SINGLE TEAR LULZ. We hope there’s space in the Musee D’Orsay, because we’re hanging this there whether they like it or not.

Block C tracks down the geniuses behind this piece of breathtaking artwork, presumably showing Hillary Swank with a wig and the facepaint from an Empire of the Sun video on watching Bobby Bowden walk into the sunset with suitcases full of Florida State’s money.

Spikes, full game. Brandon Spikes is out for the entire Vandy game in order not to be a “distraction.” In response, Lane Kiffin continues to make us love him just a little bit:

“I did see the rerun,” Kiffin said. “It was pretty bad but we’ll worry about our team and what we can control. We’ve got a lot of work to do. Obviously, he’ll discipline his team – or not – however he feels.”

No, that a royal we. He’ll play a vital part and will respond by hiring his close personal friend Chuck Amato, an innovative young coordinator and recruiter who also brings the novelty of being the only three-breasted coach in college football.

OH SCOTT JURGENSEN I LOVE IT! I LOVE IT! I AM ACTUALLY GONNA MURDER YOU. Urban Meyer, a real stickler, could face some kind of real live disciplinary action from the SEC for his complaints about officiating, though we can’t imagine it coming in the form of a suspension. If Charlie Strong is the head coach for a suspension, you will know it by the sight of Steve Addazio being thrown off the side of Vandy’s stadium. (Not because we know about any personal beef, but simply on the principle of Addazio’s unacceptably low asskicking quotient this year.)

The redemption of the Dennis Dixon curse. If anyone should be allowed to get silly early about a possible national title, it’s Oregon, who is certainly owed some back credit by the college football universe for the heinous case of Dennis Dixon and the slight flick Crazy Old Testament God gave his ACL two years ago. Without that Dixon is a clearcut Heisman winner and the Ducks’ ambition knows no bounds, so in repayment for that go ahead and look forward to the eventual gutting of whatever Big Ten team you face in the Rose Bowl. (Unless it’s Iowa, where you lose despite having 600 yards of offense and allowing less than 250 yards total to the Hawkeyes. You have no choice.)

Ohio State Throwbacks: Ohio State throwbacks are like a degree past throwbacks, since Ohio State’s already so blue-ribbon retro in everything they do (down to, you know, what they actually do on the field) that throwback doesn’t quite cover what an Ohio State retro jersey truly is. Pleistocene would be a better word, but whatever you call it it will look quite awesome versus Michigan.

The M reflects light to the M on the floor. Tim Brewster gives a tour of the largest locker room in college football, and at the 2:13 mark shows you what it looks like when you buy the “M” off the demolished Landmark hotel in Las Vegas and strap it to the ceiling of the locker room.

Coach, what fills me most with pride is the endlessly flashing game show logo M we have in our locker room.

Because of 1912. Rich hatred requires a thorough marinade, and when you have aged beef going back to 1912, you have a layered, smoky flavor to rivalry only time and savory bitterness can create. Black Shoe Diaries details most of the whys and wherefore here, but Ohio State/Penn State really goes back to 1912 when Joe Paterno had resigned for the third time from his post at the school to try his fortunes in the rubber trade in the Congo, and then things went to hell for real at the Ohio State game:

One spectator came down out of the stands and began to rush them, but he got no further than assistant coach Dick Harlow who knocked him out cold with a single right fist. Police rushed the field to surround the Penn State players and protect them as fans grabbed some blue and white bunting under one of the goalposts and set it on fire.

It must be good, because it’s scored as a 1-0 forfeit on Ohio State’s side and a 37-0 victory on Penn State’s books.

At level nine they unveil the alien origins of the punt block for TD. Texas has its own special teams secret society, with membership only available upon blocking a punt. The only member at level eight is Michael Griffin, who is the head of the board, and…we really shouldn’t say anymore.

“He’s the head of the board of directors,” Akina said. “Yes, we’ve got a board, but I’m probably telling you too much.”

Shortly after that Akina was run over by a boat driven by a blazed Cedric Benson as a warning. The less you know, the better.

Goddamn you, smash route. Smart Football has all you care to know about the Smash concept, something Florida fans will remember with ass-ripping pain from the 1994 Auburn/Florida game.

Dynamic tension, needed. Blutarsky waxes long on Richt’s available banked credit with the UGA fanbase, and on whether Richt needs some of what we’ll call dynamic tension in the program. If dynamic tension means “axeing Willie Martinez,” the answer is no: that just sets up the inevitable chipping away of assistants and the onset of Tuberville Syndrome. It is one thing to replace assistants immediately: both LSU and Texas make quick work of plugging and unplugging assistant coaches if they don’t perform, and have done so successfully. Delaying it for two years running as Richt does, though, sets up an unpleasant power struggle, since he’ll have appeared to have caved to pressure if he does pull Martinez, and won’t be seen as proactively replacing a faulty part.

It is akin to the difference between doing something before your wife notices and begins nagging, and then doing it afterwards. You both feel significantly better if you, the properly uxorious husband, take out the trash promptly. When the reek overwhelms the house, however, you have become the asshole husband, and your wife has become the nagging bitch, and now we’re all thrilled to be taking out the garbage now, aren’t we? The true problem was not getting rid of him sooner; had he done so, Richt wouldn’t be hip deep in acrimony and the garbage-stink of Martinez’s porous defenses.