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.)

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

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.)

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.

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.

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.

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.)

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.)

Mock at your own risk. The Orgeron has endured tougher battles.

The Orgeron, putting down his croker sack full of blue chippahs, had two of the most intriguing quotes thus far from the Alabama equivalent of the Cannes Film Festival. One, he took a nifty slap at that pipsqueak Saban:

Orgeron first commented on Saban’s impressive record saying, then belittled him saying “he won a share of a national championship.” Saban claimed the 2003 BCS championship at LSU while Orgeron was an assistant coach at Southern California, a team the AP and others declared was the real national champion.

Then he finally explained how a Delta State walk-on became the starting qb at Ole Miss, saying that Brent Schaeffer’s automatic spot as starter under center was an error on his part.

Orgeron raised eyebrows last year by naming Schaeffer the starter before he played a down. Now, he calls that a mistake.

“I wish I hadn’t done that,” he said. “That was for recruiting.”

OWCOACHOBARRINDASOLETODATUBBYNINNYBOYMEDIATAHPES! BEENWATCHINDAOPRAH, GEDDINTOUCHWITHDAFEELINS’! Please, please let Ole Miss have a moderate amount of success this year–a league without Orgeron would leave us rent with grief. He’s learned how to elbow other coaches properly at Media Day. He’s evidently starting to learn from his mistakes (though the John Thompson hiring still has us befuddled.)

As long as the tally of wins doesn’t include a victory on September 22nd, we’re fine with whomever he beats, on the football field or in a dark alley in Oxford. Judging from some of the advance stuff we’ve heard about Feldman’s book following Orgeron’s recruiting around for a season…you’ll be pulling for him, too.

And this article from the Memphis Commercial-Appeal is really the first and last thing you need to read about this year’s wave of camps, because we can assure you with scientific certainty that nothing, and we mean ABSOLUDDDELY NOFIN’ GONNA TOP DA OWE MISSAH CAMP with your honored host, the Orgeron.

LADEEZ DA OWGERON GONNA LURNYA SOMMADAT GOODOWWFASHUNNED FOOTBAW!!!

OXFORD, Miss. — Ole Miss coach Ed Orgeron stood at the center of 400 screaming women.

“WAR TIME! TAKE IT OUTSIDE! WAR TIME! TAKE IT OUTSIDE!”

This is precisely what Ed Orgeron says to all the women he takes back to “The Tannery,” since a beast like that only procreates with live cover, and only does so under the stars so he can howl at his forefathers looking down in approval. (Ed Orgeron also makes love to 400 women at a time…all at once. But we digress–if you’re interested in further reading on the topic, see D.A. Taylor’s fascinating paper Mating Habits of the Orgeron: Bombast and Brutality in the Bayou, American Journal of Ethnobiology, Volume XII, ed. 4 pp. 35–72.)

The ladies misunderstood the directive, however, and instead exited to the practice field, where John Thompson continued the saucy tone of the event.

After they disengaged, Thompson offered some additional instruction on the proper defensive stance. He told his wife to line up opposite him.

“Four to six inches,” he said before pausing and smiling at his audience. “I’m not going to make a joke about that, either!”

HEY-O!!! John’s brought the wacky, but the ladies paid all that money–$125 each–for biker fuel, namely ass and grass. The grass came courtesy of the groundskeepers, but the ass came in the form of chiseled BenJarvus Green-Ellis, the four-monikered running back who modeled Ole Miss uniforms at the camp.

We would just like to remark that we have reached an unusual point in race relations in this country when this scene happens at the Ole Miss women’s football camp:

But the true treat was the surprise appearance of running back BenJarvus Green-Ellis, who emerged in full uniform. As 80 women craned their necks for a better view, an Ole Miss staff assistant explained that Green-Ellis was there to illustrate the components of the team’s wardrobe.

“TAKE IT OFF!” the women began to shout. “TAKE IT OFF! TAKE IT OFF!”

We can only assume they screamed in bold type, too. Green-Ellis flashed some six-pack for them, which provoked a reaction Commercial-Appeal writer Scott Cacciola summed up in a single phrase. “The ladies were pleased.” (By Bayou Brasky, a.k.a. Ed Orgeron, no doubt, but only in groups of six at a time due to his getting back late from a recruiting trip the night before.)

HT: The always observant Wiz of Odds.

HE HAD THE ANKLES…OF A GOD!!! Some men are ass men, other go straight for the boobs, and others swear by legs, presumably because they anticipate having children who will have to forage for their own food and therefore must be swift afoot. Recruiters? They’re ankle men, according to the Seattle Times, especially for the really, really thin ones. This explains the prevalence of Nicole Richie posters in crack recruiters’ offices, we guess.

He had the thin, lithe ankles…OF A GOD!!!

Joe McKnight, Trojan. Somehow turning down the opportunity to place a baseball cap on his head on national television–why does Joe McKnight hate America?–megarecruit Joe McKnight of Louisiana chooses USC over LSU and Ole Miss. LSU fans desolate, Ole Miss fans purchasing bottled water and taking to basements as all of Mississippi goes on an Orgeron Watch.

Make that an Orgeron Warning, Governor. The Orgeron loses one more top recruit, who foolishly compromised the entire well-being of the state by spurning Coach O to go to not only another team, but in-state rival Mississippi State. Robert Elliott, a four-star running back committed to Ole Miss since last year, de-committed, changed his name, and sent his family to lie low “in an undisclosed location” today. Hail State has the real, extremely very much important reason MSU won out for the in-stater:

“At first I was going to go to Florida State or Ole Miss,” said Elliott. “It helped when Croom told me I could come in and wear No. 2. It was really where I could go and feel comfortable and rock my No. 2. I have been wearing it since peewee and that’s the only number I can rock. If I put something else on,it won’t look right on me. I figure you’ve got to look good to play good. I can’t wear those double digit numbers.”

Given this kind of reasoning, we won’t blame Coach O for eating cinderblocks and chugging benzene to even greater excess around the corpsefire tonight.

Benzene: it’s what’s for dinner.

Hattiesburg’s like South Beach, in that both places have oxygen and most utilities. Antwain Easterling, VHT Dade County running back out of Florida, spurns Miami et al. for…Southern Miss? Instant analysis: Jeff Bower must really be [NAME REDACTED]! And is being slagged by Notre Dame through the internets! Call our lawyer. There are briefs to be filed here, dammit.

The commit means either that Easterling desperately wants to be big fish at USM, or that he’s already been extended a hefty line of credit at nearby casinos. However the feat was accomplished, catfish martinis to SMQ on his team’s signing day coup. We recommend avoiding all roads leading to Oxford on the way to the bar, though–they should be clogged with refugees fleeing the Orgeron’s wrath.

And book me for a quick 18 this afternoon. Spurrier the White, the guy who used to coach Florida in the ’90s, has learned some things in his waking life as the shadow coach of South Carolina, one of them being how to be lauded for his recruiting in the media. His class is being touted as “DeE BEzT EVR” to some into South Carolina, something he’s undoubtedly savoring at this instant while eyeballing a tricky wedge shot from around 20 yards out. Fore!

Mack sends you a gift of barbecue–no bun, of course. Carbs’ll kill you. Low-carb Mack Brown, the skinny version of the coach who shed a fifth-grader between the national championship and the beginning of the 2006 season, brings a slimmed-down but choice selection of only the leanest, protein heavy recruits to Austin: 18 commits in all.

You’ll need a steady hand to pass through the recruiting season, and the right tools to guide you through the dank jungle of rubber chicken dinners, strip clubs, illicit late-night drinking sessions, and surreptitious “rental car” usage you’ll find are all common downfalls of the recruiting season.

Our first cheat sheet follows, letting you know what to expect at each school. Enjoy.