Play me off for 6-8 weeks, Keyboard Cat.

No permanent or lasting damage, as the piece of angry, disunited bones in my back aren’t load bearing. They do hurt like I swallowed a plugged-in soldering gun, which is why I’m waking up in a few hours to dust off some more delicious, nutritious Percocet.

Thanks to all the well-wishers on Twitter and Facebook. (Our phone doesn’t work, as the iPhone battery died last night, too.) It’s pill and sleep time, and we’ll see what “we” feel like tomorrow.

ALL HAIL MIGHTY CATLAB. Your obeisance is required by penalty of death, but is still appreciated.

8:00 PM Holly: This is what happens when you drink and Photoshop on the eve of a must-win game, campers. Let it be a warning lesson, but it does have a point: The SEC is Tiger and Gator country, and like it or not, for the most part the rest of the teams are flitting about them like so many pesky military helicopters. Tonight, we separate the chainsaw-endowed werewolves from the giant mutant lizards. (NB: The gorilla on the sidewalk was originally cast as Coach O, but the sinister elephant head was too perfect to pass up. And, really, who’s to say that’s not The Orgeron’s true form?)

Let’s dance.

8:08 PM Barstoolio: I’ve said this before on the radio, but it bears repeating on this occasion: nothing would have me put out faster than to hear “I bring you Jim Tressel’s nipples in a Target bag.” What!

8:11 PM Holly: What’s this? A nightcap of Domer despair! Dear Harrison Smith: Before kickoff, just want to let you know–you can still come home. We love you, and by the time you get on a standby flight we’ll surely lose another defender to injury or meth. Fly safe! XOXO, Knoxville.

8:17 PM Holly: How ADORABLE: a UCLA defender knocks Clausen into the air like a straw puppet, and another one basically takes him in his arms and tenderly slams him to the sideline. Mind the spikes, Bruins!

8:19 PM Barstoolio: I wonder if the abandoned husk of Notre Dame football can be bronzed. Like baby shoes!

8:23 PM J-Money: Someone call vaudeville…Gary Danielson has run away again. He looks exactly like a ventriloquist dummy. And by that, I mean he looks like he’d be OK with another man’s hand up his back. I’m not even kidding…totally wooden. I’m pretty sure his morning routine involves Pledge.

8:25 PM Holly: And away we go. Florida-LSU, kicking off…now. Team meteor!

8:32 PM J-Money: The team introductions are brought to us by Applebees. Great, now I’ll think about Tim Tebow the next time I eat a basket of riblets. And I’ll think about riblets the next… oh.

8:37 PM Holly: This game is sponsored in part by the DVD Release of Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer. Oh, really?

8:38 PM J-Money: “Fantastic 4″ should be how they refer to any remaining Notre Dame fans.

8:40 PM J-Money: Sonic scares the shit out of me. I’m pretty sure their recipes are all written using the “I double dog dare you” technique.

8:47 PM Holly: TIMBER! Down goes Tebow. On the field.

8:47 PM J-Money: Holy shit! Not only did Tyson Jackson take Timmaaaay’s face off, he also has the names of two disgraced former icons!

8:48 PM Barstoolio: Every time I hear “Glenn Dorsey” my mind starts to hear “Ken Dorsey.” It’s a particularly harsh form of torture.

8:48 PM J-Money: Zenon? Isn’t that also on the periodic table?

8:49 PM Holly: And every time I hear HIS name, I flash to Zebo, the evil clown on Nickelodeon’s Are You Afraid Of The Dark.

8:52 PM J-Money: Is “the charges were dropped” some kind of code for “the parking lot owner was just given a pair of diamond pants”?

8:53 PM Holly: *stifles related Perriloux joke*

8:56 PM J-Money: I hope to God we’ve just heard the one and only use of the phrase “he kind of squirts forward”.

9:02 PM Holly: I…um…a square dance just broke out midfield. I’m joking, but only because it would make more sense than whatever the FUCK kind of formation that was supposed to be.

9:03 PM Holly: CBS Interns + EDSBS 4EVA! This just popped up during a sideline report. Everything’s coming up Swindle, boys and girls.

9:10 PM Holly: Where’s your god now, LSU? Florida’s is on the 2 and driving…..yup. Touchdown Tebow, in not-unimpressive fashion.

9:19 PM J-Money: It bothers me when one of the defenders lines up directly in the Tiger’s pupil.

9:20 PM Holly: On an unrelated note, unless you’re a CBS copy editor: The headline “In Trouble Again: Police Site Perriloux” just flashed on the screen. Look for it to reappear in the spring as a hit hourlong drama about a riverboat gambling ring.

9:24 PM J-Money: You’re right. Anybody can beat anyone now. Except Notre Dame. At this point, I’m not even sure they could beat off. HEY OOOOOH!

9:28 PM J-Money: Nice pass, Perrillioux. Two more like that, and you’ll win yourself a stuffed SpongeBob.

9:29 PM Holly: I was supposed to be at the UCLA-Notre Dame game tonight, and I am overjoyed to be snickering at it from a safe distance instead. Bruins, you may not respect yourselves or your conference enough to show up for primetime, but you have to respect natural law: Notre Dame is wretched and must not prevail. World without end, amen.

9:30 PM J-Money: OK, I just got to see a horrid local commercial about finding a needle in a haystack. Know who looks for needles in a haystack? Junkies.

9:31 PM Barstoolio: 7-10 UF. I like that Florida’s in this game, but should LSU and USC eat it, that leaves a door open for Ohio State. And I’d rather meet Mangino in a dark alley with a bottle of baby oil than see that happen.

9:39 PM J-Money: I want to know how many of the Gators wear Crocs.

9:40 PM Holly: I don’t care much one way or the other for Miles…but to see him defending that Highsmith hit? Gross.

9:42 PM J-Money: Also gross? Seeing his teeth in HD. Like a candy corn sandwich.

9:44 PM Holly: I flip over to ABC for a second and see such a clamoring UCLA celebration that I figure the game must be over–but no, they’ve kicked a field goal. To put them ahead 6-3. Excelsior!

9:46 PM Barstoolio: Ouch. Curtis Taylor just hit Percy Harvin like he was full of candy.

9:47 PM Holly: I will give Tebow this: He’s got the makings of a cham-peen hula hooper. Swivel those hips, cupcake….NO. SLOWLY.

9:48 PM J-Money: When Tebow sees man-to-man coverage, he thinks “scramble”. When Brady Quinn sees it, he thinks “snuggle”.

9:57 PM J-Money: I look forward to the day when Colt David’s parents tell him that he was actually named for the malt liquor. And when they ask that he not tell his brother Mad Dog.

9:59 PM J-Money: Is there ever a time when it’s not important to get points? I’m never sorrier to be a woman than I am when I see sideline reporters like her. Or when I see Bea Arthur.

10:01 PM Holly: Pssst….Trojans! Trooooojans…wake up, honey, it’s time to go to school. Yes! You’re on the teevee! I know, it IS exciting! You think maybe it’s time to play some foot-ball now? Won’t that be fun? Let’s find out! *twitch*

10:14 PM Holly: I know the answer, but I’d like to think I’m not the only one who sat through that “Go Gators” commercial waiting for an actual alligator to explode out of that reflecting pool and maul someone.

10:32 PM Holly: LSU fakes a field goal and skitters for a first down. And like the last time they ran this play, the casual viewer is left with the unshakable sense that Les Miles called this play entirely by accident.

10:33 PM J-Money: I like how all of the highlights involving LSU kicker Colt David show him doing things other than kicking the ball.

10:35 PM J-Money: Go away Sonic! I want a followup commercial where those two guys are so distracted by their Chili Fritos Steak Muffins that they pull out of the parking lot and directly into the path of an oncoming locomotive.

10:38 PM Holly: I have just been informed that USC is about to fall to Stanford, 24-23, after committing 5 turnovers in the second half. I don’t even have the strength to make a Lorax joke at the thought of this, but: Buckle your seatbelts, ducklings. Once EVERYONE loses, this whole carousel resets.

10:40 PM J-Money: That missed field goal is pretty important now, Colt. Don’t be surprised when you find you’ve been replaced by the leg lamp from A Christmas Story.

10: 41 PM Holly: Tim Tebow’s idea of trash talk is “PAPER TIGERS!” There’s no joke here. Just slipping that in the zeitgeist.

10:41 PM J-money: It’s like something out of Highlights. Gallant is always respectful to his opponent. Goofus calls them paper tigers.

10:42 PM Holly: I just saw…I don’t even know what I just saw in the LSU stands. I’m really sorry I invoked the Lorax. If you saw it, you know what I’m talking about.

10:53 PM J-Money: She means this:

10:56 PM Holly: Hey y’all, the server’s getting a little slow. We assume this is caused by the retrograde spinning of Earth on its axis caused by the actions of USC and UCLA, but in case things grind to a complete halt, thanks for a lovely Saturday.

11:06 PM Barstoolio: It’s like Patrick Nix is coaching the server!

11:07 PM Holly: For real. Clearly, site not hosted within speedy confines of SEC.

11:12 PM J-Money: Colt David is worthless. He’s what Adam Sandler used to sing about.
Holly: Turkey?
J-Money: No, the lonesome kicker. The song about the special shoe and someone slamming his face into a hibachi. But Turkey works too.

11:24 PM Holly: Les Miles is using his last timeout to challenge a play that had already been reviewed. Thanks, Les! There’s nothing left for me to add. it is pret-a-porter. You’re a giver.

11:25 PM Barstoolio: Somewhere, Hayley LaFontaine smiles widely.

11:26 PM Holly: …..there is no order. Nothing is certain. What a goddamn day.

11:28 PM Barstoolio: I’m not sure I’m tall enough to ride this day.

11:30 PM Holly: Charlie Weis beating Karl Dorrell Should Not Count. It’s the CFB equivalent of giving a first grader a gold star for showing up to class with both shoes on the right feet.

11:33 PM J-Money: LSU trails Florida by Colt David should be eaten by scorpions. Three. I mean three.

11:36 PM J-Money: Holliday was jammed so hard he is now Holliday (Observed).
Holly: *rimshot*
J-Money: I’m getting punchy. I know. I need Paul Shaffer here in my living room just encouraging me.
Holly: That was TERRIB(ly awesome).
J-Money: I know. I’m actually embarrassed it was so bad. Like finding an old notebook that says “I heart Scott Grimes”.

11:43 PM J-Money: Not only did LSU get a first down, they also kept Colt David off the field where, much like the potato famine, he can only cause sorrow and heartbreak.

11:44 PM J-Money: I like how the pronunciation of Perrilloux is now “Parallel”.
Holly: It’s degenerative. By OT it’ll be “Parasol.”
J-Money: Then “Paraffin”.

11:43 PM Holly: In between snipings, it bears pointing out that HOLY HELL this could get real dramatic real fast.

11:51 PM J-Money: There’s a horrible Hester-Flynn joke in there somewhere. That’s where I am. Nathaniel Hawthorne references.

11:53 PM Holly: ABC’s reporting that John David Booty broke the middle finger on his throwing hand in the first half. That whole clusterfuck is now infused with a tiny modicum of sense, but still… qu’est-ce que the hell c’est??

11:57 PM Holly: They finally cut in close to the faces of the Florida players on the bench, so I can tell that those are eye black strips with gator heads on them and not scarab beetles clinging to their cheekbones. While I’m grateful for the clarification, it was kinda cooler before.

11:59 PM J-Money: Five seconds until Colt David can go the rest of the week without worrying he’s going to wake up to find a severed leg in his bed…Success!

12:00 AM Holly: Well, girls?
J-Money: I don’t know if I’m flushed from excitement or from having my computer on my lap for 4 hours. Either way, it was a hell of a night.
Barstoolio: *throws up drunken shaky “U”*

LSU 28, Florida 24. Nebraska’s losing to Mizzou over on the WWL, but that’ll do it for us tonight. Quoth the Verne: “We’ll try to top this next week”, but I can’t see how.  Thanks to Swindle for the  keys to the castle, and to all y’all motherfuckers for keeping it lively and making us feel like the prettiest girls at the fair  realest bitches alive.  Sweet dreams, e’ybody.

THIS…IS…SPARTAAAAAA!!!!!!! Uh…

Fuck. We’re gonna need a bigger bottomless pit, Leonidas. Always with the armor, and the swords, and the beard trimmers, and the body wax, and the ab roller. Seriously–has anyone ever used that thing without chipping a tooth? Sure, I’m the one like, “Hey, have you noticed how puny our pit’s been looking lately?” But noooooooo, you’re all like “It’s still bottomless, isn’t it? I’m late for Pilates, now get out of my way.” Well who’s laughing now, circuit boy, huh? Huh?

Meyer has finally addressed both, according to Pat Dooley of the Gainesville Sun. (HT: The Sporting Orange.) Wilson will receive a year’s suspension from the program, missing the 2007 season entirely, a firm but not final punishment made possible by the reduction of the charge in the case to a misdemeanor. (Viva la Liberal Gun Laws in Florida!) This suspension does not preclude the possibility of Wilson rejoining the team, the little extra wrinkle typical of most of Meyer’s disciplinary decisions: there’s almost always a chance for redemption or sliding, depending on your interpretation of things.

(He discharged an AK-47 in downtown Gainesville like he was at an Iraqi wedding. We lean toward “sliding.”)

James’ punishment seems closer to appropriate: the obligatory one game suspension against the mighty Hilltoppers of Western Kentucky is expected, but James may lose his scholarship for the semester, a nasty piece of discipline as any former student who’s considered donating plasma for money can attest. (Advantages: post aphoresis, you can get positively housed off one beer.)

Meyer refused to comment, but we’re guessing if he were to respond, he’d suggest the punishments were “harsh.” They are also a start in the right direction. [/Economist snappy ending sentence voice.]

The punishment for the players has shriveled like an exposed phallus on the tundra, as well. PREPARE TO BE TEMPORARILY KILLED BY DEATH, UNDERLINGS!!!

Two Penn State football players ordered to stand trial for their roles in an off-campus fight were expelled from school for part of the summer but will be allowed to take part in preseason practice.

Hit me again, Ike, and this time put some stank on it! No school, but you can still come to practice–that’s the punishment from Joe Paterno, who must be fully sailing into the calm waters of the Gulf of Aingivafuck in his 38992th year of life. He’s mellowed quite a bit, as the horsewhipped citizens of Bukhara, Transoxiana would testify, since Paterno was a particularly brutal mayor there in the 6th century.

In response, Urban Meyer described the punishment as “appropriate, but a bit harsh.” We suppose in both places now, the “This is Sparta” rules apply.

This…is…Sparta!!! Note the sign, and don’t worry about punishment.

P.S. We know that’s supposed to be a guy kicking someone there, but it still looks like one guy knocking another guy into a pit with the kind of cartoon penis you’d draw in fifth grade. (HT: Kenny.)

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.

Senator Blutarsky thinks Bernie Machen’s push for playoffs at the SEC meetings in Sandestin this week ended ignominiously as presidents hedged on the idea, coaches threw their hands up in resignation, and the bang of Machen’s public posturing ended in a whimper:

The story here is lowered expectations.

He’s got no specific plan. “There are no specifics,” he said. “It’s a concept. Do we want to look at a playoff? There are more plans than there are Carter’s pills. The plan will evolve if the people want to do it.”

We think it was less about a schedule of:

Monday: Mention playoffs
Tuesday: Powerpoint “WHY WE NEED A GODDAMN PLAYOFF”
Wednesday: Book the stadiums for new, perfectly coordinated national college football playoff.
Thursday: Poppin Dom, clockin’ hos at Donut Hole with Tubs and Mike Slive.

…and more about just being annoying enough to lay the foundation for a “Solid South” behind a playoff, showing the interest and will to have a playoff to solicit interested bidders. It’s about signalling the possibility at this point, not getting the ink on the tv deal in three weeks, and reminding everyone of interest that it’s not going away, even on the docket of the most monied conference in the land, because in the end the real money for universities lies in a playoff package sold to networks for a gazillion dollars.

In short: Bernie Machen seems content to kick, push, kick, push, and now coast into coming year before being just as annoying at the meetings next year as he was this year.

As for why he’s suggesting that the money should be spread to all D-1 schools…well, that’s not even lies–it’s pure bullshit by the letter of the definition. Machen doesn’t even care whether that’s true or not. It simply sounds nice, and serves his interests. Again, it’s bullshit, but he’s our bullshitter, and we’ll bullshit right along with him until the next time he says drinking at college football games = evil.

Then, he gets the Sparta treatment.

Steve Spurrier, jabbing like Zab Judah at the SEC meetings, is nothing new. But no coach has ever excelled at the art of indirectly slamming other coaches as Spurrier does, and this year’s “cordial” SEC meetings saw the OBC in seifu-esque form.

Spurrier, known for running up the score while at Florida, remembers some tempers flaring at a few spring meetings over the years.

“There are some that get upset,” he said. “But most coaches understand. I’ve never known a good coach that worried about somebody running up the score on them. It never bothered me, and I’ve been beat bad like everybody else.”

The coach with the biggest problem with it in the SEC during Spurrier’s salad days? Phil Fulmer, who by definition would not be a good coach in this formula.

Your unsportsmanlike blowout of my team has forced anger oil from by pores, sir.

Anthony Morelli caught a fish. A big, unholy, corpse-feeding catfish in the Allegheny River, actually, the kind of catfish Okie Noodlers catch with their hands. (Okie fishermen released this statement on the capture of a fish using bait and tackle: “Pussy.”)

In a reversal of fortune, Anthony Morelli intercepts.

The story comes complete with a detailed account of the rigging, bait, and execution of the catch that only an angler could stay rapt reading. Morelli played the role of mature sportsman by photographing the fish and then returning it to the river, which he summed up in this statement:

“I didn’t want it to die for no reason,” Morelli said. “We just took the pictures and enjoyed the moment. Who knows, maybe 10 years from now he’ll be 10 or 15 pounds heavier and I can hook him again.”

WHEEEEEE what fun that will be for Mr. Corpse-eating Fishbeast! Apropos of nothing, we have heard that one way Lousiana fishermen clean these fish is by nailing the head to a tree, a scary process since the fish allegedly “scream” during the process. If it sounds anything like “WHYYYYY GOD WHAAAYYYYYYY?” we’ll hang up our waders tomorrow.

(HT: Black Shoe Diaries, who thinks Morelli should be hitting the playbook. He was, dammit! He was trying to cast a hook into it from across the room, and just happened to accidentally put it into the Allegheny. You would only believe this if you watched Morelli play last year.)

As other UGA types are busy bringing 12 Monkeys to life, we wish Vince Dooley a speedy recovery from his surgery to remove a malignant tumor from his throat. Doctors give him an excellent prognosis for recovery. At 74, we will consider an excellent prognosis to be a fresh supply of Depends, a Man Versus Wild marathon on all day, and a 12 pack of rotgut beer in the fridge. Dooley considers it an excuse to attend a speaking engagement even though he couldn’t speak. If the spry 74-year old did the whole thing via the magic of interpretive dance, send video immediately.

Larry Coker wants the world to know that he isn’t burnt out, and wants to coach again, and despite his face is not, in fact, an original crewmember of the Argo. He only came on board in Colchis, and was only along for part of the search for the Golden Fleece.

Not 2,500 years old. More like 2,349, to be truthful.

Yes, the Roady’s Humanitarian Bowl may displace the Poulan Weed Eater Bowl as the single most cumbersome, prestige-sucking corporate sponsorship name in all of bowl history. Brian Murphy of the Idaho Statesman laughs, but not alone: Roady’s CEO joins in, being an excellent sport about the whole thing:

Like will bowl organizers include Slim Jims in every player’s gift bag?

“Not Slim Jim. We have an exclusive deal with Jim Beam beef jerky,” said Roady’s co-owner Kelly Rhinehart.

It only took a plane ticket to Peru, a nasty case of malaria, four robberies, a close encounter with a treacherous lackey and a fast-moving wall of spikes, and running headlong in front of a boulder for a hundred yards or so…but we have, through bandit tactics and our knowledge of archaeology, acquired a copy of Phil Steele’s Guide To College Football a full week and half prior to its release.

You wish you were as JAMPACKED WITH INFORMATION as we are right now.

This belongs in a museum: Phil Steele is here.

Plumbers, take note: Vernon Gholston maintains his pipes just fine without your help.

The red ties around the elbows are over-the-top, sure. But Gholston’s got to be the Buckeyes’ first off the bus and out of the tunnel.

Nominations for your team’s own NYC Sewer System Award are open below.

1. We’ll pay money for a haircut. Loads of it. This afternoon, we’ll shell out fifty to sixty bucks to get a haircut appreciably different from the one we’d get at Fantastic Sam’s only in its being a.) in a place where they give you free champagne, and b.) in the exorbitantly expensive hair products made from the ground up bladders of actual blue whales. Metro at the least.

Brother Cuddles, on the other hand, went to Great Clips this weekend and paid what we imagine was no more that sixteen dollars for his trim–um, haircut. His hair products are made from the bits of petroleum not supposed to go in your gas tank. Not gay at all.

2. We love the movie Bridget Jones’ Diary. Hugh Grant has the life in that movie: sexually harassing women who welcome it, guzzling beer and watching cricket in his spare time, and hobnobbing with Salman Rushdie in between banging women and fighting his way through Greek restaurants with Colin Firth. It’s only nominally gay, since Hugh Grant’s character is really the ideal of every straight 20 year old English major: an employed, glamorous editor drowning in cash, tail, and booze.

3. Liking this video:

We can’t defend it–no, it’s well past that. It’s obviously a Grease/Brady Bunch/Beach Blanket Bingo musical number takeoff, with goofy transitions, la la la harmonies, and gloriously amateur choreography taken on an overcast day on the University of Florida campus. Butch it ain’t, even with the hot girl who’s standing on the right, baring some midriff, and slapping girl around about not caring about the game. That last bit is what really makes her hot.

However, it is clever, cheekily done, and contains las, which along with hand-clapping make any song a better song. (Make that number four on the list of things that make us a little bit gay while you’re at it.

BUT IT’S THE GAYEST THING I’VE EVAH SEEN!!!

…you scream. Think about that for a second. Ever seen a photo of Liberace? Gayer. Made orzo salad when you could have had ribs? Gayer. Sucked a man’s cock? Totally gayer, even if you called it “Just two guys helping each other out.”

The femme-iness of the thing actually makes sense for our team. Our qb was prettier than 95% of the population. Joakim Noah is half-French, and the first thing he did after winning? Ran up in the stands to find mom. Our colors are like something out of The King and I, our logo is in lacy cursive, and our male cheerleaders, frankly, are just as good-looking as the female cheerleaders. (Um, make that number five while you’re keeping score.)

Anyway, we’re a little gay. So was Rome, and ancient Greece, and those rock-ab’d circuit boys from 300 who turned the tide of history by defeating a group of Persian drag queens bent on turning their Spartan gym into a drag revue and cocktail bar. All flaming, and completely badass. And like all empires, Florida’s reign will end–but for now, we rule you, high heels and all. Kiss the ring, sweetie.

This is Sparta, and we’re kicking bitches down the well.