Princess Diaries 2: Royal Engagement:

1991: Tommy Maddox sits out the entirety of spring practice after overturning a campus vending machine in an attempt to procure an extra can of Fresca.

1988: Troy Aikman is rushed to the hospital after ingesting a packet of silica gel he found in his new cleats, misses week of practice leading up to USC but recovers in time to take the field.

1984: Steve Bono undergoes season-ending surgery to his left foot after becoming entangled in a mall escalator.

1983: Rick Neuheisel is held out of the Arizona State game following a “Sun-In incident.”

1972: Mark Harmon misses four games with a sprained face.

1966: Gary Beban slices off entire left hand opening a can of pears, is held out of Rose Bowl.

1961: Billy Kilmer misses the College All-Star Game after dislocating his shoulder while removing tags from a new mattress.

1943: Records from this time period are spotty, indicating only that Bob Waterfield did not play in the first two games of the season due to “freckles”.

In all seriousness, for rills: This does suck, we’re in no way looking forward to playing a UCLA team that’s at anything less than full strength, because where’s the fun, and we wish a speedy and actual recovery to Olson and the rest of the Pac-10 QB casualties.