Who knows what Edward Britton did: improperly handled a yardarm, cut a doubloon too skinny for the cap’n’s liking, or perhaps dipped his wick into another swabby’s wench’s personal pitch-bucket…the list of potential violations of the pirate code is a lengthy one.

Fortunately, we don’t have to guess wildly: Britton, the number one receiver on Texas Tech’s depth chart with the departure of Michael Crabtree, was not holding up his end of the student/athlete bargain with his scholarship providers at Texas Tech. The student part, mostly. Therefore, Leach forbade him to practice on Friday and took the already demoted Britton and made him study on the fifty yard line for an hour and a half after practice in thirty degree weather.

Leach even had a desk brought out onto the double T at the fifty for Britton thus confirming that Leach is kind of an asshole when he wants to be, albeit in a cheeky, ninja professor kind of way. (Anyone who’ll ring up fifty frequently on opponents has to be, but add this to the pile of complimentary evidence.) All this for sacrificing his sure academic footing for an easy thrill [/henriducard'd].

“Ed didn’t like showing up and studying at places I felt like he needed to and like the academic people asked him to, so he can go study out there on the 50-yard line,” Leach said. “We’ll take baby steps, and if he does good studying out there, we’ll decide if we’re going to actually let him practice.”

Britton did make it through the entire 90 minutes, thus doubling the amount of time we actually spent studying in college. We congratulate him on this accomplishment, and on Mike Leach for confirming that he is secretly Ras-Al-Goul, and trains his quarterbacks to throw to not five men, but to five hundred, and to become more than a man in the eyes of their opponent. (HT: Dan.)

That special moment when someone of non-sexual identity stumbles across that line in conversation, like when your uncle says “Man, your mother could factory-test a mattress in her day,” or your father says “Body Heat, now that’s how you make love to a woman”, or a priest says “I’m not that kind of priest, but you know I ain’t exactly dead, man.” We’re there just thinking about the implications of this. Thanks, Pete. We’re going to have to use lava soap to wash this layer of skeeved-out off our besoiled flesh.

More product has emerged from the frightening minds behind the Catlab, and the subject is Notre Dame. They may deny it to the end, but we’re certain that if you could put an antenna up and pick up the film playing inside most Notre Dame fans’ minds, it would look eerily similar to this.

HT: The unstoppable BearMeat.

If you’ve got warrants, don’t appear on camera or take a weekend job where you will appear on camera in front of millions. That’s our best advice to whomever is getting a custom escort from local authorities here following the South Carolina/Georgia games.

The image first surfaces at OnlineAthens and has gone viral on message boards, mostly because it seems to confirm what every one thinks about the SEC anyway, but it’s not what it seems. According to our source (yea! a veritable source!) the man is most likely one of the chain gang, an irony in itself, and not an SEC official. The chain gangs are hired by the schools hosting the games, so this is not–we repeat–NOT an SEC official being carted away immediately following a game.

Not that we haven’t supported that idea from time to time…(HT: Micah.)

Chum, the conceptual artist who created the rave-fantasy video of the Kansas State mascot jamming like Macaulay Culkin in Party Monster, has outdone himself with this custom video for BearMeat. Really, if you’ve never done acid, you shouldn’t, because that shit takes for-eeeeevvver to wear off, and even the hallucinated sight of the walls bleeding gets mundane after eight hours.

Just watch this instead. It’s shorter, cheap as free, and frankly, a bit more powerful than LSD.

Massive hat tip to BearMeat.

Watching Jim Tressel do this last season in the title game versus Florida was close…but nothing really tops the succinct poetry of this clip from Gailey Year Zero, or the exceptionally prescient bit of commentary that precedes it.

Enjoy your weekend, and remember: sometimes, you just have to take a knee.

We’re sure that’s Pepsi.

Facebook strikes again! Deep South’s got the rest, and it’s much, much more incriminating than the photo above, mostly in the cuddly, slightly homoerotic way you can only hope to happen. The pics show one skinny woman and two young men, so think of the whole photo series as Y Tu Mama Tambien, but in English, without the dreary ending, and with the final destination being Talladega, and not a gorgeous Mexican beach. To Manuel and his sly little finger! And Go Dawgs!

P.S.: At least he’s not Brady Quinn today.