We will be celebrating properly, i.e. with wine and explosives, this afternoon. Remember us fondly.

Does the Pope shit in the woods? Quoth the Raven:

[Meyer] turned to me and asked. “Is it OK to make this announcement here?”

I knew what he was going to say because he said something similar when the speculative story surfaced three weeks ago.

Meyer turned back to the golfers and said, “I’m not going to Notre Dame. Ever. I’m going to be the coach at Florida for a long time, as long as they want me.”

OK. So we’re done talking about this now, right? Urban Meyer is coaching Florida. And will continue to coach at Florida. (Finebaum column forthcoming: “Unless he doesn’t!” Tee hee!)

That’s why they make the big bandwidth. There’s scraping by in the offseason content hardscrabble, then there’s getting 700 words out of the hairstyles at West Virginia’s summer strength workouts:

Connolly is no slave to fashion. In his five years here, he has gone completely shorn and shaggy. He is liable to show up with a goatee, a Van Dyke or full beard.

Lazear may be vying with Connolly strand for strand, but Davis’ ‘do, which the DB keeps pinned in with a flourishing pony tail may outlast both of his teammates. Tandy’s hair probably falls a tad shorter than Davis’.

We’re in awe. Truly, madly, deeply.

Still better than I, Robot. This is supposed to look like the Iron Giant or the Tin Man, and other than being made of metal fails completely in both respects. Still, there’s something familiar…ahh, yes. Alabama, the sub-Dreamworks knockoff of football: it ain’t pretty, but does it ever rake in the cash. (Trivia: Terry Bradshaw has a small role in this film as “Broken Arm Bot.” No, no need to thank us.)

The Lord’s work. It’s a buyer’s market for kickoff countdowns this time of year, but the 7th Floor is putting their own…particular spin on an old trick.

This is us, pointing and nodding approvingly at whichever corner of the internet Miami’s staked out.