…hang in there?

Mark Richt is a dirty damned liar. Or the NCAA is full of terrible small men who make terrible small rules. (Our tipster suggests Kiffykins show up at graduation in Richt’s place. We could not agree with this plan more.)

A dodge worthy of that Wire headline. Is Nick Saban the next SEC coach ducking recruiting regulations? Eh. Maybe? We tire of these OOOOOH YOU IN TROUBLE NOW SON stories, and will default to Joel’s position:

Yeah, so did Nick Saban violate the “bump” rule when he obtained a commitment from Memphis wide receiver Keiwone Malone? It’s Saban. It’s Alabama. We’re Tennessee. So . . . OF COURSE HE DID!

There. We have a shortcut around this argument for the rest of the season. Onward.

Threet Matrix, we hardly knew ye. Steven “Embattled” Threet is making fast tracks out of Ann Arbor, surprising almost no one who saw him try and fit into RichRod’s schemes in ‘08. We will leave the analysis to Brian Cook, however, and instead devote our afternoon to mourning the demise of our trusty stash of “Threet Level Midnight” jokes.

Because Hell does the damndest things to your merocrine glands, is his point. Former UW O-Line coach Dan Cozzetto, now of Arizona state, will return to Washington next season with the avowed mission of “toughing up the running game”.

Cozzetto did not return calls made to his office late Thursday. His voice mail greeting ends with the line: “Remember, Devils don’t sweat.”

That’s absolutely correct, sir. They glow. And if he can harangue linemen in Tempe out of sweating, notching a single win with the Huskies ought to be no problem at all.

Items We Require, Vol. XVII: We’re declaring the pool officially open: Which team will get photographic evidence of one of these suckers in action first? Easy odds say Miami, Fresno State, and so on, but smart money’s on Virginia, by virtue of there being nothing better to do. ]]> http://www.everydayshouldbesaturday.com/2009/02/17/curious-index-2172009/feed/ 12 http://www.everydayshouldbesaturday.com/2008/08/14/fulmer-cupdate-obey-or-you-know-dont/ http://www.everydayshouldbesaturday.com/2008/08/14/fulmer-cupdate-obey-or-you-know-dont/#comments Thu, 14 Aug 2008 17:19:43 +0000 Orson Swindle http://www.everydayshouldbesaturday.com/?p=5756 OBEY.

Michigan State earns one of the weirdest Fulmer Cup scores of the year, and we mean weird in the “Orwellian legal language we don’t quite get” instead of the “steals gay sheep while drunk” mode. Three Spartan football players were cited for “failure to obey the police” on June 30th after they ran from policemen.

“The officers were on campus investigating a crime that had been reported to them, and they approached (the players), who took off running,” Dunnings said. “When the officers caught up with them, they said they never heard them say ‘Stop!’ But that kind of begs the question of why they ran.”

What were they hiding? What had they done? The mystery is bottomless! Theories!

–They found the entrance to T.J. Duckett’s Enchanted Ancient Bombproof Snack Bunker, and didn’t want anyone to know.

–Found Charles Rogers’ old weed stash. Believed they were running from “squirrels the size of the Sears Tower,” not policemen.

–Thought policemen were actually newly Barwis-ized Michigan football players.

–All three share a morbid fear of male strippers, and were only acting on instinct.

Who knows? The possibilities are LIMITLESS, we tell you, unlike Michigan State’s Fulmer Cup points, which in this case total three.

Gawk at the wacky below on the modified Emory and Henry in motion. Just for the single-wing enthusiasts out there: no, this will not make you gay just looking at it, even if it is from California.

Read more about it here. And on the gay thing? We were kidding: watching video of the A-11 will make you completely homosexual, single-wingers. We regret the error, and recommend Blake’s on 10th in Atlanta for all your needs.

The Eastern Kentucky football player whose flight from a Wal-Mart ended up tearing the tip off a sixty-seven year old woman’s thumb had his reasons for leaving the scene quickly. Not only was he stealing, but Davin Walker had another secret: he was in possession of cleansing products for his lady’s spiritual ladyflower, clearly something embarrassing enough to risk breaking the law over.

Walker dropped his backpack on the way out of the Wal-Mart, presumably in between allegedly shoplifting and inadvertently ripping the thumb off an old lady. Inside said backpack:

The backpack contained a cell phone battery charger, a box of douches and a bottle of feminine hygiene spray, Adkins said.

The real victim here? Walker’s girlfriend. Florence King wrote in an essay once about the virtues of dating a redneck. The redneck, while perusing the aisles of a grocery store, saw floral-scented douches lined up in row on the shelf and asked in a booming voice to no one in particular, “What’s wrong with pussy, dammit?”

Here here, Earl. An acceptance of well-maintained but au naturel hoo-ha could very well have saved the thumb tips of countless old ladies around the Wal-Marted exurbs of this fine nation of ours, or at the least would have saved Davin Walker from assault and shoplifting charges. Until then, the makers of FDS, Femaspray, and “Gee, Your Twat Smells Great!” will continue to reap profit from the quiet tyranny of vaginophobia.

(HT: Alan.)

The clock is running out on tree-sitting protesters in Berkeley: today is the deadline for a lawsuit filed to keep the University from building a training facility on a wooded site adjacent to Cal’s football stadium, a minor, patchouli-scented drama extending back to last last fall when the facility was proposed and the last fifty-three hippies on the planet climbed into the trees to protest their proposed removal.

The issue at stake in the lawsuit (the actual, relevant, and legal part of this whole endeavor, not the poorly groomed jobless people in trees) is the construction of the training facility on a fault line, a minor detail since a.) the entire state of California sits on a fault line that could be opened wide with a single nuclear weapon (Superman can’t be wrong), and b.) Cal’s stadium that it fills with people several Saturdays a year is already on said fault line.

The deadline to settle the lawsuit expires today, meaning Cal can forge ahead with construction as soon as they remove the protesters from the trees, which they received permission to do back in October anyway. The tree-sitters confirmed our suspicions that the Ewoks must have been asshole upstairs neighbors when one, while being removed by arborists from the site, threw urine on the crew working on the site before biting one of them, as well.

Proving another point: throwing urine remains a universally ineffective rhetorical device. Now, urinating on someone? Totally different, and somewhat effective in limited cases, if countless Calvin window decals are to be believed.

Keenan Jones of Hawaii has been arrested and charged with unauthorized entry into a motor vehicle and second-degree assault. The two counts are both felonies, and total seven points for Hawaii in the Fulmer Cup. Seven, you ask? Why add a bonus point on top of the three points a piece for the felonies? As usual: style, sir, sheer inescapable style, brought to this case by the inclusion of some low-quality PPV pr0n.

A court document on the latest charges noted “the catalyst” for the domestic problems between the two stems from Jones allegedly using the woman’s cable provider to rent 13 porn movies resulting in a bill of over $300.

Lady, you don’t understand: this is how the deal works. Keenan gets porn, you pay for it, and when you complain about it, I shut a door on your toes and break two of them, because your bill must be mistaken. And those charges must be from your chick movies like August Rush and shit, because everyone knows porno is free–you press a button and it just shows up there on the tv. Amy Adams, though…damn. That girl can play Keenan’s cello anytime. Or share the couch with me when I crack out the butter churn and get to work on the couch, which I would do with a towel under my ass just like a gentleman would. That’d be some positively Enchanted shit there.

Our guest columnist today is Presidential Candidate Ron “Dr. No-Huddle” Paul.

Thanks for having me here. I’m not sure who you are, what you want, or why I’m even here. In fact, I don’t know who I’m writing this to. Why do people send me letters? Why do people on the internet like me? I don’t know. Really, I don’t know. Someone picks me up from my house in the morning, takes me places, and I just start talking until someone claps. These are all things I don’t know. Where am I? Really, where am I?

What I do know about is freedom and 1970s standards of gynecology. That’s why I still believe in two things: the Dalkon Shield and the Constitution. Especially the Constitution. I may have had my hands in more vaginas than any other member of congress except for John Boehner, but at least I got paid for doing it, and not the other way around. Is that a joke? Why are you all laughing? I’m confused? Yes, I’m confused!

Hey, why’s my name on a blimp? A blimp? Really? I’m thrilled about the possibilities of dirigible travel. It’s one of my passions, but I’ll tell you this: you won’t see me telling you that the government should be involved in making blimps, unless they’re blimps equipped with machine guns to put up along the Mexican border, because it’s a well-known fact that Mexicans fear both guns and blimps. It’s natural law, just like the Constitution and the rules of Yahtzee.

Speaking of games that involve hitting your spouse: football. I’m here to talk about football? Really? Okay, I’ll talk about it. Ron Paul likes football, but doesn’t like a few things about football as it stands in America.

First, a Ron Paul administration believes you should go ahead and do what you like in football. Helmets are unnecessary encumbrances on your basic freedoms as a football player! In fact, by restricting what you can see on the field, it actually causes more accidents and injuries.

Second, I believe the football should conform to all of the clauses of the Constitution, including the second amendment. You can’t like one, and not like the other. Do I think this means you should be able to carry guns on the field? That’s not the government’s business unless you want to tell people they can’t carry guns onto the field. And from what I’ve seen, the introduction of firearms into the game could make for some real excitement on the field, people!

Now that’s freedom? Wait, that’s not what the card says. Now, THAT’S Freedom! Who’s typing these things again? What was I talking about…

Oh, third: rules. You’re free, and that’s a huge responsibility. So when it comes to first downs, we can’t as a nation rely on the oversight of replay officials, or the unsubtle fascism of chalk lines, or even the quiet tyranny of aluminum stands. There’s so much order in this game, it’s a wonder people don’t all wear the same colors to the games! Wait, they do? Well, you know the last time I saw uniforms this consistent and well-arranged? Soviet Russia, my friends, the largest totalitarian regime currently standing on the planet. That’s the road to serfdom, people, and you pay eighty bucks a jersey for it! If you’re that keen on matching, I’ll buy you an Aeroflot ticket to Leningrad myself so you can be somewhere you feel more comfortable, Ivan.

(Steve, stop looking at me like that! People on the internet LOVE me. And I would buy anyone who disagrees with me a ticket to Leningrad, I would. St. Petersburg? Florida? Why would I send anyone to hang with a bunch of retirees? Do I pay you? Where am I again?)

Oh, and you’ve played in your backyard using a spare pair of flipflops and a stolen traffic cone as first down markers, or even resorted to the “two-completions-makes-a-first-down” rule—why can’t football do this, too? The games are too long as is, so let’s just get rid of the meddling regulators in black and white and just let the players decide what makes a first down or not? And as for seating, let the people figure that out. Stampedes are the natural byproduct of competition, and those crushed by them? Their body parts can earn a fair price on the open market like every other good, like babies and Honda Accords do.

And who cares what goes in players’ bodies? It’s not for the Federal Government to decide that, or even care. Remember Tony Mandarich? What a specimen he was, and he was hopped up on every imaginable kind of supplement the government wants you to believe is harmful: horse testosterone, distilled monkey semen, nandraolone, HGH, stanazolol, Tylenol PM, Tylenol AM, Tylenolalone, pure hydrogen enemas, espresso eye drops, methamphetamine gummy bears, morphine… he had it all, and look at what it did for him.

See? He looks just like that now, but with a second head. He’s twice as free!

Why this is any concern of the federal government is beyond me, since both he and his second head are doing just fine last I checked. Heck, I could be on the last quaalude in the Western Hemisphere right now, and you wouldn’t know. I’m not! I’m not not on the last quaalude! Freedom!

Oh, and most importantly, it’s not the job of the federal government to tell you how to gamble on football. It’s just not. You should be able to set a fair price on points, point-shaving, intentional injuries and mid-game assassinations as your whim in accordance with the laws of the free-market. How else will we develop the bullet-proof players of the future without the invisible hand of the market whisking away the weak, non-bulletproof players of yesterday from the field? What you do with your money is none of the federal government’s business, even when it comes to paying a bookie thirty large to put mescaline in Tim Tebow’s cereal prior to a big rivalry game. Freedom!

And one final note: under a Ron Paul presidency–when it happens, not if!–you’ll get your gambling winnings back not in this imaginary scrap you call cash, but in the only thing of real value besides freedom: Spanish doubloons.

I’m Ron Paul, and I think I’m running for President. Thank you all, whoever you are, and wherever I am.

Ron Paul is running for President as a Republican in 2008. If you have never touched a girl, you have to vote for him. It’s in the Constitution.

I-O! H-O! If we do this, that is.

We also know that Henton wasn’t arrested wearing shoulder pads. However, our imagination has the habit of attempting to make the world more interesting than it actually is, and in this case it’s rolling the tape in our heads of Antonio Henton, standing on a street corner in cleats and pads, trolling for rental pussy in full Ohio State regalia and yelling about somebody needing to put the “H-O” in “Ohio” before his 10:00 p.m. curfew–which, by being arrested at 8:30 p.m., he was clearly not violating.

(A note to the ladies: a man who wears his shoulder pads to bed is damn serious about sixty minutes of full-contact action, ladies. This being the Big Ten, that would be a pounding run up the middle 60 times a game for two scores or so…which ain’t bad.)

UPDATE!!!BULLETBULLETBULLET!!! Charges dismissed!

UPDATE!!!! BULLET X 4 File accidentally closed–new file open, charges NOT dropped, prostitution jokes may resume.

The only other possible explanation is that the mascoteer was high on PCP, believed they were really a duck, and that Shasta the Cougar really was a cougar. This would make total sense because Cougars would eat Ducks, and in case you didn’t know, ducks are mean as hell especially when threatened.

Though shame on Shasta for not putting up more of a fight. Houston brought us the Geto Boys and UGK, dammit–Bun B simply won’t stand for it. (Perhaps Shasta would have been tougher with a Paul Wall grill installed in this toothy grin.) Someone’s got to rep the 281, which is why the Duck will likely be shot sometime in the next month by someone zanked on purple drank in a Lincoln Navigator.

(HT: Larry Brown Sports, who points out that the Duck has been suspended.)

…Illinois, who rode the diligent efforts of Jody Ellis and Derrick McPhearson to victory in this year’s competition. (Yes, they were dismissed from the team. Good for them. But they were on the team at the time this happened.) This means the solid gold AK-47 Dennis Erickson Trophy Sponsored by Hosea Williams’ Bail Bonds Fulmer Cup Trophy now makes the long trip from Huntington, West Virginia to Champaign-Urbana, Illinois, where it will reside in a local Arby’s until next year’s competition.

Illinois went up by a huge score early and then fell into a soft zone, nearly allowing the competition to catch them (as Penn State nearly did.) This sounds familiar to anyone with an understanding of [NAME REDACTED]’s NFL-tested coaching philosophies. Yet Illinois got this on the cheap, we think–the points add up, but fine work by other programs deserves mention, as well.

The Ellis T. Jones Award Golden Taser for Individual Achievement goes to… Florida’s own Ronnie Wilson, who ensured that we’d get at least eighty annoying emails with the subject line “CHANGE THE NAME OF THE CUP, ASSHOLE” by firing off an AK-47 in downtown Gainesville, Florida. A nine-point offense pales in comparison to the award’s namesake, but sometimes merely discharging automatic weapons in front of horrified nightclub-goers is enough to get you the award.

The Golden Taser is yours, Ronnie. Use it well.

The Ben Siegert Award for most amusing arrest goes to Stephen Garcia, Gamecock rapscallion who keyed a visiting professor’s car in Columbia just weeks after arriving on campus and thus gave us this beautiful mug shot.

Chill, baby. Just chill.

With that, we feel obligated to mention that it, too, does not live up to stealing a gay sheep. Still, the Golden Ram With Leather Guy Hat goes to Mr. Garcia, who will be riding the bench for the Click Clacktacular one in Sakerlina this year.

Thanks as always to Brian, who maintained the board this year and is hung like Reggie Fuckin’ Nelson, and to the boys at SAS Wiki, who assisted with the scoring. Both were indispensable. Readers are owed thanks for their diligence as well: Tomek and Dave W. in particular deserve our thanks.

Add broadaxe=acceptable.

From the Deseret News:

PROVO — Brigham Young University running back Manase Tonga was arrested after a traffic stop early Tuesday morning for allegedly failing to pay a traffic ticket and giving a fake name to Provo police.
A warrant was out for the arrest of Tonga, 23, because he had not paid an $82 ticket for running a stop sign in August 2006, according to court documents.
Dewey said Tonga told the officer Tuesday morning that his name was Fifa Tonga.

Wily of him to fool the officer by using the name “Fifa Tonga,” which sounds nothing like “Manase Tonga” at all, except for the same last name and overall Polynesian-ness of the whole thing. He should have gone great guns and gone for a real fake name like “Mudslide O’Houlihan,” or “Wang Fei-Schittenheimer.”

Or better still, if the cop was Mormon, he could have tapped into the Mormon historical tradition of important documents disappearing completely and said that the ticket had been “taken back by God.” It worked for Joseph Smith, after all, and if you’re at the point of giving fake names made up of international sports organizations (”Name? Ioc Swindle, sir”), you may as well try it.*

Divine intervention pending, one piddly point for BYU here in the Fulmer Cup will be assessed for the fake naming and overdue tickety thingy.

*Orson, lay off the Mormons! It’s not their fault you’re a heathen! Simmer down, as we jab all religions equally, since they’re all equally probable. For the record, we’re a follower of the cult of Galactus. He’s coming, and they’re nothing we can do about it.

Yes, college football is on the horizon. We’re not exactly close, but we’re getting close to the time when it’s close. Fall practices will kick into gear in six weeks. Conference media days won’t be far behind. Preseason polls (for 2008) should be available for perusal any day now.

We. Are. Getting. CLOSE! (Sort of.)

Our nightmare is soon to end, college football fans. Ignore the baby on the ceiling.

Before we get too close, though, and the excitement of it all overwhelms us, Peter Bean and Orson Swindle humbly offer a set of proposals, which we pledge to follow. If you’re inspired to join the Movement and sign with us, there’s more than enough room on the train.

However, as we’re suspicious of any movement that would have us as a member, don’t join. It’s surely disreputable, will cause hives, and will ruin your credit. Fair warning.–O.

Proposed:

1. We will not participate in the Conference Wars. We won’t be shy to look closely at schedule strength in talking about our dear sport and the ranking of teams therein, but we solemnly swear to avoid the tired, generic Conference War Chest Thumping.

2. We will actively abstain from 1=1 thinking/writing. Wins are good, losses are bad. You’re smart enough to figure this out on your own. We’re here for the curly fries, please, and not the standard potatoes you can find anywhere else.

Mmm. Curly fries.

3. We will abstain from constructing an All-American team. Until our requests for film of every game played gets approved by every university, we’ll politely decline the temptation to construct such a list. Truth is, we don’t know. There are better ways to talk about the keepers.

4. We will not break down a Stewart Mandel mailbag. This was a hard one for us, but damnit, we’re drawing the line in the sand. When we fry fish in 2007, we’ll be gunning for dolphins, not minnows, dig? Plus Braves and Birds has already perfected this form, anyway.

5. When referring to a team’s ranking, we will use the BlogPoll. Two years of Beta Testing were enough to let us know that the bloggin’ types pay a lot more attention to their ballots than the jaded, overworked sportswriters. Furthermore, as far as we’re concerned, the Harris Poll doesn’t exist. And let’s not even bring up coaches voting on other coaches except in the name of sporting satire.

If it’s up to us, Brian’s BlogPoll takes its giant leap forward in year three. Join the revolution, compadres.

6. We will mercilessly ridicule BlogPoll voters who fail to live up to the BlogPoll’s ever-improving standards. Wack balloteers who fail to justify their opinions will be openly mocked. Or, pending Brian’s approval, banished to Oxford to serve a one-year sentence as Ed Orgeron’s translator. LEMMETAIFOOTBAWYAW!

7. We will tirelessly promote the work of Sunday Morning Quarterback until he is rightly crowned College Football Blog King. No explanation needed here. Right?

Two chicks, at the same time: SMQ, the best in the non-business.

8. We will focus on the brutal facts of the matter. None of this nancy pants psycho-babble that’s best reserved for Reader’s Digest. You didn’t lose because of some ghostly otherworldly spectre of “intimidation.” You lost because your left tackle is not stronger and faster than the man he is facing. Readers are smart enough to accept this. If something silly like this is invoked, it will be in an admittedly silly fashion.

9. We will kneecap the weak-brained, starting with ourselves. And in the spirit of the rule, we’ll admit our errors freely. Even proudly. (Because there will be plenty of them, especially for Orson, the Harry Caray of blogging re: accuracy.)

10. We will focus on what is interesting/fun, not on what is traditionally important/powerful. If Hawaii-Boise State is The game… so be it. There’s a zillion games a weekend, not one. Find your bliss somewhere between DirectTV channels 305 and 360, because it’s a universal slate now. You truly live in golden times, reader.

11. We will challenge the paradigms which govern mainstream football thought, starting with LD’s “GameDay Recap.” You’re all on notice–especially you, um, ourselves.

12. We will never let “Did you play football?” end an argument. That. party. is. over. Surgeons don’t cut off the wrong leg and then ask you if you went to med school. They write your lawyer a check for 3 million dollars and quietly slink away to practice medicine in Belize.

13. Unless we inexplicably decide to write a post on the NBA, Bill Simmons name will never appear on this site. We’re as tired of the too-easy Simmons bashing as we are of the Simmons columns themselves. (Plus he doesn’t give a shit about the game anyway, so fuck him in the ear. -O.)

14. We are not serious. If we are, disclaimers will appear. Tuberculosis has the job of being serious. That position is taken and tired.

15. We will limit our complete ad hominem hatred of a coach to one man and one man only. Orson drafts Bobby Bowden. Peter selects Bob Stoops. You may grab your own Free Parking pass on one and one coach only.

(Why make promises you can’t keep… there is no way you cease the Phil Fulmer ad hominems… no way. –Stranko)

Oh, how we hate this man.

16. We couldn’t care less about season-end awards. The Heisman Trophy is dead to us. Unless and until they put Kyle in charge, we’re indifferent.

17. We are fans of the game, above all else. This is s’posed to be fun, y’hear? Those who try to ruin our sport will be brutalized. Amen.

Signed,

Peter Bean and Orson Swindle

This time, a good old pyramid scheme like mom used to make ‘em strikes South Carolina, proving that success in one professional field does not guarantee professional competence in another. The pyramid scheme in question is BurnLounge, a sort of network alternative to ITunes where investors were promised profits in return for sponsoring sites where music was traded. The SEC (Securities and Exchange Commission in this case) has accused BurnLounge of being a pyramid scheme, and investors include former Clemson coach Danny Ford, Heisman winner George Rogers, and son of current head Cock, Steve Spurrier, Jr.

Mr. Bond, I have a business proposition for you.

A less than brilliant cameo is made by Bob Stoops in the story, who flashes Kirk Kerkorian-like business acumen in this quote:

“When Bob Stoops got me, he said, ‘I’ve spoken to a lawyer about this. I’ve spoken to my agent. I’ve spoken to some people to find out if this is a legitimate thing. And everything they told me, this is a legitimate (business). Put your name on it and go do it,’” said Spurrier Jr., a member of Stoops’ Sooners staff from 1999 to 2001.

It’s dumb, but not the dumbest investment we’ve heard of someone relatively successful making. That would be congressman and former San Diego Charger Jack Kemp’s decision to invest money in Au Magnetics, a company that promised to extract gold from sand. Alchemy! It’s what’s for dinner.

The SEC will continue their investigation, but it doesn’t seem like any of the big names associated with this are guilty of being anything other than gullible. (GOLD!) That may not be the case with Todd Ellis, Gamecock football announcer and former quarterback, though–he’s identified as a primary point of contact for the scheme in Columbia in the article, and that ain’t good for him.

(HT: Marc Isenberg, who has his own take on the story.)

Montana Crime Arms Race Takes drastic new step. Shame both aren’t D-1 teams, or they’d be booming ahead of the field in the Fulmer Cup race. Montana State had the early lead in a series of six drug-related arrests of current and former Montana State players, precipitating the firing of coach Mike Kramer. (Kramer’s now insisting he was railroaded unfairly, which means a seventh MSU player will be arrested snorting yayo off the ass of a donkey in the middle of a convenience store parking lot in the next 48 hours. Mark our words.)

Montana, crime, cocaine, murder…football?

Montana, thanks to cornerback Jimmy Wilson, has responded in the intrastate crime race whether they like it or not. He’s charged with murder following an altercation “earlier this month” in Palmdale, California involving a man and a woman related to Wilson. Wilson shot the man at his home, and he died from wounds to his upper torso later.

Wilson turned himself into LA County Police, who set a bail of one meeeeelion dollars for his release. He was Montana’s starting cornerback last season. Guess that roster spot’s wide open, aspiring Big Sky walk-ons.

Dan Hawkins is a complete failure… for not making his full distance in his attempt to run a marathon in Australia. LOSER! Hawkins, who trained for the race as the result of a bet with his daughter, will only run the half-marathon because he is a complete failure. This donut we’re dining on, by the way, is simply fucking delicious.

Dan Hawkins: a real Spartan would have run a full marathon just to kick someone down a well.

Hawkins plans to atone for his failure by running an ultramarathon…on the moon. (Without a helmet, pussies.)

Speaking of donuts… Toledo’s Tom Amstutz will, as reader DevilGrad sagely notes, have his donut budget cut somewhat as the Rockets’ President has ordered a complete revamp of the program. The real mental potholes jarring your eyes are always a bit down in the agate, so peer with us at this tantalizing language:

Records obtained by The Blade show that the wives and girlfriends of UT coaches, and boosters and other nonessential personnel, were allowed to fly with the football and men’s and women’s basketball teams at university expense. Records also show that coaches traveled to Germany and charged trip expenses to their UT credit cards.

Hot schnitzel! Fresh Bavarian pastries for Der Amstutzen! Even better, though: the team doctor was fired and this also follows in the article.

The university president ordered that the “inventory, storage, and dispensing of medications” in the department be placed “immediately” under the direction of the university’s director of pharmacy.

Jaunts to the Fatherland on the company credit card? Meds on the loose? Budgets running wild without an accountant’s lasso? Toledo’s quietly scandalous offseason just got even more so, and that says a lot given that they’ve already had a points-shaving scandal and a player break into a county sheriff’s apartment “just looking” for a friend who lived a few doors down. More to come there, if the Toledo Blade’s got a reporter with opposable thumbs and internet access.

We hope the Toledo coaching staff lived up to the high standards of performance set by Americans in Germany while they were blowing up the athletic department budget, though. We’ve got a reputation to uphold.

Urb sees a split in the defense, exploits it for 15 million yards…er, dollars. Urban Meyer pounces on the Billy Donovan situation, working a five year extension for 3.2 million a year. Nick Saban thinks you smell like poor people, Urban.

Despite the “overwhelming enthusiasm” for Ticketmaster voiced by the Penn State administration, students are still complaining about the 59 minute sellout of season tickets to the Nittany Lions’ 2007 season. It’s been exquisite news for ticket scalpers, however, as Ticketmaster-sponsored events always “just happen” to be: the price for a ticket to Notre Dame Penn State is running as high as $2,415 per seat on the EBays.

Easy schadenfreude is flowing like the finest of Franzia this morning over the Jimmy Clausen elbow surgery, since Clausen a.) plays for Notre Dame, b.) had a nationally televised signing straight from a WWE entrance, c.) has guylights in his hair, and d.) has a marginally famous last name.

Lest we lose sight of the fact that the story was broken by a blogger who actually earned credit for it on certain dignified, restrained mainstream media outlets. And remember that despite all four of those factors, he’s a freshman quarterback with a bad elbow that will heal. The real concern should be his hemorrhoids–like huge, angry pomegranates, they are.

Yup. Just like that.

EDSBS Commenter Jebush H. Christ has a harrowing experience with his fourth-worst ex you should read about, since it validates everything we say about brown liquor: drink it, and someone’s getting fought, felonied, fucked, fisticuffed, or maybe all four at the same time. Then again, that may be what you’re looking for in the first place. If so, we’ll pour the Maker’s for you and run for the hills.

In other reader news, Kermit the Blog has their own list of the ten easiest schedules this year. He’s at number six at the moment, and let’s just say that Navy’s list of opponents on the gridiron parallels that of its recent opponents on the waves. (Iraqi Navy = Ball State?)

Robert’s also got his own South Carolina blog going, the new Third Down Draw. Nice blog, but predictable call. Our favorite third down call is fake punt, since the TE on the deep route is almost always open in NCAA.