Dollar Bill Doug comes off going Full Costanza with his best results of the year last week, and hopes to continue the hotness into a late season streak bringing him closer to .500. Or .300. Or…he’s building towards next year, people, and it’s important to get some game experience under his belt is what we’re saying. Enjoy.
RISK LEVEL 1: Watching the “awesometits.wmv” video your friend sent you on your work computer
Stanford -7.5 vs. California, 7:30 p.m.
What do you know: Turns out going full Costanza actually worked pretty well last week. OK, it didn’t work perfectly, but 3-2 still beats the 0-5s I was routinely putting up when I was going with my gut. (Stupid gut — it’s the one who told me AIG was “too big to fail” and that the guy who offered to sell me weed in a Vegas airport bathroom totally wasn’t a cop.) This week my gut’s been hinting that Stanford can’t possibly have a whole lot left in the tank after steamrolling Oregon and USC to the tune of 106 total points in back-to-back weeks, but if a major letdown was such a big risk for these guys, they probably would’ve lost to USC to begin with; as long as they’ve got Toby Gerhart (might some Heisman love be in line for this gentleman? Hello? Is this thing on?), they’ve got juice to spare. Maybe the one we should be asking those questions about is Cal — sure, they managed to come from behind to beat Arizona last week, but back-to-back big-game wins haven’t exactly been the forte of recent editions of the TedfordBot. (Don’t worry, though — when TedfordBot Vista comes out next year, all those problems will be solved. Really. We promise.)
Following a world-class reaming from DEX-TAH MAH-CLUS-TAH and the Rebels, Tennessee returns home this weekend to lick their wounds, check in with their probation officers, and swat away a team who’s beaten them only once in their last 26 tries. (more…)
Take a bow, Woody. From his comfortable, scarlet and gray bungalow in hell (”Heaven: too effeminate for my liking. Schembechler loves the place. Pansy.”) Woody Hayes gets the necessary salute this morning, both for dotting the I in a smashing pair of grey slacks, but also for helping to create Urban Meyer, blessed be his name and his chins. Mille gratz, Coach Hornrims.
Everyone does that, sure. Mark Mangino can be rough, sure. This without context certainly qualified as “rough” talk to a player, with a possible toe across the line of baseline dignity infringement (even if Mangino were black, from a terrible upbringing, and saying this from a position of commonality.)
“Don’t yes sir me, or I will send you back to St. Louis so you can get shot with your homies,” Brown remembers Mangino saying.
What takes this quote from former Jayhawk Raymond Brown into the Asshole-o-sphere is that when Mangino said it, Brown’s brother was recuperating from being shot in St. Louis. Mangino also threatened coaches with their jobs in front of players and generally behaved like a complete asshole to everyone and anyone around him. Defend it by saying “it wins games,” and then look at 95% of all other coaches in the universe who do not act like complete assholes.
Partial assholes, cyborg performance evaluators without souls, hopeless charisma junkies (COUGH COUGH Houston Nutt,) fast-mumbling braheims, sparkle-eyed lunatics, outright con men, and earnest paternal types: they’re alll part of the coaching ranks, yes. But how many of them are sold for spare parts the instant they hit a rough patch?
Mmmm, a delicious fisk. Besides foiling potential hotlinkers with pictures of a man exposing a good stretch of his lower intestine, the internet’s oldest trick is the fisk, the line-by-line dismantling of a shoddy piece of rhetoric. It’s old, it can be done very, very poorly, but fortunately BHGP is very good at it, especially when hitting up Maisel, who normally borders on the unfiskable.
Bonus Dog Strangulation Anecdote. In response to yesterday’s post on how much harder Harvard/Yale used to be (you know, before tetanus shots, antibiotics, and padding ruined our fine sport,) Alasdair (a Harvardian himself) wrote in to let us know just how little of the hardness we really knew about. 1905 may have involved deaths, but 1908 got straight to pagan animal sacrifice. Jackie Sherrill, you ain’t shit:
I saw your post on Harvard football being gangsta, and I must say that any discussion of turn of the century Ivy League football would be woefully incomplete without mention of Harvard coach Percy Haughton’s motivation techniques before the 1908 game against the Yale Bulldogs. To wit:
“Legend has it that Haughton dragged a bulldog out before his players and strangled it before the wide-eyed disbelief of his players.”
Considering Yale’s other nickname is the Elis, I believe current Harvard coach Tim Murphy would probably have to choke a certain New York Giants quarterback before this week’s game to even compete with his predecessor.
Don’t answer the phone, Eli. Those Ivies are trixy, and you don’t want your bleached white skull to become a prop in a Skull and Bones initiation ceremony before it has to. (And it will, Eli. Oh, it will.)
(ps. Strangling a bulldog in front of a horrified crowd isn’t a big deal, as Florida does it in Jacksonville all the time.)
The Auburn Tigers were last seen racing to a barely contested 14-0 lead against Georgia last Saturday night, then frittering it away and leaving Athens with a 31-24 loss. Evidently, though, a lead isn’t the only thing Auburn’s players can’t hold in Sanford Stadium:
As an eagle-eyed spectator noticed (along with most of the UGA student section, apparently), yes, that young man was indeed peeing in that little room, and no, nobody has any idea what they did with his, er, leavings.
Football used to be so much more…fatal. Frank Deford dusts off the fine year of 1905, when some 26 people were killed playing football in the era of the flying wedge, the legal shiv-block, and the “Paddy McDuffin” offense*, which was all the rage in its day.
Not seen: fullback with shotgun, dog devouring middle linebacker.
The article’s mostly quotes, but it will make you thirst for a day when one could spin a fine carriage to a game with a syphilitic lassie, take a sip of sight-destroying Virginia rotgut, and soil one of the three pairs of pants you owned while watching the youth of America engage in the kind of bloodsport that made this nation strong.
Few players wore helmets, and a close observer declared that as Harvard and Yale pummeled each other, “It was the most magnificent sight … every lineman’s face was dripping with blood.”
Since this does concern a team from the Boston area, we can only assume this was the reddest, most poetic blood ever and that no other blood has been bled so painfully or nobly from an athlete in any sport ever. (more…)
–Rhymed “Masoli” with “holy-moly,” “ravioli,” “Spicoli,” and “E. Coli.”
–Zoinked out beginning that wouldn’t be out of place in a Gnarls Barkley
–Ref’d the Yin Yang Twins, which is always acceptable HEEEENNNNNNNNGHHHHH
–Rapper one dances with a rubbery-legged gusto reminiscent of a young Ray Bolger.
Points deducted:
–Yanked drum beat straight from J-Kwon’s “Tipsy”
–”Wait ’till you see my O” is creepy, especially coming from a dude with a backwards baseball cap, since we naturally assume “guy with sports jersey on” and “guy talking in terms of strong sexual innuendo” equals “guy who is a rapist, and not the tender variety”
I told him this wasn’t relevant to this ticket and he said “This job gives you power, doesn’t it? You feel real fucking powerful walking around like a big shot…He got back in his car eventually, “You just don’t like talking to me because I’m ethnic, just because I talk with my hands.” He then went on to tell me how important he was to this university and how he doesn’t have time to spend dealing with this crap.
The PDF is gripping reading, and more legibly and sensibly written than the column Jason Whitlock filed on the subject. (Mangino’ fatness is crushing his soul, which is heating up beneath the pressure and spilling out in volcanic bursts of rage. Geologically interesting. Logically specious.) The ESPN roundup mentions an incident sparking the player meeting where Mangino “is alleged to have grabbed, yelled at and put his finger in the chest of a player who had been laughing at a walkthrough or practice prior to the Colorado game on Oct. 17.” To be fair, that finger is the size of a ham. Poking it with force could snap a sternum if he wasn’t careful.
Your new pony is Mike Leach. Mike Leach’s mad flirtation of the year could be Louisville, though Dennis Dodd is saying it, and Dennis Dodd is wrong about everything forever. This likely means, on a white board in the offices of the Louisville Athletic Department, there sits a white board with “MIKE LEACH” listed under a big “NO,” but even erroneous rumors are fun to throw around, especially when you think about Leach’s offense cracking a hole in the roof of the Carrier Dome one hypothetical day.
“Tell them to call me,” said Switzer, 72 years old and 12 years out of football. “Tell them I can beat Navy.”
Dunkin’ Donuts would sponsor part of the buyout, ND. We’re not saying think about it, but you know: think about it. Into the trees, into the trees, Irish.
Strong. Rack ‘em. You may want to avoid the Word From Our Sponsors thread, because commenter Play Me A Song Mr. Neuheisel won the whole damn thing by himself with this comment.
Love the dynamic between the domestic beer drinker’s perceived slight versus the craft brew crowd’s need to mention their current drink of choice. As if anyone gives a fuck. Myself, well I’m a malt liquor man. Nothing quite says “I’m going to try to grab your wife’s sweet ass and steal your car while you watch the game” like the 40 OZ of Nightrain I bring to a tailgate. Hell yeah, motherfucker!
Hell yeah, sir. We raise a glass of Thunderbird to you in honor of your fine commenting skills.
Courage Wolf suggests you listen to EDSBS Live tonight and join us as we make chicken salad from the chicken shit that is week 12. 9:00 p.m. is when we put on what some people call a basketball hoop, and we call a cockring. Throw away the gum, chew the tin foil, listen here, chat there, and quit being such a pussy. Some call it cancer: we call it week 12, and it’s just something you haven’t ripped through yet.
Freshman safety Nyshier Oliver was arrested on November 7 and charged with shoplifting at a department store in West Town Mall.
The police report says Oliver was spotted putting a brown shirt worth approximately $110 in a Dillard’s bag. He was arrested around 1:45 that Saturday.
…the Saturday of homecoming about six hours before the Memphis game, to be precise. We welcome the Vols back to the land of the competitive SEC East teams, and now up their possibility of winning an SEC East title next year thanks to the increased verve and hunger of the youngsters clearly energized by the new regime in Knoxville. DA COACHO HE BE SIPPIN’ ARMAREDDA! DA LANEKIFFUH HE BE SIPPIN ARMAREDDA!
A brief review of the most persistent adwhoring in the commercial landscape for college football this year to date.
Bergwood and Ham/Vincent/Lyingbastardface we don’t even know anymore. I don’t even know who you are anymore, Bergwood and Ham. Or should we call you…Vincent, your real name, Mr. Dick Whitman-I-Blew-Up-A-Guy-In-Iraq-and-took-his-name? That may be a secret only your Allstate agent knows because he is blackmailing you, First Ham unveiled his real name and his marriage, something Bergwood seemed more than justifiably disturbed by (”I don’t want to be your weekend lover, Ham,”) then the two whistled past the graveyard of their relationship by cooking hamburgers off the smoking torso of Bobby Bowden (who says advertising doesn’t offer effective metaphors for understanding the world?) and then finally…the death knell, and the hopeless attention-whoring by Bergwood as a final step to salvage the once-perfect marriage they shared built on Ham’s lie of an identity.
It’s like my naked body doesn’t even get your attention anymore, Ham.
Coldly poking at the hotter, fresher phallic symbols on the grill while ignoring Bergwood? Someone’s laying on the symbolism a bit thick now, don’t you think? (more…)
Mark Mangino is the subject of an internal review by the athletic director at Kansas. This does not mean a literal survey, as in a miniature submarine deployed into his bloodstream to properly assess his health, anatomy, and the actual size of Mangino himself. There is no need for a miniature submarine to do this. An ultralight would do for the purposes of this study, albeit one with an expanded gas tank to cover the expansive territory under study. (If it works for African wildlife research, it will work for Mangino studies.)
Kansas University athletic director Lew Perkins met Monday night with the school’s football players to discuss concerns about football coach Mark Mangino brought to his attention by one of the current players and others with ties to the football program, the Journal-World has learned.
Mangino is legendarily dickish with his behavior, and not just with his players. (With the exception of his more tender, confessional moments.) He probably has had to be this way to get anything done at Kansas, but the logic goes, as Pete says: when you’re winning, dickhead is fine, and when you’re not and bleeding out in the midst of a four game losing streak, it’s not.
The idea of him being in serious trouble due to player unhappiness seems absurd, especially since it takes a real peoplesuit like John Mackovic to make a player insurrection a real possibility. Absurdity is also the key in which life is written like a fine Spike Jones number, so yeah, it’s entirely possible.
EDSBS Store Live it. Love it. Wear it until it's ripped from your body by envious hordes of tailgaters.
Locker Room
About us
Orson Swindle and Stranko Montana are two men pushing thirty who should know better than to run a college football blog, but evidently don't. Both graduated from the University of Florida, and both agree that college football is far too important to be left to the professionals.
Contact
Comments? Questions? Long strings of profanities directed at something we said? Please send your comments to harumphharumph -a- yahoo -dot- com. Please direct all tailgating photos and stories to edsbsfans -a- gmail -dot- com.
Loading ...
