‘Cause it’s Friday, you ain’t got no football, and you ain’t got s#!t to do. Break yo’ self, fool — the preseason USA Today Coaches’ Poll has been released in all its premature, ghostvoted glory. Rest assured Holly and I will get around to a withering dissection of everything that’s wrong with the coaches’ rankings later on today, not the least of which is the fact that some of the teams they ranked may not have even started fall practice yet, but for right now let us rejoice in a sign that the college football season truly is a-comin’. Kind of like when they start putting up the Christmas-sale banners in the first week of October.

This has been “Scary Thoughts” with Eric Berry. The battle has begun at Tennessee for the title of Other Safety Besides Eric Berry, and no less than Berry himself says both Janzen Jackson and Darren Myles Jr. have “a lot more natural ability” than he did when he stepped onto the Tennessee campus. Here’s a thought for Lane Kiffin: Why not just let the other team’s offense have the ball every series and play defense the whole game? Can anyone honestly say Berry isn’t the biggest scoring threat the Vols have on their entire roster?

It must be the winning record. It’s very slimming on you. Don’t look now, but Stoops might actually have whipped Arizona into a solid team — so solid, in fact, that Stoops himself has unloaded 20 pounds his Wildcats upset BYU in last year’s Las Vegas Bowl. In other nutritionally healthy news, there’s nothing spectacularly shocking about this Alabama notebook, we’re just amused by anything applauding a 354-pound man for his weight-loss diligence.

Do not taunt Happy Fun Bronco. Boise State says they’re not dwelling on their home opener against Oregon this season, but who’d blame them if they did? You can’t really accuse someone of “looking ahead” when the game they’re looking ahead to is their first game of the season, particularly when their opponent’s QB promised to “take it to them” a couple weeks ago. If you’re scoring at home, BSU punked Oregon 37-32 in Eugene last September, and host the Ducks on the Smurf Turf on Sept. 3.

Rolling with the Neu. Rick Neuheisel’s son Jerry, a presumptive member of the class of 2011, is starting to get some recruiting buzz, and though he looks sort of like how we imagine a member of the Swedish women’s track and field team might look, we know better than to bet against anyone with Neuheisel DNA. (Presumably, as a student at Los Angeles’s Loyola High School, Jerry will be at least an ancillary beneficiary of the breakup of the infamous Los Angeles Football Monopoly, though we can’t say for sure until we’ve seen the documents from the Securities and Exchange Commission.)

It’s going to be an interesting family Thanksgiving in the Bowden household. For the first time in ages, the only member of the Bowden family fielding any questions about national-title expectations is — Terry, despite bringing back only one offensive starter on his (Division II) North Alabama team. Imagine Stephen being the lone member of the Baldwin family to get any Emmy buzz in a given year and you’ve pretty much approximated the head-scratching factor here.

Profiles in headline understatement. The Virginia Cavaliers are looking for big-play wideouts, says the Charlottesville Daily Progress. Or, you know, big-play anybody, that’d be good too. (Cue my dad, UVA undergrad ‘71, Med ‘77: “We’re still the closest thing to a public Ivy in the country, Thomas Jefferson founded us, GRRRR ARRRGGGHH.”)

File under “Longtime rumors confirmed.” It’s official: Joe Kines “speaks another language.” The city of Tuscaloosa just collapsed under the weight of its collective lack of shock.

What? Oh, yeah, star QB, football, blah blah whatever. Ex-Longhorn hero and current Tennessee Titans QB Vince Young makes a very edifying appearance in the “What I’ve Learned” feature of this month’s Esquire, and while some of you are sure to beef with his promise to “be the next black quarterback to win a Super Bowl,” I’m not commenting on that one way or the other, mainly because I’m too distracted by the feature on Christina Hendricks of “Mad Men” immediately preceding the Young article.

Yes, I know that’s about as lazy as segues get, but y’all have been very good this week, and the very least I can throw your way as a show of gratitude is a little bunda. Don’t say I never gave you nothin’.

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.

Palin/Holtz ‘12: In your heart, you know it’d be hilarious.

What kind of a representative/VP would Sweet Lou be? Well, we already know he’d be a big fat no on the Kyoto Protocols. If his continuing close relationship with Notre Dame is any indication, we can also assume he’d swing solidly to the right on all the hot-button social issues — abortion, euthanasia, the right of Michigan and Ohio State fans to intermarry, that sort of thing. As far as clues from his actual coaching career, we can assume he’d be dedicated to building a strong national defense, but that he’d also follow a fairly strict non-interventionist policy (unless you can find any evidence that his South Carolina teams mounted any offense whatsoever). As far as we’re concerned, the wild card here is health care: If he’s going to run as a Republican, the obvious assumption is that he’s against Obama’s health-care proposal, but you have take into account his unclear stance on drug benefits and his casual distribution of advice (as a “Doctor” on ESPN) that was, at best, quasi-solicited — there’s a possibility he’d be down for a lot more government involvement there than the GOP would like. (All together now: MAVERICK!)

As for potential appointments or staff members, it’s probably early to be speculating on those as well, but one name seems like a pretty safe bet: Beano Cook as assistant for national security affairs, the Scooter Libby to Lou’s Dick Cheney? Yeah, you laugh now. Just see if he doesn’t.

Ladies, shield your ovaries.  Gentlemen, cling fiercely to your wives lest they be led astray by its weapons-grade babymaking prowess.

Absolutely not an artist’s rendition. Nope. REAL LIFE PHOTOGRAPHY by LSUFreek.

Us? We imply nothing. Butch Davis is one-third the man June Jones is, dismissing three players from Carolina for that standby classic Violation Of Team Policy.

The Dread Pirate Leach returns to the fold. A most welcome development, summarized most succintly by one of our own commenters: “That’s good, because Leach is still cool and he wouldn’t be the same outside of Texas (recruiting advantages). Also good because if Tech fired him, that would be FUCKTARDED.”

Oh, my! Uncles Verne-and-Gary meet Hugo Chavez.

Follow the leader. Tennessee demigod and current Duke patriarch David Cutcliffe gets his Twit on.

The more you know. For any of you brave souls preparing to join us in Vegas: We have a hunch this will come in handy.

The only logical followup to the EDSBS Grits & Grillades Bowl Presented By YellaWood. College Football Talk is crowning their own national champion. Hinton ponders adding his own. Suggestions and schematics for our own trophy welcome below. ]]> http://www.everydayshouldbesaturday.com/2009/02/20/curious-index-2202009/feed/ 22 http://www.everydayshouldbesaturday.com/2008/12/17/dear-joe-paterno/ http://www.everydayshouldbesaturday.com/2008/12/17/dear-joe-paterno/#comments Wed, 17 Dec 2008 16:24:46 +0000 Orson Swindle http://www.everydayshouldbesaturday.com/?p=8189 Dear Joe,

Hello, friend! I haven’t dropped you a line in a month ah Sundays! Howza the ah-spaghetti, paisano!

I just fuhst wanted to congratulate you on yah recent contract extension. If you spent money on the good thangs in lahfe–the plantations, the civil wah books, and the 18 part “The Real Vietnam”, you’d undahstand what to do with it instead ah givin’ it back to that leech of an employah you have. What have they evah done fah you, Joe, besides sign a coupla checks? You gotta considah your interests, you gotta considah your interests, that’s all i’m saying.

(Obscured and sloppy scribbling where Bowden fell asleep drooling on the page.)

Whe-yuh was ah? I say, I say, ah just wanted to finally shayuh the secret of my success with youuuu. Ah know as rivals we often play it close to the ve-yust, but ah think aftah yeahs of competition ah can shayuh the key to mah longevity.

In a single wuhd:

CIGARETTES.

Ah’ve been smokin’ um fuh yeahs, and theyuh invigoratin’ flavah and stimulating effect on the mahnd and body have kept me younger than mah peeers for decades now. That little hip problem you have? 16-24 of these a day, and you’ll outlahst me fa sho, son! Affordable, safe, and healthy. Ah wouldn’t lie to ya!

Gonna go on mah daily 28 mile run befo a bit ah recruitin’, Joe. May our Lord and Savyah Jesus Christ look oveh yah, even if you are a disciple of the Whore of Babylon, the Catholic Church. You’re half right, at least.

Three behind ya!

Bobby

P.S. The delicious and healthful cigahhrettes are available at any local gas station or convenience store.

P.P.S. Ah have enclosed a photo of myself from my most recent daguerrotype. I’m definitely ahead of you on the handsome side ah things, if ah do say so mahself!

This really is nothing when it comes to Jim Leavitt being animated in front of a camera, since you don’t build something from nothing without the ability to at least scare everyone in a 1000 foot radius with a glance. Leavitt’s man-fear-smell-emitting glands may have had as much of an effect on attendance as USF’s disappointing 7-4 season: attendance was down this year for the Bulls overall. Expect to see Leavitt standing on the corner of Dale Mabry with a sign advertising tickets…while selling a few Sunday St. Pete Times, too. Leavitt’s a hustler like that.

(HT: The Wiz.)

Do you like air conditioning?
A.  Yes.
B.  No, it makes skinning giant catfish harder ’cause they skin gets tight an sassy.

Do you like fried food?
A. Yes, preferably from Publix in a cardboard box.
B. Ain’t that redundant?

Your team is down four touchdowns at halftime.  How do you react to the GameDay cameras?
A.  [sullen stare that could freeze nitrogen while pressing cellphone to ear]
B.  “FUUUUCK YEEEEEW WWOOOOOOOOOOOOO TAHGERS GON GITCHA!!!” [shows breasts, regardless of gender]

Anniversary gift for your common-law spouse?
A.  AXE Body Spray gift box from Rite-Aid.
B.  Gold chain with two vials on it, one of your own blood, the other filled with jungle cat pheromones you bought at a roadside stand from two guys both named Marcel.

Preferred mode of transport:
A.  Speedboat filled with babes tanned to jerky.
B.  Airboat covered in freshly killed bleeding pelts.

Crucial attribute in potential female mate:
A.  Condo on the Gulf
B.  Crack shot

AND she cooks.

Your Senator:
A.  Will be found with a hooker and publicly scandalized.
B.  Will be found with nine hookers and re-elected governor of Louisiana and Space.

Are you racist?
A.  Yes, but the subtle, transplanted northeastern kind who’s really racist but would never say it to someone’s face.
B.  Yes, and I refer to lifelong black friends by names like Shoeshine and Crawtator to their faces without flinching.

You had your first sexual experience:
A.  On a green patch of grass underneath the waving intertwined leaves of a live oak with a tender, caring, and gentle female alligator. At least you thought it was female.
B.  Under an overpass for a 12 pack and eight rounds of ammo.

Running back:
A.  The quarterback.
B.  Sexual position.

Favorite cut of meat:
A.  Boneless sirloin.
B.  Youngest son (the mouthy one).

Your car just hit something on the road at night. It is:
A.  A confused and demented retiree.
B.  James Carville stepping out for a daiquiri, which lands in your hand without having spilled a drop, after which you are chased by Carville, who pops up unscathed and demands his damn daiquiri back.

Ideal pet:
A.  Pit bull fed nothing but human medical waste.
B.  The Montauk Monster, but with racing stripes and a deep fryer.

See if it likes Fritos!

Armadillos:
A.  Good target practice for a student driver.
B.  Good target practice for a student chef.

In your freezer:
A.  Stacks, keys, and a Glock you shouldn’t use for a year or two, if you know what I mean.
B.  Stacks of meticulously wrapped, hand-cut flash-frozen meats from a variety of creatures.

Body in swamp is probably:
A.  Dunno, but he’s wearing a thong and too much cologne.
B.  Napping.

You sleep*:
A.  With one eye open and one finger on the trigger of the handgun under your pillow.
B.  Facedown in the nearest hammock.

Pencils down!  Those answering mostly (A) will find greatest happiness aligning their shiny black hearts with the Florida Gators; the stalwarts selecting mostly (B) should rent their ragged souls to the Tigers of LSU for the duration of Saturday night’s game.  This has been a public service of EDSBS and Swindle Industries, LLC.

*TRICK QUESTION! Both of these could be either!  Which just proves, we’re all brothers**, no matter the jersey.
**It’s just that some brothers are stronger, faster, and have better pass rush capabilities.

Hey man what’s that on the road?

Friend, It’s Dr. Miles Freakout Train carrying its load!

Dr. Miles Freakout Train has arrived.

It’s so yellow it’s making me pout!

It’s my equipment truck, and it’s freaking me out!

Those tiger’s eyes look like laser beams!

Johnny Chimpo says: cool beans!

We’ll take that shit to Burning Man!

The ringmaster doesn’t think you can!

Bingo’s high. Doesn’t know what to say.

Les Miles: How about…HAVE A GREAT DAY.

Editor’s note: LSU wins at everything forever for putting that on the back of their truck. God bless every single person who made this happen. We love you all. HT: Juddson and RCR.

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

Speaks, writes, emits information at a startling rate: whatever you call what Phil Steele does, it’s ramping up for the release of Steele 2008. (Per his website: June. You can usually find a few copies ahead of schedule on stands, and then call friends and bark at them incoherently with excitement. They’ll get used to this after three years or so of these calls.)

He has comparative strength of schedules tables up based on last year’s winning percentages, and they’re further proof that the less you pay attention to winning percentages in terms of where you put teams in your preseason, the better.

1. Georgia
2. Florida
3. Arkansas
4. UCLA
4. Alabama
6. Auburn
7. Ohio State
8. Kentucky
9. Colorado
9. Baylor
9. Washington
9. Ohio Oregon State.

Que pobrelito, Baylor: you’re the econ major who, through some trick of malicious scheduling, has stumbled into an advanced price theory class in your first semester. Georgia is set up so well for this year: coming in they have the awe-inspiring schedule, meaning their first real foray out of the south, interstate rivalry with a feisty Tech team, and SEC schedule have them stocked high from the onset. Coming out of the schedule, they can still have one loss (a la Florida in 2006) and may still have a legitimate nod over an undefeated team with one loss leaving the season because of THE SCHEDULE, which will be typed in all caps due to its importance in shaking out where Georgia is when the season finishes.

(Barring Knowshon being kidnapped by FARC rebels, this won’t happen. We haven’t saved up quite enough money to make this happen yet, but we’ll keep you posted.)

BTW, Iowa claims the 95th weakest schedule by winning percentage going into 2008. Ferentz Silences Doubters With Football Renaissance. Thought we’d just type that for the six to ten sportswriters who will have to write that same inaccurate wretched story come November or December of this year. Just cut and paste it, guys!

First, Kim:

North Korean publications describe Kim Jong Il as a renaissance man who has flown fighter aircraft, written operas and shot 11 holes-in-one in his first try at golf.

And who can conjure food from his empty hands! Oh, wait…

And then there’s Pete Carroll, who unlike Kim actually does the things written about him. In the middle of communing with the People’s Spirit on Mount Paektu and writing three symphonies, each more beautiful than the other and more beautiful than any music ever composed before, Pete decided to take a little batting practice with predictable results at the Coliseum, which is being rigged into a baseball stadium for an exhibition game between the Red Sox and Dodgers.

Carroll and tight ends coach Brennan Carroll each drilled three homers over the 62-foot-high net down the 199-foot left field line, and quarterbacks assistant Yogi Roth hit the staff’s only other home run in the hour-long batting practice session.

Oh god! I haven’t been able to smell in thirty years! Hit another one, Pete! Hit another one!

Of course he did. Did you see the definition and perfect form in his swing? And fact that when he hit the ball, it flew into the net and TURNED INTO A DOVE OF HOLY PEACE? Pete Carroll is thinking about you right now, and knows you can be more as a person than you ever dreamed of being. Will you answer the challenge, grasshopper?

Stuff Black and Gold People Like

Fried anything. Holy shit do we like frying things. It’s not that only Iowans fry everything, but Iowans only fry everything. Go to the Iowa State Fair, but do so only at your own risk and with polarized lenses on your sunglasses; direct eye contact with too many fried confections will clog your arteries with Oreo paste.

Not meth. Sorry, Orson, but that’s something that Red and Yellow people enjoy far more than Hawkeye fans, along with other mind-numbing substances like Oxycontin and Rep. Steve King (R-IA). On the other hand…

Hawkeye Vodka. This brand exists, it’s about $11 for a handle, and it’s every bit as gut-wrenching as you can imagine. Only the saddest, most pickled citizens can stomach shots of the Hawkeye, and consuming large portions in mixed drinks leads to complete loss of pants, motor control, and stomach contents, in that order, and in the span of about 15 minutes. It’s a great way to spend a weekend, even if you only remember the world-altering hangover. Actually, it’s unfair to Iowans to restrict us to Hawkeye. Let’s broaden this out a bit:

All alcohol. Go to a Hawkeye tailgate sometime. It’s similar to SEC tailgates in terms of volume (both sound and attendance), but there’s a marked difference: SEC tailgaters cook. They socialize. They have fun. We stand around in 40 degree weather silently forcing Natty Ice down our throats and thinking to ourselves, “there’s more dew than usual.” This is a necessary result of having all our football games start at 11 a.m. Eventually, after 7 hangover-delaying Keystones, some asshole turns on his car and puts in his tailgate CD, which by default has…

THIS. FUCKING. SONG.

Things take a while to get to our fair state, so yes, it’s hot and fresh to us. This is Iowa, after all.

Making you watch us while we do politics. We’re not actually interested in politics. At all. Our governor is just as stupid as your governor. But every four years, CNN shows up and we get to travel to downtown Des Moines and say things like “is that Shepard Smith crossing the street?” and listen to desperate politicians tell us things that not even they themselves believe. We are attention whores, pure and simple, and when you follow the cycle of one month prom queen, 47 months drag queen, you’ll understand too.

The one-finger raised from the steering wheel salute when you’re on a gravel road. We don’t wave. We point up. Of course, Jimmy Bluecollar’s not about to acknowledge you in return if you’re driving an import, because his (male relative) didn’t die in (war that may or may not have had any bearing on American security) just so you could ride around in a god-damn Toyota, son. Why can’t you just drive a Chevy like normal people? You on marijuana or somethin?

Corn. Oh god, the corn. It’s everywhere. Also, sadly, Children of the Corn was not a documentary, because this state would be a lot more interesting if unsuspecting teenagers were beheaded by rogue corn vines (which may or may not, you know, exist) every time they set foot in a cornfield at night. That’d make for some unforgettable yearbook pages every spring, wouldn’t it? “IN MEMORIAL: Jared Carver, 1990-2007, car accident; D.J. Thompson, 1989-2007, evil corn demons ripped off skull. You will be missed.”

No, Charlize, the corn vines! Noooooooo!

The Drake Bulldogs. They do things the right way, which is a nice way of saying their point guard is white. We’re not racist, we just don’t care much for the showboating and hollering and the rap music and gangs. That Adam Emmenecker, he just plays ball the way it was meant to be played, you know?

Nile Kinnick. Plain and simple, he’s the Iowa football Jesus. He saved us from mediocrity. He defeated the unholy Catholics. He won the Heisman. And sure enough, he was cut down in his prime, dying in a plane crash as he trained for WWII off the coast of Venezuela two years after graduation. Sure, it’s debatable whether he ascended from the Atlantic–his body, like Jesus’, was never recovered–but we at least got his plane back. Fortunately, the plans to put his wrecked plane on display at the stadium were shelved, because when Nile comes back in the Rapture, that’s the last thing He’ll want to see, but we revere him nonetheless. Talk crap about Nile in the Hawkeye state and you will be ripped asunder, even by people who barely even know who he is.

Hayden Fry. If Nile Kinnick is Hawkeye Jesus (he is), Hayden is our patron saint. Sure, he was openly Texan (not that there’s anything wrong with that, either), but we like to think that his down-home sensibilities applied to Iowa as well too. We like to pretend that anybody of decent character has that in common with us, though that’s hardly the domain of Iowans. Still, the man in the aviators and the moustache built the football from nearly nothing, as well as training others to do the same at Wisconsin, Kansas State, Iowa State and South Florida. Again, any ill word of Hayden within the Iowa borders is cause for completely legal assault and dismemberment. It’s what we do.

The missionary position. In the dark, without the distraction of music, and under at least two blankets. It’s more intimate that way, you see, and we don’t want to deal with all these freak show details that you see on the pornos and the internet. It’s sex, not a goddamn circus.

Moderate obesity. This is not entirely unrelated to the previous item, since there’s nothing appetizing about acrobatic sexplay coming from two people who resemble clean-shaven Saint Bernards engaging in Greco-Roman wrestling. The slobber gets everywhere, it’s awkward and uncoordinated, and… yeah. Anyhoo, whenever the Hawkeyes go to bowl games, it’s painfully obvious who the Iowa fans are in the city beforehand; not only are we wearing only bright yellow (”It’s gold!” No, it’s yellow. Gold is this and don’t let us catch you wearing that) , but we’re universally 40-80 pounds overweight and loving it. A steady diet of Bennigans and 4-month bitter cold winters does that to you. You wouldn’t understand, Gator fans. We hibernate with mozzarella sticks.

Superiority. Despite everything that you may interpret as inferior qualities, readers, we wake up every day happy. We know it could be worse. We could be Cyclone fans.

Oh, denim. Is there anything you can’t ruin?

He droppped off his tape expecting nothing, not a scholarship offer or even attention. He walked on and finished as the starting fullback. He once bent three masks in a game against Maryland. He hang cleans 520 pounds. He wears a mohawk. He blocks like Hellboy tackling a demon from another dimension. He rugby punts for his team occasionally, and when he botched a kick against Louisville earlier this season he banged his own helmet against his forehead in frustration.

And last night, after lighting the powder keg for the Mountaineers, Owen Schmitt broke down and cried when Oompa-Loompa/sideline reporter Laura Okmin asked him how he felt about the game. Schmitt, bloody and mohawked, got about halfway through his answer before he wept. Okmin kept pestering him and nearly ruined the moment….nearly. This moment was as bulletproof and armored as Schmitt’s adamantine forehead.

Owen Schmitt, we love you and the double-steel reinforced skullhammer known as your head. We watch college football through a miasma of cynicism and snark, but some things burn those clouds off and expose college football for what it can be: mute, teary glory. Thank you for the sunshine and bent face-masks, Owen. We hope you get all the red meat, boobs, and cash you can handle out of this life.

We’re heartbroken. The Orgeron Era can’t die. He just…he just can’t. He’s big, tough, and aggressive, just like a Hummer! He’s gettin’ pelts on da rakrootin’ trail! He gotta da Jevan Snead a-comin intah da Oxfahd fo-a throwing da heapah touchdowns in 2008!

In all seriousness, this is sad as hell. We’re left looking through the scrapbook now, watching the photos bubble up under our tears.

Just one more time, for old times sake. Play it Jo-Jo. YOU PLAYED IT FOR HIM, NOW PLAY IT FOR US. (Slams fist down drunkenly, tears gleaming in our eyes.) Play it again, Jo-Jo.

We imagine Robert Khayat did this over the phone, since you’d have to engrave the Orgeron’s name on magical shackles a la Hellboy to restrain him before telling him he couldn’t come back to work in person. They’d have to call in Rasputin for the whole thing.

This leaves the pesky question of who will take the Ole Miss job. Exquisitely timed as always, Ole Miss has fired a coach just in time to compete against Texas A&M, Michigan, Nebraska, and god knows what other larger, more monied programs will fire their coaches in the next ten minutes–not to mention the vacancies gaping after the guys who fill those positions leave their current positions.