As part of our ongoing ripoff of SWPL called “Stuff ____ and _______ People Like,” the EDSBS Staff presents “Stuff Orange and White People Like,” an analysis of things Tennessee Volunteer fans like. Enjoy.

Pitchforks and torches. A nine-win season is cause for satisfaction elsewhere in D-I, but in the SEC and Knoxville in particular, it’s a blight. Any win total under double digits lights up the AM radio dial with orange faithful ready to gut their coach like a catfish of astonishing proportions. Going 5-6 in 2005 brought, concurrently and consecutively, collective apoplexy and vows of silence—they still can’t talk about it. Bring up The Season Of Which We Do Not Speak to a Tennessee fan and his eyes will glaze over in rage or incomprehension. Either way, Does Not Compute.

Orson’s note: Wonder who those people in Frankenstein who, when confronted with a problem, immediately rush to get a.) an impaling instrument, and b.) fire? For any problem? Tennessee fans, that’s who. They’re threatening Frankenstein because, with some time in the weight room, he could be the next John Henderson, but noooooo, he wants to kidnap maidens and accidentally drown little girls in lakes all day like a bad monster.

John Henderson rocks fat titties all day, by the way, despite playing for a team we despise. “BLOOD MAKES THE GRASS GROW!” comes from his sideline rantings in college, and he also did this, which is now how we wake up every morning.

We do it just like that. Except the wife does it with a padded white glove, and she does it softly, so as not to knock my exfoliating facial mask off. Sometimes she gets a little too into it, and some of the dust lands on our white oxford shirt! It’s a funny time, the mornings in the Swindle house!

HFCS That’s high fructose corn syrup, friends, and it is a fact of natural law that the highest concentration of HFCS swollen people on the planet reside in Tennessee. (more…)

It’s HATE WEEK!!! Joel from Rocky Top Talk answered our five questions, and we answered his over at RTT. We also appeared on the Corn From a Jar podcast, where we discovered why we left our birthplace: we speak far faster than anyone else in the state.

Courtesy of the Gatorsports FulmerFark thread.

1. Are the rafters squeaking in Knoxville from Phil headed out the door? Would we be stretching if we called this late Imperial period the Butterdammerung?

Being from Tennessee, you should know that the sun nevers sets on dairy products. Or if it does, they are fresh and new each milking morning. Or something.

There is a certain segment of Vol fans that is dissatisfied with coach Fulmer and always will be, but Fulmer has friends in high places with fat wallets. Fulmer’s really in a lose-lose situation: if he has another Season of Which We Do Not Speak ("SOWWDNS"), no amount of support from donors will save him, and if he wins another national championship, he’ll merely buy himself another eight years on the Throne of Perpetual Torridity. It’s the price one pays for a $2M+ salary.

2. How does it always happen that Tennessee and Florida meet each other in games with complimentary weaknesses? (We have no dbs, you have no wideouts, etc.)

That is odd, isn’t it? I blame Chris Leak.

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Lamarcus Coker, Tennessee Vols starting tailback and alleged savior of the Tennessee run game, will only be running stadium stairs for the immediate future as he has been suspended indefinitely by Phil Fulmer for violating the team substance abuse policy.

Yes, go ahead and play this during the rest of the piece. We’re Florida fans. We know from pot-smoking athletes of astonishing ability. Plus the protagonist is named Smokey, a name Tennessee fans feel great affection for already.

Sadly, as indicated by the Rick James soundtrack above, Coker allegedly did not live up to his name by being caught with his snoot in a furrow of fine Peruvian pep powder, but rather by reportedly being caught generic weed, which at Florida would earn him a tidy suspension for the Cal game at best. Coker’s not helped by being a multiple offender at this point (it’s his second drug-related offense,) or by his being the test case for Tennessee’s new drug policy. The policy gives athletes extra “strike” counts, increasing from three to four, but makes those reinstatements a more arduous process, including mandatory counseling sessions and the like.

So Coker’s likely not shot the Vols’ entire season in the foot with the finest of Cletus’s turkey-killin’ blunderbusses…yet. He is suspended indefinitely, a punishment which Urban Meyer called “harsh.” That suspension could easily be lifted in time for substantial playing time, we think, given the rules in place. The really humorous part: Fulmer initially announced Coker’s absence as the result of a “medical condition,” which plan to break in as soon as possible in our day job.

Boss: So you’re not coming to work.
OS: No, it’s a medical thing.
Boss: What kind of medical thing?
OS: The kind that makes Widespread Panic sound reaaaaaaaaaaal good right now, actually. (COUGH)

In the meantime, like Smokey, Coker ain’t got shit else to do. We suggest he beat up neighborhood ruffian Deebo with a brick to boost his status and help redeem himself in the eyes of the community. And by “Deebo,” we mean “Phil Fulmer.” Trust us–we have no ulterior motives whatsoever.

Damn right I want four Tequizas. Now.

In looking for signs that Phil Fulmer is guaranteed job security for life, we lean on Mark Bradley suggesting that he’s going to be fired in the first week of December. A sportswriter going on the record with that kind of certainty is like having the CIA pronounce a country as “stable” and “bound for prosperity,” meaning that it’s seconds away from bursting into flames and becoming thirty different countries all ending in “–stan.”

Yet for those looking for signs of impending doom, you can either monitor the sales of batter fried porterhouse calzones at Calhoun’s (”Eat the Whole Thing, And We’ll Throw Your Dead Body in the Tennessee River Free Of Charge!”) or just rely on the fact that satire has brought you the Talking Fulmer. If fire[nameredacted].com is any indicator of sites devoted to mocking coaches, Fulmer’s days are numbered like the calories in a package of pork rinds, though nowhere near as numerous.

(HT: Angry ‘Eer from LWS.)

PS. Because we’re doing little more than just sitting on ass today (our own, of course,) we’ll be live-blogging the College Football Live show on ESPN today. You have been warned.

Courtesy of the Wiz: Brian Hoyer, starting quarterback this fall for the Michigan State Spartans, has been eating anything that isn’t nailed down in an effort to gain some padding for the upcoming season.

(We interrupt this to remind you that mention of Spartans or anything Sparta-related forces us to post a variation on “This Is Sparta”–enjoy.)

We resume: Brian’s eating around 6,000 calories a day, as compared to the normal intake of around 2,000 to 3,000 calories on a particularly hectic day of dining. He’s gained “eight solid pounds” on the diet, which we’ve done in bad weekends in Tampa, but then again, Stoyer isn’t relying on fried grouper nuggets and a case of beer for his bulk.

“I have to try to eat every two hours. When I wake up in the morning, I try to eat a pretty big breakfast. After I lift, I’ll eat a protein bar or some fruit. After we run, I’ll have a pretty big lunch. I get a rotisserie chicken and eat the whole thing and some pasta. For dinner, I’ll have some pasta with fish or two chicken breasts. Before bed, I drink a protein shake.’

The lack of heavy cream, buttery pastry, or other such diabetes-bombs leaves Mark Mangino stunned–stunned, we say! In related news, Tim Tebow in Gainesville is shedding pounds this summer by only eating the lean bear meat he killed with a paper clip, rubber band, and his own mighty bare hands.

Blogtoberfest! For all your vital Penn State fishing news.

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… (more…)

Some names are too legendary, too genuinely special to let go. Tennessee’s recognized that and responded promptly by hiring on former third stringer Jim Bob Cooter as a graduate assistant, keeping the name close to where it belongs: Knoxville.

Cooter returns. Alleluia.

Between Cooter and Mike Hunt, the vajayjay-themed humor quotient in the SEC just went, like, Trevigintillion-big.

“Cooter’s keeping cool in the heat with a new hairstyle: shaved.”

“Ainge has learned a lot from Cooter: where to put it, when to go deep, when to go short, and most importantly, when to pull it out and run.”

“Weather’s going to be an issue today, especially with communication between the coaches and the quarterback. Cutcliffe’s in the box, which is dry. But Ainge has a very wet Cooter on the sidelines to help him get what he needs.”

“Ainge throws a pick! And wow, that’ll make Cooter hot every single time.”

Thanks to Tennessee’s human resources division for making this happen. We needed new jokes to drive into the ground, and lo, like pennies from heaven, they’ve arrived.

Autumn Thunder makes it clear that they think Alan Branch, Michigan defensive tackle, got very, very serious for his pre-draft training regimen.

A repeat winner of the MOTD, but a worthy one: Albert Einstein. Al gets the double nod due to this newly discovered photo, which reveals both his unique system of organizing the personal and the private in the public eye and his little-known love for mixing college football and physics.

That’s one thorny problem he chose to solve there–in fact, most scientists agree that he likely never did. The final item on the list was accomplished later that day in an event historians of science refer to as “The Trinity Clouding.”

Einstein: continually begged Princeton to nut up and start a real football team.

Thanks to aspiring graphic designer Brian, we have a scoreboard at last:

Brian’s design received a few more voice votes in the legislature on Friday, trumping the fine work done by reader Peter. (Peter–people just like shiny things! Mmm. Shiny things.)

The scoreboard will hopefully be updated weekly, and will (as requested) feature the Family Feud Theme music on opening.

With the good people over at Sports Argument Wiki keeping score, all we lack now for a proper Fulmer Cup season is a regularly updated scoreboard. Being the jankety operation we are, we rely on our readers for chip-ins for things like food and updated graphics, which you deliver promptly and expertly whenever we ask. (Reader ‘Fesser bought us dinner last night, actually–a very nice one. We repaid him by taking him to the Clermont Lounge. No, it’s not a fair world, and we’re not helping it.)

Hospitality, or cruel joke: no one’s really sure about a visit to the Clermont.

We’re still accepting submissions for a new Fulmer Cup scoreboard, and need input. After the jump, please find reader submissions. Be gentle–they took valuable time out of their day to do this.
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We’ve been told horses will lose ten pounds an hour if they’re not fed on time. Apocryphal or not, that factoid is the very first thing we thought of when we read this:

Digits

42 — Pounds lost in the offseason by redshirt sophomore lineman Derrell Jones, who is listed at 6-foot-2, 320 pounds. Jones has switched from offensive guard to defensive tackle this spring.

Whoa, hamburguesa–that’s some heap’uh beef trimmings right there. Jones came in as a defensive tackle, moved to offensive guard, and is moving back to defensive tackle this spring. The weight loss may seem more drastic than it actually is, since keeping someone at 340 pounds while putting them through calorie-burning drills and weight-lifting is extremely difficult. (340 while sedentary–no problem, Homer.)

This gives Pitt a newly diminutive Jones at 320ish pounds at d-tackle in college football. We really should feel more outrage at the implications of someone so young being forced to seesaw his weight and jeopardize his health like this–we really should. It’s just not good to do this to your body, even with the huge margins men this size deal with when it comes to weight loss.

But when Jones lines up like a huge gold-capped black boulder in the middle of the line, we’ll be right there with the announcers who, rather than editorializing on the subject, will likely circle him with the telestrator and a la Madden go “Now dere’s one big, big dude there.” Nevermind that his kidneys are failing. That’ll come after he gets drafted. Then he can buy new ones and stockpile them in a freezer for old age, right next to the pile of replacement knees and pig valves for his heart.

Harder Better Fatter Stronger?

Wednesday mornings are typically real world busy for us, so accept these two things as apology for our late start today:

–EDSBS Live! went smashingly last night, with stellar appearances by Ted Miller of the Seattle Post-Intelligencer, DC Trojan, Kanu, and as always, Ragin’ Cajun Rebel. Listen here for the nearly trainwreck-free broadcast.

–Also, we’re too big to make Charlie Weis fat jokes. We will, however, snigger along as other people make them. (HT: Black Shoe Diaries.)

Spring practice still miles away, with proverbial Auburn starter leading the way, right, practicing while there’s still frost on the cowflop at the Barn? No. This year’s early starter is Tennessee. How early?

Oh, try yesterday.

Phil couldn’t wait ’til March to rock.