I WANDERED lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
But fuck all that shit. Here’s Ed Orgeron firing some bitches up at the Tennessee Women’s Clinic.

The original Wordsworth poem would have been so much better with that as its intro, especially if they’d had embeddable Youtube in the late 18th century. As Clay notes, this is comedic perfection, and further proof that Ed Orgeron clearly breathes twice the oxygen per inhalation as any other person on earth. If four word, two part crowd participation phrases were Nobel prizes, Ed Orgeron could call up Linus Pauling in hell and tell him just what a bitch he was for only having two to his credit.

(HT: Clay, of course.)

You might think the real star in this clip is Orgeron, but that cluelessly confident blank stare of Kiffykins? Oh, that’s gonna get put on heavy rotation this fall.

LSUFreek is a genius, but you knew that already. BEAUCOUP FUCK AH DETALLAM LAWDEY FALLUM.

The Blind Side is being made into a movie. It will feature Tim McGraw and Sandra Bullock as the Tuohys, and Quinton Aaron, who you may remember as “bodyguard 2″ from Law and Order, as Michael Oher. Tim McGraw’s in it, so you know it’s total shit gonna be awesome.

Actually, the whole thing just got scrapped. Goodbye, heartwarming triumph of the spirit; hello, erotic masterpiece/wildlife documentary:

Speaking of which, a while back a buddy and I had wondered about who Hollywood would get to play Orgeron in the movie about Ole Miss offensive lineman Michael Oher. Turns out, Orgeron is going to play the role himself. Next week he’s slated to go to Atlanta to do his scene with Sandra Bullock, the star of the movie.

“But I, John Lee Hancock, didn’t write a love scene into the movie!!!” DASSATOOBADDIRECTAHBOAH!!! And thus prepare yourself for the most mindbending, violent, pec-flexing love scene since Team America redefined what puppet sex meant to you. What started as a 100 minute tale of love and redemption is now a 20 minute football sitcom episode with a five-hour sexcapade sandwiched in the middle. You’re welcome, America.

Coach O, you were supposed to wear more for this scene. It’s 45 seconds of dialogue. NOTANNAHMOAH!!!

The Blind Side was probably headed for a PG-13 before this, but once you get Ed Orgeron in a room with Sandra Bullock and say the words “ACTION!”, there’s really no keeping it from crossing over into NC-17. Furniture will be smashed. Available foodstuffs will be used for unspeakable acts. Cajun butter will be employed. If you can imagine the Incredible Hulk in musth on a Viagra-spiked vacation to the beaches of hell, you may come close to approximating what will be captured on film that night–if the equipment doesn’t melt from the very sight of so much animal lust poured into a single fragile lens. (And it will, if it’s not eaten first.)

Every Day Should Be Lemsday has Coach O’s farewell speech. Da rebbah done madeah bigassah mistakeah!

The Orgeron is out at Ole Miss, according to Joe Schad of ESPN, who’s practically an honorary coroner today after announcing both Callahan’s termination and now Orgeron.

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.

OOOOOOO DaCoachO donnaunnastandhoww daOleMissaWildBoyz stealapillahs frommadahotel! CoachOgonnaevahextreme tomakkah daOleMissaRebbah sohappahatta daOleMissahcampus. Nowdeygonnaroon dareputashunuhdaschool fohthirtypillahs annasixclokkaradios! CoachO
gonnahdrinkkaeightaRedBull annasevenpacksabeefjerkeh ahjussathinkinboutit!

Firssawesleepinabarnna likkaonebiggahappyfamluh! Nopillahsjustaeverahoneonnadastraw, keepinwarmwiffadahorsesannadaanimals offadafarm. ButtadaWildBoyzcomplainnaboutdacold, dainsectwhatbiteinthenight, annawakinnaup wiffadaCoachOtrynarippadaheadoff inadreamabout fightinonewhoppaoffagatah! OOOO-WEEEE datwassomefunnahtimes! Buttahplayarevolt gotteminnadadorms wiffadapillahsanpipeheatanalldat.

Buttanow, playahstakin dapillahzfrommadahotel, annaCoachogottadasolutionfromma supplahanddademandside. Firssahsuspendalltwennyofum; thenwehittadahboostahmen fodahclinchah indarecrootinprocessah thattahgettahdemOleMissRebbah todaESSEESEE ahChampyunshippah:

DAHEATPRAHDOOCIN’ BODYPILLAHFODAH OLEMISSAHREBBAH
ATHALETICDORMAH!!!!

WEGONNAHRUNEMBABEE!!! DAPILLAHCHAMPYUNS HEPUSSAHLANDABIGRECROOT, andahtakeussatodah nexlevelboi! Issaonhunnapuhsent hypoallagenix anna ugonomicallistacallyshapta fordamossferoshussleepinahyoulife! PlussaCoachOget damodelwiffa daFossfilfodoze wiffadaallahgiestodagoosedown.

All disclosures first: we’ve talked with Bruce Feldman on the phone, met him in person once, and are quoted once in his new book on recruiting, Meat Market. We’re also quoted in several other books, as well, including Gridskipper’s upcoming guide to sex clubs around the world. (Pg. 256, Bangkok section. “No club is more welcoming to the homely, naked, and needy male than Club Superpussy! A thousand cocktails to them! Come for the awkward group sex, stay for the Pad Thai special!”)

It’s great. Buy it.

Nevertheless, despite having contact with us, Feldman is a masterful observational writer, disappearing into the background of Meat Market as the eye for a year’s worth of frenetic recruiting by a modern master: Ed “The” Orgeron, who let Feldman tag along as Coach O ran through a zillion hours of tape and several reservoirs of Red Bull and coffee in his quest to restock the cabinet with talent at Ole Miss.

The book’s a meticulously researched book, but don’t mistake the precision for a lack of blood. The story’s got all the life it needs in one Ed Orgeron, who seems to be bigger in real-life than we could ever make him here in the blogosphere. We’ll just tempt with two scenes from the book that involve actual, witnessed events or conversations during a typical Orgeron recruiting process.

One: Jerrell Powe and Ed Orgeron actually squared off in Powe’s high school parking lot. Someone saw them practicing swim moves and called the school to tell them that “a huge white man and a huge black man” were wrestling in the parking lot.

Two: An actual conversation between TE coach Hugh Freeze and Ed Orgeron about a recruit who fancied Ole Miss after a visit.

Freeze: “I think he really likes us because you wrestled with him.”

Orgeron: “Shit, that son-of-a-bitch was strong. After he pinched me under the arms, it was ON.”

We can’t sell the book any more convincingly than that. We woke up at 5 a.m. the other day to read it. It’s a peek into the least understood portion of the football year, and a rousing portrait of someone truly obsessed with the process.

Buy it.

Ole Miss’s halftime had special spark this weekend thanks to a wondrous treat: daytime fireworks. Fireworks are awesome–the cheaper and more bootleg they are the better, and the phrase “Mississippi Fireworks” certainly reeks of both–but they lose some of their efficacy when deployed in broad daylight. Because you can’t see them. Because it’s 2 in the afternoon in Oxford, Mississippi.

COACHOGONNABURNTHISMUTHADOWN!

It’s really great, though, when the fireworks make things catch fire and not work.

A halftime fireworks display gone awry knocked out power to half of Vaught-Hemingway Stadium on Saturday.

The game was not delayed and power was restored early in the fourth quarter.

Ole Miss officials may seem negligent for continuing despite the lack of a proper scoreboard, but consider this: with Ole Miss not scoring until the fourth quarter in a 44-8 defeat to the SEC’s only other team without a conference win, there really wasn’t much incentive to turn the power back on, was there?

At least Ed Orgeron got to go out there, cigarette in mouth and beer in hand, and light off the $55.95 Carnival Extravaganza multipack for the fans. He was probably trying to burn the place down to avoid playing the second half–they were down 21-0 at the half–but it was a nice cover for the failed attempt at arson.

(Massive HT: Ragin’ Cajun Rebel.)

Coach O’s a busy man. Zoom in once you click to see just how busy he can be.

We can’t look past Hate Week just yet–but the Shadow of the Orgeron is long, and tinged with fire and the smell of smoked meats of many species. Erik at Deep South Sports spies our favorite kind of story–rank hearsay!–concerning a young autograph seeker and the Orgeron at a local little league game.

He waited until the game was over, so as not to bother him while the game was going on. He stood there waiting with his Florida Gator team hat (the five year old that is). When his turn came, he was very rudely turned away by Orgeron. He told my son he was not going to sign his hat because it was a Florida hat.

Nancy Grace is outraged, OUTRAGED WE TELL YOU! The EDSBS official stance is this: when Somali Bantu mothers have daughters, they slap them from infancy. Why? Because life for the Bantu is hard, and for women it is hardest. To the child with the Gator hat, welcome to your baptism in the Church of Arbitrary Laundry-Based Hatred and its first instructional slap–and consider yourself lucky you weren’t dressed for the grill and cut into chops on the spot.

(Check the photo–who knew he had such shiny knees? Your reflection in them would be the last thing you see.)