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We’ve seen worse things than this year’s model of the Urban Meyer offense---really, we have.

--Will McLemore getting kicked in the nuts in sixth grade. The worst ball-smashing ever: Will, standing unawares in group of kids, caught flush in the nuts by one his “friends” with the kind of kick that you could feel in your soft palate. The kid in question—we don’t remember his name, only his high-top Converse disappearing laces deep into Will’s crotch—got so into the kick that we swear his back leg came off the ground like David Beckham’s on a free kick. If he’d died on the spot we wouldn’t have been surprised—which he didn’t do. Indeed, he went on to Yale, which established a kind of equation for us in our minds: kids who get kicked in the nuts = future Ivy Leaguers.

--The Scarlet Letter in the theater.

--Reggie Brown getting three years knocked off his life by Auburn safety Junior Rosegreen in last year’s Auburn/UGA game, a hit known on this site as “The Cruciatus Curse.”

--Jeff Feagles, former Seattle punter, kicking a ball directly over his head while giving himself a severe groin pull in the process.

--That old Trials of Life video where a killer orca plays toss with a dead baby seal.

--Ben Folds in concert.

Given those, the Meyer offense has to rank just under these in terms of pain inflicted per second. They’re bad. Satan bad; Ashlee Simpson at the Orange Bowl bad; Ebola bad. Brace yourself: KENTUCKY BAD. While the ghosts of Notre Dame heroes past were circling the light towers in South Bend, but less-welcome ghouls visited Gator fans on Saturday: Hal Mumme, Dennis Franchione, Tommy Bowden.

How bad? That bad.

Florida got 5 turnovers off an LSU team that looked like it was trying to run with their hands stapled to the bottom of their feet and lost.

Florida got another good show from its defense only to watch gravity take hold and drag the winded d down in the fourth quarter. We've typed this before. We'll type it again--once for UGA, once for FSU, maybe another time down the block. This game served as a virtual offensive replay of the Bama game, save this: there was, for a shining instant, a chance to win this game with the offense. And yet, the minute the onus shifted to the offense, we abandoned all hope. Because, for this year at least, the spread option is hopeless against a team of equal talent.

Meyer cried after the game. He should have—he’s taken the SEC’s best passer and turned him into a Bill Curry-era Tim Couch. Bench Leak, Urb—you’ve destroyed him completely, leaving the only the scorched foundations of a once proud house of a quarterback. Keeping him out there isn’t a sign of loyalty, it’s an act of sheer cruelty at this point. The offensive line has no idea who to block; simple stunts flummox them into total turnstiledom. Receivers have dbs riding their pads on every route; running backs are left to find creases that never appear. Tears just start to describe the train wreck that is this offense right now.

This offense is bad fluorescent lighting. This offense is getting caught masturbating by your grandmother--and liking it. This offense is Chinese opera played at 89 decibels. This offense is chewing aluminum foil. This offense is a play called atrocity with an eleven man cast and no script. This offense makes Ernie Zampese wake up sweating every night at 2:45 a.m. and screaming. This offense just bored a fisherman in Malaysia to tears.

This offense is shit served hot and steaming 75 snaps a game.

Not that LSU looked any better. A pox on both houses. A bye week couldn't happen at a better time. If nothing changes, we're driving down to Florida to make Stranko give us a Will McLemore to dull the pain. We're not giving up on Meyer--that would be insane--but to think NOT changing something is the answer is to make us think you've been eating paint chips and moldy bread for dinner. Which, come to think of it, would be better than watching another minute of the weeping clusterfuck called the Florida offense right now.