The Football Writers Association of America has named the six finalists for this years Eddie Robinson Coach of the Year award. The finalists are Mack Brown, Pete Carroll, Karl Dorrell, George O’Leary, Joe Paterno, and Charlie Weis. We imagine that this list was compiled before USC humilated UCLA… or there was a requirement to include one African-American coach on the list in honor of Robinson (which is tough given the dearth of A-A head coaches).
Earlier in the week we delighted your purient interests with this post about proper fan dress code. For those who looked deeper to Aggie Revolution, you may have noticed that post was dominated by a few notorious Seminole fans. For more on those infamous FSU fans check here. And don’t say we’ve never done anything for you.
The Arkansas Razorbacks have strived under coach Houston Nutt to have a high school level offense. It worked well with Matt Jones scrambling around and throwing the bomb, but it sputtered a bit this past year. To spark their high school offense, the Razorbacks have done the only logical thing- hire a high school coach to coordinate the damn thing. Well done Houston Nutt, well done. Leave the complicated stuff to Charlie Weiss.
(We’re sure this has nothing to do with waivering super recruit Mitch Mustain either)
Houston Nutt. Crazy like a fox.
Via The Mighty MJD: How to be an Irish fan.
We need to rig this up for Tennessee fans.
Freshman Josh Portis, the anti-D.J. Shockley of the SEC, has decided to transfer from UF, seeking more playing time after a year behind Chris Leak.
In part one of our series on the destination for many a Florida Gator fan this New Year’s, “America’s Next Great City,” Tampa, we outlined a few of the primo local highlights for a successful day’s outing in the city. But Orson, you ask: what can I do in the Tampa Bay area when I’m primed with eight hours of straight drinking, giddy from watching the Urban Reclamation team put a whipping on Iowa, and all too happy to take the rent money and convert it into eight to ten hours of blacked-out bad behavior? Oh, now you’re in the right place, kemosabe: Tampa is nearly unrivalled in its array of homegrown ways to get your tomfool on, covering the spectrum from gambling to drinking to paying disadvantaged women sums of money to take their clothing off to the tune of “Closer” by Nine Inch Nails. Unlike Las Vegas, none of it’s slick, and much of it reeks of an illicit, dank underworld that subsists on the five food groups of porn, cheap hairspray, cash, booze, and wadded-up court summons rolling on the floorboards of the car. But that’s exactly what you’re looking for, right?
Gambling Nothing gets the soul rolling like a little fair wagering against the devil, right? And what better way to do that than by betting on packs of skinny dogs chasing an electric rabbit? Tampa’s a mecca for those so gambling-addicted they’ll bet on speed-jacked greyhounds at 2 in the afternoon with a lukewarm Miller Lite in one hand and the racing form in the other. Tampa Bay Downs in Tampa has actual horses, but go for local flavor and head over the Gandy Bridge to Derby Lane in St. Pete, a superb venue for the sweaty-palmed gambler, and an excellent way to begin the day’s drinking and prime yourself for spending money without a shred of hope of every recouping your losses. Derby Lane in particular is our fave, both for it’s glam design, titter-inducing “Dinner Club,” and the fact that it’s featured in Oceans 11. Everyone will tell you to bet on the dog that takes a shit just before the race. Don’t believe them, and instead pick completely at random, since greyhound racing is just a tick or two shy of tossing rubles on the floor of a Russian basement at a cockroach race. Anyone who tells you different is about to knock you out with a blackjack and steal the fillings from your teeth.
Hangin’ at Derby Lane: not exactly Parklife, but close.
Bonus points for the people-watching: seemingly destitute retirees in Members Only jackets parsing the racing forms through wraparound sunglasses, young men who really should be doing something else, and thick-necked men in silk shirts who really don’t want you looking at them. (more…)
Even in defeat, Gary Barnett remains the luckiest weasel on this mortal coil. The story of his slow walk from the bunker he’d made for himself in Boulder includes this priceless detail (kudos for the phrasing from the anonymous writer:)
On Thursday, he reluctantly accepted a $3 million settlement, bringing to an end a tenure that was riddled by off-the-field problems but ultimately done in by recent bad results on the field.
He reluctantly accepted a 3 million dollar settlement. We’ll let that sink in for a few months and leave Gary to weeping into his pile of money at the end of this sordid but supremely entertaining saga. Welcome to Hal Mumme-land, Gary.
“Drink so much I cry liquor, wipe my tears with C-Notes, smoke so much weed, I fart weed smoke”
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.
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.
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