It is bad enough that Florida hasn’t won against Miami since 1985. Now Ms. “Oooh, Look at me I was head of Health and Human Services” is talking shit.
“We don’t admit thugs anymore. We do admit people that like to suntan, but those students are usually in the sun with a book in hand, and I think that’s a difference people overlook,” Shalala said. Right now UM is ranked at 52 and the University of Florida is ranked at 50, according to U.S. News & World Report. One of Shalala’s goals is to not only get into the top 50, but to do so before the football game in fall, so “UM can beat UF twice.”
OHHHH, IT IS ON BUREACRA-BITCH. Sure, you gave children access to health insurance with SChip, but Tim Tebow does not care about your puny bureaucratic accomplishments, nor your fine Ph.D from Syracuse University. We can take trash talk from the braided-up badasses from Miami Northwestern–respek, sirs–but yapping from a hobbit Clinton appointee? Warren Christopher gonna start some shit next, huh? (If so, Warren: Rwanda, asshole. Your bitch status=QEDMF.)
Don’t start no shit, won’t be no shit, Donna. But now you made us call Bob Graham and Bill Nelson, two dudes who bring bike chains and mad krues to the fight. There wasn’t going to be blood, Donna, but now you gone and done it. Bernie Machen’s gonna be waiting at the fifty with a stapler and a sack of nails…and not even your canny welfare reforms will save you, then.
Good to see that Jenn Sterger’s still getting work. Well, we don’t actually care if she’s employed or not anyway, but for the good fo the faltering economy we’re happy to see one less person on the streets. Seriously we’re just trying to get to a 35 Seconds plug here. Yup. Any second now. Without saying anything too bad about poor Jenn…
SHE BLENDS IN BECAUSE WITH HER FOUNDATION SHE’S ALREADY ORANGE!!!
Faux-queen remark typed and therefore expelled, we may now move on to two things. One, despite coaching for Tennessee, Bruce Pearl rules. (”There’s a difference between Pat and I. She has talent, and I have no shame.”) Two, Patrick’s doing fine work over at 35 Seconds, and you should read it if you’re into bas-ket-ball. We’ll be really into it in a few minutes, since we’re heading down to the SEC tournament at the Dome shortly.
The New Radicals of blog features: one permanent member, many revolving pieces.
Texas Gal’s knows how the Shorn Emu sings. Shocking, sad, and underreported news from Notre Dame’s spring scrimmage: Jimmy Clausen shaved his trademark Emu-do. Without the distractions, bourbon warrior Texas Gal focused on the important things: Tom Zbikowski’s Van Damme-esque buttocks.
In case you need a brain enema after that phrase……this will not help at all.
The matchup of cocaine and Jean Claude Van Damme in the prolapse of his career has been as inspired a pairing as Peter O’Toole/scotch, Joe Piscapo/nandralone, and David Lee Roth/rockclimbing. Um…football? Yes, football…
Smrt pepl lke futbaw.Particularly smart Republican ones. Meanwhile, baseball continues its slow death, while NASCAR reigns supreme among people who didn’t graduate high school. Stereotypes: full of vitamin fact!
Tom Dienhart, goin’ robo at work if this is any indication. Cough syrup is a hell of a drug. At least it better be to make someone construct a ranking of coaches where one can construct these inelegant statements:
Jim Grobe>Steve Spurrier
Kirk Ferentz>Urban Meyer
Tom O’Brien>Greg Schiano
Chan Gailey>Phil Fulmer
We hate Phil, but God’s Wounds! Chan? By the Hammer of Thor, we’ve got to break out some seriously exaggerated oaths to encompass how truly silly that list is. Richt at 23, in a job that’s tougher than most people know? Great Rama’s Lingam! Bobby Bowden over Joe Paterno? By the Silvery Feathers of Quetzalcoatl!
Yet another Michigan blog. It’s like you all can read AND use the computer, Wolverines. Literacy, bitches, literacy.
It could also be they’re avoiding you because you’re an asshole. I was listening to public radio recently while I was mapping the inefficiencies of my local sewer system for my upcoming presentation to the Lubbock City Council, “Optimization of Collection System Maintenance Frequencies and System Performance,” and I heard a story about a guy who suddenly realized all his friends thought he was an asshole.
Science verifies reason. It makes marginally more sense to go on defense first in overtime, according to people who work with numbers and stuff. We’re thrilled that the Sabermetrics crew has drifted slowly over to football, a significantly more difficult subject of analysis than baseball. We just can’t wait to see who emerges as the despised Joe Morgan of the antiempirical mob. We’re guessing Mark May, though Bob Davie’s a good guess, too.
Filed directly under trademark law run rampant–and who says geekery and football don’t run hand in hand?–the NFL is seeking to trademark the phrase “The Big Game,” a phrase with a dual history in the pro and collegiate spheres. (HT: John.)
Because of the inanity of S*p*r Bowl copyright laws, everyone from Schleppy’s Pizza to Best Buy attempts to cash in on selling goods associated with the game by referring to it as “The Big Game” prior to S*p*r Bowl Sunday, a curious bit of verbiage your ear may have picked up as peculiar periphrasis in the rather direct world of advertising. The reason? Not being Official Sponsors of The S*p*r Bowl, they cannot use the proper name, and thus duck under the bar by simply referring to “The B#g G#m3.”
Football post-trademark laws: we were going to use this stock image, but someone’s got the copyright.
(Memo from EDSBS LEGAL: the NFL has previewed this post and requested the removal of all trademarked language. We’ll put it in language your puny non-lawyer brain can understand: President Camacho suggests you comply, vato. That goes for any references to the NFL’s championship game, the B#g G#me, or any other language they own. We’ll proof this for your protection afterwards. For reference, see NFL White Paper #48: Rules Regarding the English Language. All references hereafter refer to it.)
The B*g G#m3 (NFL White Paper #48) in collegiate terms refers to the historical tussle between Stanford and Cal, a name that through recent years has been applied more sarcastically than in reality. Nevertheless, the two f00tba77 (ibid.) t*amz (ibid.) have been playing together under the moniker since 1902, according to Cal f00tba77 (ibid.) historian Ron Fimrite. (Everyone’s got their specialties, we suppose. Imagine if your IRB proposal involved getting board permission to interview Steve Mariucci. Geeking out done, we continue.)
Cal and Stanford are countering the NFL claim by running to the arms of Collegiate Licensing Inc., our neighbors here in Atlanta who play the unusual part of hero here. They will likely grant the game its own brand name as the “Ir0n B0w7″ and “Teh R3d R1v3r Sh00t0ut” (hey, just being careful! one angry legal entity at a time!) have, and then k1ckk0ff the legal fireworks from there. It’ll be a tough issue to tAck73, (ibid.) sure, but that’s what lawyers are for.
Our prediction: the NFL gets up by a few t0uchd0wnZ (ibid), the Cal/Standford reps fight back with ferocious off3ns3 (ibid.), and the whole g@m3 comes down to a legal f13lD g0al (how many times are you going to make us do this? Ibid.) Then, B00m! (ibid.) The B*g G#m3 lives again.
Last week, if you missed it, a huge asteroid of stupidity sailed by the planet, narrowly avoiding contact with the planet that would have extinguished life as we know it forever. This particular asteroid of imbecility only missed placing a large and well-defined period on the sentence of human existence because it appeared on CBS Sportsline without a Clay Travis byline, and therefore whiffed past most of us without a sound.
Only brave men and online status keep us safe from the menace of asteroids.
Dennis Dodd authored the piece entitled “Smoke but no fire: Banished Barnett blackballed.” Its topic: shocking enough, the alleged (we’re using that word as hard as we can) “conspiracy” against the rehiring of Gary Barnett, former coach at Northwestern and Colorado.
SMQ responded (pre-vacay/oasis/sabbatical to do “real life stuff” whatever) by first gimpifying, then bullwhipping the case into the corner with logic, and then forbidding it from speaking for a year in conclusion before renaming it “Howie.” His demolition–and we mean complete, total, laying waste to-age of the piece--is all you’ll need to read regarding the monumental, colossal, Lawrence Of Arabia style epicness of the piece. Dodd should have exited the Barnett interview with a twenty in his pocket for his troubles, or at least a crisp Alexander Hamilton and some Teriyaki Flavored Coach Barnett Buffalo Jerky.
The least Barnett could have done: a Hamilton.
What we didn’t expect following this, though: the fountain of support for Barnett following the piece. It’s been an outpouring, really, of testimonials and advocacy from a diverse group of professionals, world leaders, cultural figures, and celebrities we didn’t even know watched college football, much less knew who Barnett was. They’ve been emailing us and calling non-stop, and we thought that in the interest of fairness, we’d let them talk.
Charles Taylor, former President of Liberia.
“Gary is obviously an exceptional leader, a gifted communicator, and just the kind of individual with a proven track record of success to lead a Division-1 football team to success. I would not hesitate to cut off this man sitting next to me’s arms to prove my deep and abiding respect for him. (more…)
Jim Delany, the commissioner of the Big Ten, does his job well. His job is to represent the interests of the corporation known as the Big Ten, something he’s done admirably. He integrated Penn State into the conference, made sure the fine Midwestern hog that is the Big Ten got a wide berth when he was helping build the BCS, and has helped usher in new revenue streams via “the Big Ten Network,” a football content provider coming to DirectTV only this fall. Jim Delany’s being proactive and visionary. Jim Delany’s turning in his TPS reports on time. He’s harmonizing synergies and being a charismatic problem-solver and self-starter.
Hi. I work for a failing mid-size paper company.
He’s also, to the average college football fan, a faceless powermonger with a rank list of heinous policy decisions to his credit, a few of which would be hanging offenses in a court of tailgaters. His big quote in a Yahoo! Sports article a while back was “I don’t work for college football at large.” His work in stitching together the mixed gristle and organs of college football into the BCS stands as a perfect example of his best and worst work: a skillfully negotiated pact between large partners with diverse interests generating huge piles of cash that almost everyone of any sense hates, a Frankenstein that almost resembles a living entity.
At least the old bowl system, corrupt and bucolic as it was, had some charm to it, and made few real claims to being a national title system. The BCS instead does it through a melange of computers and open politicking not dissimilar in tone to a four beer discussion at your local swillhole of choice. Its benefit relies more on enforcement of rules benefitting vested interests (especially the Big Ten) and less on creating the shiniest, most alluring carrot of all for the fan: truly open competition for a national title. Instead of a playoff bracket, you get the BCS: faceless, three letters as faceless and meaningless as a government bureaucracy, a simultaneous failure of imagination and vision lurching along like Peter Boyle in Young Frankenstein, minus the invigorating dance number.
That’s Delaney on the left, BCS on the right. They never do this, btw.
Are you ready? It’s going to leave your network wiping its sweet cheeks with hundreds and farting twenties. Imagine…a football coach just off the big time at a program where everyone’s got their eye on what he eats for breakfast. A big-time recruit, fawned over by the teeming hordes of locals convinced he’s the next football Jesus, pursued passionately by the big coach. An up and coming assistant coach, ambitious, young, and striving for more, and holding the hand of the young qb. All of them set up on a collision course on the gridiron hacienda in a way they’re powerless to prevent.
It’s hot. It’s edgy. It’s heartland for the red-staters and camp for the blue-staters. It’s Ugly Betty meets Dos Mujeres, Un Camino, and Friday Night Lights all at once. We call it:
Las Cronicas Locas De Boss Hawg!!!
The latest chapter written in the smash hit is that Gus Malzahn–the gaucho on the horse up there–has left the Arkansas program for a position coordinating the offense at Tulsa. This comes with no appreciable pay raise, since he’ll be making the same money he made at Arkansas. The new position includes no heartwarming sentimental bonus as Malzahn has no historical connection to the Tulsa program, and has been a football coach in Arkansas for his entire professional life.
The speculative bonus for Malzahn here–facts are for weenies and socialists, sir–comes with a freer reign over the offense, something Nutt never seemed to allow Malzahn to have over the course of the year. The offense seemed to regress over the course of the year, actually, with fewer and fewer of Malzahn’s spread sets used and more and more of Boss Hawg’s cromag offense creeping back in at crucial moments. Towards the end, Malzahn was being paid six figures to call wacky double reverse passes, a job we frankly envy.
The numbers, she don’t lie.
2005 Arkansas Offense
PPG: 25.7
Rushing offense: 216.9 ypg, First in SEC
Passing offense: 143.7 ypg, 11th in SEC
2006 Arkansas Offense
PPG: 28.9
Rushing offense: 228.5 ypg, First in SEC
Passing offense: 149.5 ypg, 11th in SEC
Malzahn’s offense looked only marginally different in terms of effect that Nutt’s, meaning that either Malzahn picked up a sudden affinity for devolved RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN offenses straight off the pages of a 1982 Coaching Monthly magazine, or Nutt did what many suspected all along: hired Malzahn to get VHT blue-chipper Mitch Mustain and a few other Springdale recruits on board before wresting control of the offense back from Malzahn and running things the way he felt most comfortable; that is, by running.
With Malzahn gone, Nutt will have complete control again, likely quashing the parental uprising Boss Hawg faced just after the close of the season from the parents of the aforementioned Springdale parents. (Presumably, the parents assumed Malzahn had some influence over what happened at the program. Obviously not watchers of Las Cronicas Locas de Boss Hawg. For shame!)
You say, the saga is over then? Never! The passion never ends in the world of telenovelas, amigos. Perhaps Nutt will seduce another recruit by hiring his coach, or pull another bait-and-switch by hiring the unemployed father of a potential gamebreaker as his driver. You don’t get to be Don of the Hacienda by being stupid, no? As always, the only certainty on the haciendais…PASSION!
Clay Travis would, in the unchecked world of evolutionary competition, be gone long before you, dear reader. Why? Because he voted Ole Miss women the most attractive in a ranking of SEC women, a judgement call to be sure that in and of itself bears no animus towards this blog.
Unfortunately, he ranked Florida’s women next to last, just above the fine farm girls from Mississippi State. In this unfortunate oversight, Clay has overlooked not only the basic tenets of research design, but has made a crucial error in his basic understanding of evolution and mating strategies that could endanger his reader. There are dangers out there, men. This article is a warning about them.
You see, Clay would die in the wild, and his offspring–should they ever be born–would be eaten by wolves and birds of prey. In the ages-old interplay between male and female, Clay would certainly be a pawn–or perhaps just a mere checker–becoming both slave and feast for his masterful mate. Picking Ole Miss makes this all too apparent.
Explanation of the steps used to trap Darwin’s fools in the dating process follow:
1. Excessive use of camouflage. Ole Miss women certainly fit a very common understanding of attractiveness: heavily mascaraed, blushed, and lipsticked into perfection. Beware wearing of dark blazers or other clothing around them; a direct hit with their face, or even a slight brush, will cover your finery with synthetic fat-infused cosmetics. Also comes off on your face when you’re kissing them, which sucks, especially if–in true collegiate fashion–you’re doing it behind someone’s back. Lipstick has killed as many men as the French Pox, men. This is something you must not forget.
Does makeup mean a no-go? Certainly not. Most women wear to shut other women up. But beware the perfect storm of feminine wile: like wasps who waste valuable hours of their lives mating with orchids that look like female wasps, so too do men blow valuable decades married to the cunning and stunning.
Look closer: there’s a tiny sorority sweater on that mantis.
2. Saccharine overtures.
Also beware the saccharine gesture disguising the devil’s contract. Such gestures are really a code, unknown for generations and brought back for us by our network of spies. Remember: many bachelor spies’ best years died for this information.
Unwitting, doomed male: “Hey, you wanna go out sometime?”
Male to English translation: “God, your boobs are big. And you’ve got on makeup and coordinated clothing? It’s gonna be so much fun touching your boobs!!! You smell of wealth and sex and bein’ together and stuff. Boobs.”
Ole Miss Woman of the Old South Variety: “Whaaaayyyy, that sounds nice. Whut taaaime?”
Female to English. “I have chosen you to be my potential mate, young meatling. You will be administered a series of tasks, many of which you will fail. This happens by design, since my father, Bucksley MacAllister the Fourth, is the paragon of all that is masculine and perfect for me, and will always be. The grave will only enhance his stature in my mind, so don’t count on death eliminating the problem, sucker.
And yet a wedding will occur. And you, you will either pick up a professional degree of some sort or go to work in my father’s business. And all you do–we mean all–will come to dust, since it will all pale to the shining Barbie House Daddy has built for me. I will bear offspring, yes; but the sex will end. I’ll still wear the makeup–it wasn’t for you, anyway, but the lifelong siege campaign against other women I’m engaged in–but when I do have sex, don’t ask for head. It messes up the lipstick.
In exchange, I will let you crawl into a bottle of bourbon and commit a thirty-year suicide. We will only come to life on Saturdays, where we may root for the same football team, part of the elaborate trap that will end with you spending every offseason Saturday in a stinking duck blind to get away from me and every Sunday on your knees praying for death.
Oh, maahhh, I DO carry on sometimes..
3. Daddy. If at any point she actually refers to her father as Daddy, flee the scene immediately. Remember, if necessary make a Batman-style exit with smoke grenade if necessary. If there’s a cliff, leap. You’re saving yourself trouble in the long run, trust us.
One of the most fascinating microsystem meltdowns in college football ‘06 has come from the University of North Texas, a program that has in the short span of four years gone from the elite of the Sun Belt (pause, gentle wash of irony spills over) to a banana republic of a program bullied by a mattress salesman and in dire need of some serious intervention by HR.
According to parents of current players, right before Saturday’s game Coach Dickey snuck new black uniforms onto the team without the school’s permission. The rec-league quality jerseys, pictured here, didn’t contain the names of players or the school and conference logos. They weren’t cleared with Athletic Director Rick Villareal or announced to the press before the game and might violate agreements with the school’s uniform supplier.
During halftime of the game, offensive coordinator Ramon Flanagan allegedly started a physical fight with wide receivers Coach Chip Garber after being told he should play seniors because it was their final home game. The incident got so out of hand the offense received no instruction before going back out to start the third quarter.
Jeff Bowden, of course, has been a real visionary by doing just that in the first quarter. Viva hate! (HT: Ben Maller.)
University of North Texas football: feel the dysfunction!
Liberty Mutual’s Coach of the Year award means so much to the coaches of this nation. So much so that this is the first time we’ve ever heard of it, or a few of the nominees, actually. Don’t tell us you’ve heard of Mel Tjeerdsma. If you do, you are a lying liar. Unless you live in Southwest Missouri, in which case we believe you, or you are in fact Mel Tjeerdsma.
Nominees include:
Mack Brown. He won the national championship last year, right? Give ‘em a trophy for the hell of it. Something tells me the “casual fan” on the board made this nomination after the crew rejected the names “Barry Switzer” and “Tom Osborne” from the same party.
Bob Stoops. Yeah, same guy. He’s really looking forward to his corporate seats at the Fiesta this year. The in-box spread is amazing–and he’s not just talking about the food, if ya know what I mean wocka wocka!!!
Tommy Tuberville. “We just like the sound of it. Kind of like a kids’ show hero, you know.”
Upjurs Jimgrobe. We’re not sure who this is, but we know the ‘j’ is pronounced a la the Swedish. Other nominees include Nantahala State’s Gofer Kyerselfgrobe, University of Chulalongkorn Men’s Football coach Sukit Jeemgrobe, and Maui Technical College’s coach “Nineanwun Izeazyeh.”
Upjurs Jimgrobe: a better coach than this guy, evidently.
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Orson Swindle and Stranko Montana are two men pushing thirty who should know better than to run a college football blog, but evidently don't. Both graduated from the University of Florida, and both agree that college football is far too important to be left to the professionals.
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