Palin/Holtz ‘12: In your heart, you know it’d be hilarious.

What kind of a representative/VP would Sweet Lou be? Well, we already know he’d be a big fat no on the Kyoto Protocols. If his continuing close relationship with Notre Dame is any indication, we can also assume he’d swing solidly to the right on all the hot-button social issues — abortion, euthanasia, the right of Michigan and Ohio State fans to intermarry, that sort of thing. As far as clues from his actual coaching career, we can assume he’d be dedicated to building a strong national defense, but that he’d also follow a fairly strict non-interventionist policy (unless you can find any evidence that his South Carolina teams mounted any offense whatsoever). As far as we’re concerned, the wild card here is health care: If he’s going to run as a Republican, the obvious assumption is that he’s against Obama’s health-care proposal, but you have take into account his unclear stance on drug benefits and his casual distribution of advice (as a “Doctor” on ESPN) that was, at best, quasi-solicited — there’s a possibility he’d be down for a lot more government involvement there than the GOP would like. (All together now: MAVERICK!)

As for potential appointments or staff members, it’s probably early to be speculating on those as well, but one name seems like a pretty safe bet: Beano Cook as assistant for national security affairs, the Scooter Libby to Lou’s Dick Cheney? Yeah, you laugh now. Just see if he doesn’t.

RR: Hey! Weren’t you in Booty Call?

JF: Among other things, yeah, man.

RR: I remember that. You put a rubber glove on your stuff instead of a condom. That was GREAT.

JF: Thank you. What do you do?

RR: Well, I coach football. At the University of Michigan. But we had a pretty bad year last year.

RR looks hurt. He trails off.

JF: Hey, now. Let’s turn that frown upside down. You can talk about it.

RR: Naw, it’s…it’s difficult for me. It was so painful.

JF: It can’t be that bad, man.

RR: (pauses) We lost to Toledo.

JF: Oh, now, I didn’t know it was like that. You’re gonna have to sing that one out.

RR: I’m sorry?

JF: It’s the only way you’ll feel better about it. I’ll drop the beat for you, and you can just sing it. You heard my hit song, “Blame it on the Alcohol?”

RR: Have I? You bet. Gary Moeller loves that jam.

JF: Well, I just lay the track down like this…

RR: Really, I don’t know if I could…

Sultry drum machine kicks in. Rich Rod pulls an autotuned mike from his pocket.

RR: Blame it on the backs
Small and full-a lack

Blame it on the line
Fat and lackin’ spine

Blame it on the per-per-per-per-per-personnel
Blame it on the per-per, per-per-per, per-per-per-per-per-per–

You say you usually don’t
Or that you usually won’t
But you’re just frontin, cause last year lost to a team straight from the MAC…

I ain’t saying we ain’t goin’ to
With One freshman qb and maybe two
But it could happen ’cause we’re still slow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow

I know what you’re thinkin’
Michigan be stinkin’
Every single weekend
Freakin’
Out on the message boards sayin’ I’m in trouble
Ain’t all my fault if my screens are all bubbles

Lose to Notre Dame–what?
Coach that got a gunt-what?
You don’t even care now
I was unaware now just
How thin this roster was before I bailed on Morgantowwwwwn…

Blame it on the guards
Blame it on the tackles
Blame it on protection best described as ramshackle

Blame it on the per-per-per-per-per-personnel
Blame it on the per-per-per-per-per-personnel

Blame it on Navarre
Blame it on the Henne
Blame it on the qb who run a six-fiddy

Blame it on the per-per-per-per-per-personnel
Blame it on the per-per, per-per-per, per-per-per-per-per-per–

Music stops.

JF: Man, that was impressive. Have you been practicing that?

RR: Oh, only for about a year and a half now.

Director: …and we’re rolling in 3…2…

Lou Holtz: Wait, wait. This feels…wrong.

Director: Okay, Lou. We’re cut for time here, so make it quick.

Holtz: Don’t tell me we’re in a rush. I taught Sam Peckinpah everything he knows about movies. The rape scene in Straw Dogs? My idea from the start, though mine involved an octopus, a pinata full of bees, and Shelley Winters with a bullwhip.

Director: I’m sorry, but I can’t believe you–

Holtz: Listen up! I know movies, and this film lacks something. A spark. A little pizzazz. You got nothin’! A big poor kid, Sandra Bullock with a bad Mississippi accent, and not a pirate, hot dame, or gunfight in sight. What’s a movie without these? I’ll tell you what it is. A vagina for the eyes.

Director: I don’t even know what that means.

Holtz: ‘Course you don’t.

Sandra Bullock: Hey, I have a dialect coach from Steel Magnolias, I’ll have you know–

Holtz: And a dancing coach from the Pegleg Olympics and Amelia Earhart for flying lessons. Neither one will get over the Pacific or onstage with an Emmy, sweetie.

Sandra Bullock: Oscar.

Holtz: No, it’s Lou, but thanks. Listen, amateurs. I did all my pitching to recruits with my best foot forward. And by foot, I mean 12 inches. So that’s how it should be done.

Director: Um, if you could just put your pants back on, Lou, we’d really like to–

Holtz: This won me the bar bets that got me the Arkansas job, my wife, and my own private island off the cost of Bimini. It’s how I pitched recruits in real life, it scared Tony Rice into signing an X on that scholarship agreement, and I’ll be damned if it’s not going in a movie that’s supposedly about real life and me and football.

Sandra Bullock: [stares, mouth agape.]

Director: …and we’re rolling.

Lou Holtz: Hi, Michael. I’m Lou Holtz, and I’m here to get you play football for the University of Phoenix.

Sandra Bullock: [makes 'call me' sign with hand]

Director: …and cut.

Photo source: here. And Freek, of course. Holtzian translation provided by Holly, who speaks lisp fluently.

The header on this video is “One of the worst offensive series ever in college football,” and if you limit the definition of “worst” to “a series where, while not turning the ball over for a change of possession or a score, the offense displays repeated, consistent, and diverse ways of stepping face first in front of the red boxing glove on an expanding arm time and time again,” then yes; we’re talking about what might legitimately be not one, but the worst series of offensive football every played.

Ladies and gentlemen: Nicholls State versus Northwestern State. Northwestern has the ball on the Nicholls State 47, and is down 33-14. Watch from between your fingers if you have to.

1st and 10: incomplete pass. The best drive for Northwestern State all drive, as it is merely an incompletion.

2nd and 10: Illegal procedure, NW State. Also, an oncoming pass rusher flies sideways into the qb’s knee after the play.

2nd and 15: False start, NW State. General look of confusion as players fuddle around as if someone has abandoned them coachless on the sideline.

2nd and 20: Ball on the 43. A near interception, which would have been a merciful stroke of fate. Instead a holding penalty is called, and the penalty sets them back even further to the 33 yard line.

2nd and 30: Sometimes you shoot yourself in the foot, and sometimes you shoot yourself in the foot and remember that your foot is made not of human flesh, but of high-grade explosives. The quarterback kicks the ball, which is an illegal kicking penalty taken at half the distance to the goal from the end of the run backwards to find the ball. Hold yourself fo the resulting count:

3rd and 61: The second best play all drive, as the qb is pressured, does not step out of bounds and into a waiting tree shredder, and throws the ball out of bounds outside of the tackle box.

4th and 61: Punt. Well, presumably punt. We really don’t know what happens here. Perhaps they actually do get the punt off; perhaps the punter takes the ball, attempts a fake, and is struck by an 18 wheeler speeding out of control off a local highway and over the hapless special teamer. Maybe it’s blocked. Whatever happens, the universe decided to truncate the video here, and with good reason, too. You don’t see the Joker kill anyone in the Dark Knight’s scary videos, either, but they’re still enough to give you screaming nightmares for weeks.

The play begins thusly. We play the part of the quarterback, labeled here as O/S. The idea: to successfully pitch our way through an evening of socializing at a party in DC with the pitchman, our friend the local DC-ite and aspiring political lizard-person, trailing the play. (You ask: how are you friends with a person-lizard? Simple. You just feed them lettuce just like an iguana, and they’ll be your friend forever.)

The design of the play is simple: the blockers here are played by our liver and ability to make small talk. They will block the dangerous elements of the defense in order to free movement throughout the party, and if needs be the pitchman will take the ball of conversation or social interaction when alcohol or the awkwardness of discussing anything with the half-reptiles at this largely politico-style party.

(We apologize to the non-reptiles reading this piece who dwell in DC. All seven of them. Stay frosty on the streets, as the business card assassins are forever on the prowl for fresh meat. Or lettuce. They’re not picky.)

So, with the consumption of four large solo cups of gin and tonic, we’re off the line. Note that alcohol and social awkwardness has been cleanly swept off the line at this stage in the play, and that everyone’s assumption that we work in the same field as they do (and thus can be of some benefit to them) serves as a fullback dive, bringing in the linebackers. We’re free and clear, and schmoozing our way towards the endzone of a comfortable night crashing on the living room couch slightly drunk with ease.

Signs of trouble appear, though:

“C” must be blocked here. “C” here denotes “Potential Love Interest and Good-Looking Political Type Guy,” and will be played by the head of Rahm “Rahmbo” Emanuel. (It wasn’t Rahm Emanuel, for the record.) Our pitchman, a single female friend from way back in high school, is suddenly interested. We’ve lost our blocker, and as qb must deal with an option that has suddenly become an option keeper whether we like it or not. Solo in the defensive backfield with defenders bearing down on us, the situation quickly becomes one of survival.

A savvy qb would step out of bounds at this point and get off the playing field of drunk socializing, living to play another down. This was not what we did, which was to double down on the speed and hope to outrun defenders. On this play, that means accelerating gin consumption and attempting conversation about something humorous and non-political in an party in DC.

As the following diagram shows, we neglected to notice the safety of our gin threshold bearing down on us from the periphery. Working alone in the backfield without a pitchman, we make it just a few steps into a conversation with a Navy demolition diver before disaster strikes:

The safety–imbalanced blood chemistry and ill-advised powerdrinking on an empty stomach, played here by the very embodiment of gin itself, Peter O’Toole–hammers into us like Andy Katzenmoyer powdering Corby Jones’ jaw. The quarterback spends the next 45 minutes retching on his knees in the bathroom, a victim of poor play-execution and tenacious defense by basic physiology and awkward socializing.

The option, when run effectively, is unstoppable: but a moment’s lapse in the scheme can lead to disaster, as it clearly did for our hero here, who woke up the next morning looking for a city bus to crawl under and die, but found that direct sunlight caused unbearable pain preventing this plan from occurring.

If you have a play from your life you’d like us to plot out, please email us at harumphharumph of the gmail variety. Perhaps we’ll use it.

Bob: So, how does this work?

Kelly: Okay, Bob and Jim. In the fun-for-everyone game of Cranium, the final round is decided by one question we determine at random with a roll of the die.

Jim: Sounds easy enough. And familiar.

Kelly: It should. Now, all you have to do is answer the one question, and you’ll have won the game.

Todd: Please get this right guys. I’m so tired of this game. No one except the women want to play it, and it takes FOREVER.

Bob: Don’t worry, Todd. Jim and I are gonna have us outta here in two shakes, buddy. Roll!

[Forty-five minutes pass. Todd sits at the table with his head in his hands.]

Todd: Okay, let’s see if you can get this one. “ZELPUZ.” Unscramble these letters, and you’ll have the answer.

Jim: No sweat. We got “cattle” earlier. This should be easy. Let’s go, Big Game!

Bob: Right behind you, Senator.

Jim: This is ours. I can feel it.

Todd: Okay, here’s your word. The clue is “activity.” Turn over the timer and….GO!!!

[The card reads: "Sdtgtetriianiiop" The answer is "prestidigitation." They will not get this in a thousand rolls of a thousand dice in the casinos of a very blue and improbable hell.]

Jim: That’s harder than cattle.

Bob: Yes. Yes it is.

[Three hours later.]

Jim: I swear I one one of these games once.

Bob: Okay, we’re gonna get it. What is it? Kelly? WAKE UP KELLY.

Kelly: [picks head off desk.] UM–sorry. I was nodding off there. Guys, we really don’t have to finish this–

Todd: [surrounded by beer bottles] Yeah, seriously guys. We don’t–

Jim and Bob: YES WE DO WE HAVE TO WIN THE FINAL ROUND.

Kelly: But Todd and I won hours ago. Remember? I sensosketched “bus stop,” and we got the last one?

Jim: I don’t remember that.

Bob: Funny, I don’t remember that either.

[Todd and Kelly look at each other.]

Kelly: Okay, the last question, and then you leave.

Jim: Fine, fine. Just ask the question.

Todd: It’s a humdinger. Hum the song. Leave our house it’s 2:30 in the morning. Bob, you’re humming.

Jim: But I like to hum, Todd—

Todd: YOU SHUT THE FUCKING FUCK UP TRESSEL. Bob is humming, and then he’s leaving and we’re calling game.

Jim: Well, okay then.

Todd: Here’s the card. Go. Then leave before I call the police.

[Bob takes the card. It reads: "Hot Blooded," by Foreigner. ]

Bob: Oh, we’ve got this.

[Bob Stoops stands up and begins humming out the guitar line and playing enthusiastic air guitar to the song.]

Bob: MMM MMM mmm…MMM mm MMMM MMMMMHHHHH…

Jim: I’m…I’m sorry. I just listen to gospel and country. Is this a gospel song? Can we have another question?

Kelly: LEAVE.

Bob: No, wait! We can get this! Can we do one with the putty? Those are fun!

Jim: Yeah, the play-doh stuff. We’re good at those.

Kelly: I’m dialing 9 and 1 and waiting for you to leave.

Jim and Bob: WHY DOES THIS FEEL FAMILIAR?

Todd: I hate this fucking game.

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

It almost gets poignant around the 1:30 mark, doesn’t it? Well, we said almost.

…the man who will eventually be Auburn’s next head coach, Patrick Nix. He is undoubtedly one of the foremost minds in college football, and a young gem of a coach Auburn can lock up before he becomes to expensive and coveted to nab at bargain prices. He is an outstanding developer of quarterbacks like Reggie Ball and Kyle Wright. He has taken both Georgia Tech and Miami to success unseen on the offensive side of the ball since the days of the last guys to suck at the job their predecessors. In addition to that, he already has head coaching experience! At Hendersonville State! With results not included in his online CV!

Better still, Patrick Nix is an alum of the school, and would undoubtedly be treated with patience and respect by a school known for orchestrating graceful transitions of power. Nix now, Nix forever, Nix at Auburn! Congratulations, Tigerplainsmenfalconfaces: your nightmare power vacuum is over. You won’t regret this at all.

So I was running the Sweaty Wishbone with this Filipina in the back of her car the other day when I thought: this girl has got some fight in her! Just like the Arizona defense. They’re eighteenth in the nation in total defense, and if the vaunted USC defense doesn’t stop Willie Tuitama two weeks ago, we’re talking about them being the dominant unit in the Pac-10, not the Trojans. Whew! The way that girl threw it around I thought we were going to knock the buttery brown skins off those luscious adobo-powered love onions.

God, just thinking about that gets me sweaty and desperate. I’m gonna take care of this in the car where the bank teller can see it. Thank God the boys aren’t here.

PHINEAS! J.! HOGGFATHERRRRRRR!!!

Sorry, I just had to take care of that. I mean, what’s with the Pac-10? It’s a complete muddle, and even USC can’t seem to throw it down like they used to do. I was at a swingers’ party talking to a guy about it, and how we just couldn’t figure it out. He was a fat accountant named Stu, and while he was playing pink thermometer for Nancy–er, sorry, “Randy Rita”–he asked me, “Hey, ya think Dennis Erickson lost his touch?”

I thought about it. Maybe he has: just look at Erickson’s dismal in-conference record. The woman’s friend was busy with him while I kept myself in a holding pattern. “The Sun Devils are 1-4 in conference games this year. I mean, that’s just not gonna get it done at ASU!” He agreed with me. Then, ready to go, we hosed those ladies down like angry riot cops and went to the buffet.

(The kids are mine. Donald’s in the Navy because he can’t support them and they’re mine. I can’t help myself. Daisy was like a remora. Twice a day for seven years. Insatiable. Like a she-wolf in constant heat. Don’t judge me.)

I mean, Oregon State’s in line for the Rose Bowl: that’s right, Oregon State, the team that got killed by Penn State 45-14 on the road. I don’t want to downgrade what they’ve done, but that’s not exactly who you’d guess was in the catbird seat, now would ya?

You know what else I you wouldn’t guess? I’m having sex right now with my hairdresser. In drag.

We’re friends with benefits. I get free haircuts, and she gets nine inches of gratitude in multiple, rapid installments. I’ll be done in a second.

RUTHERFORD! B! HAAAAYYYES!!!!

Whew! Where was I? They do have Jacquizz Rodgers, who almost proves that size doesn’t matter. Almost, because it does, ladies. I’m thick like great steak and can use it to roll bread dough. Pants fear me. Sometimes I just drape towels on it not to brag, but because it’s useful. Call me. I’ll ruin you for other men. Ducks. Whatever.

Speaking of the Ducks: talk about perseverance in the face of a curse. They get down to their third stringer at qb and still make it 6-3? Way to make sausage out of shinola, Ducks? Doing the name proud. I used that pride to push through a difficult menage a trois the other night. I was on the ropes, but Chandra and Jessica had to tap out after I caught my fifth wind and put them into submission holds. Oh, yes. Duck is kosher, and still undefeated in the Cocktagon.

I’m sorry. Just one second. I have to finish pleasuring the maid. Ludmila, lift your leg, sweetie.

HERCULES! P.! BUTTERWOOOOOOORTH!!!

God, thats’s refreshing. How bout that Stanford? Jim Harbaugh, you’ve got them at 5-4 and looking at a bowl. That’s a great rebuild job, dude. Man, anyone can win this conference! Hey, you. Yes, you. Meet me in the back of the hangar in two minutes. I’ve got to pick up Mr. McD in fifteen minutes. I can have you barrel rolling in four. Let’s do the math together in two. Any landing’s a good landing, and judging from those support hose, you’ve had a few crashes in your day. I’ll bring you home in one piece, baby. Trust me.

Don’t forget about Cal? Anyone trust them to show up for two games in a row? Not this guy!

Live to win, ’till you die, ’till the light dies in your eyes
Live to win, take it all, just keep fighting ’till you fall
Day by day, kickin’ all the way, I’m not cavin’ in
Let another round begin, live to win
Live to win
Live to win
Yeah, live, yeah, win!!

9/13/08: Never. Forget.

Rubbing our whiskered chin, let’s revisit history here…Stanford has a toxic, staphylococcus-infested couch…time passes…then Stanford suddenly not only beats USC, but then the following spring USC comes down with an outbreak of jock itch so crippling it actually sidelines players? Jim Harbaugh bows to no man or bacterium. Let the conspiracy theories begin.

2007: Recently unsealed medical records indicate that Patrick Cowan’s knee problems were an aggravation of a previous injury sustained while reenacting the mattress surfing scene from Disney’s Princess Diaries 2: Royal Engagement:

1991: Tommy Maddox sits out the entirety of spring practice after overturning a campus vending machine in an attempt to procure an extra can of Fresca.

1988: Troy Aikman is rushed to the hospital after ingesting a packet of silica gel he found in his new cleats, misses week of practice leading up to USC but recovers in time to take the field.

1984: Steve Bono undergoes season-ending surgery to his left foot after becoming entangled in a mall escalator.

1983: Rick Neuheisel is held out of the Arizona State game following a “Sun-In incident.”

1972: Mark Harmon misses four games with a sprained face.

1966: Gary Beban slices off entire left hand opening a can of pears, is held out of Rose Bowl.

1961: Billy Kilmer misses the College All-Star Game after dislocating his shoulder while removing tags from a new mattress.

1943: Records from this time period are spotty, indicating only that Bob Waterfield did not play in the first two games of the season due to “freckles”.

In all seriousness, for rills: This does suck, we’re in no way looking forward to playing a UCLA team that’s at anything less than full strength, because where’s the fun, and we wish a speedy and actual recovery to Olson and the rest of the Pac-10 QB casualties.

A powerful high-caliber recruit who shot into the starting lineup as a left guard on the 2006 national title team, Ronnie Wilson will be reinstated at Florida as a walk-on on the defensive tackle position*.

Wilson, who spent over a year away from the team following an incident where the lineman discharged an AK-47 in a downtown Gainesville parking lot**, aims to help the Gators reload on the defensive line. The d-line will need significant firepower this season to assist a secondary still reeling from being shot to pieces by opposing quarterbacks in 2007. Wilson, a 6′4″, 310 pound former starting guard, could provide some substantial fire along the line, though there is a firefight of competition surrounding the spot.*** He’ll have to acquire all the skills d-lineman need: looking down the barrel of an onrushing offensive lineman, shooting the gap, and strafing through blocks in rapid-fire fashion to bring down his target.

Given the current state of Florida’s defensive line, we predict Wilson will rise with a bullet to the top of the depth chart!**** Go Gators!*****

*Really? Reeeeeeeeally? Agog. Agape. Not with surprise, but with disgust, since we sort of expected him to be back on the team in November of 2007. By that standard, we should be happy, if that “standard” didn’t mean “bitter sarcasm,” and it does.