Sopressata for the sorrow-filled college football fan: Blogtoberfest.
Tree-huggers. Literally. Berkeley falls deliciously into its own pit of stereotype when the construction of Cal's new athletic center and renovation of Memorial Stadium grinds to a halt thanks to...tree-huggers. SMQ suspects Stanford's involvement, while Bruins Nation sees a Dorrell angle on the whole thing.
Oh. So. Sexy. Per.Fect For. Me. Treehuggers drag California stereotypes back a decade. (Photo: Lee Suzuki, San Francisco Chronicle.)
Well, if you ask sir. The police usually oblige the requests of inebriated citizens, as former Oklahoma star Charles Thompson found out this week. Thompson, quarterback of Oklahoma's wishbonetastic 1987 team, pulled a Juvenile act this week in his arrest for public drunkenness. This means that he did precisely what rapper Juvenile once famously requested in a Miami club, actually a far funnier story than Thompson's frankly boring request to "take me to jail."
According a police report, several off-duty police officers were trying to break up a number of skirmishes just outside the Club Improv. The fighting apparently began when Juvenile got into an argument with twenty-eight-year-old Jackson Saint Ange inside the club. Upon leaving the venue, the rapper allegedly struck Saint Ange with a bottle of Moet...The report claims that upon the arrival of the officers, Juvenile grabbed Miami Police Sgt. Timothy Fell yelling, "Take me to jail. Take my motherfuckin' ass to jail." Another officer pulled him off of Fell and Juvenile fled, but was quickly apprehended.
Student, meet teacher. Class begins at double margarita hour at the Chili's of your choosing.
We will give you whatever you want, just put Crystal Gayle down, Ed. Ed Orgeron (a.k.a. Vigo the Destroyer, Memnoch the Unholy, Murderface, the Horror of Yg, Coach D-B'O, The Old One, and Solomon Grundy) earns a contract extension with a 4-8 season, something we can only guess occurred via Ed Orgeron holding something Ole Miss holds dear for ransom. A list of possible victims follows:
--Crystal Gayle.
--The skull of William Faulkner
--Binkley Weatherford, the immortal magical talking catfish who's secretly ruled Mississippi for decades.
--Ole Miss coaching legend Jon Vaught's lucky penis guard.
Cough up the contract extension or the penis guard gets it.
The Orgeron's contract carries him through to 2010, when he is schedule to take a sabbatical to Jupiter to kick some pretentious monolith's ass.
Oh, and Rich Brooks, who got lowly Kentucky to the exact opposite record of 8-4 and a solid bowl trashing of Clemson? He gets a raise to a mil a year after most rational people had him sold to the glue farm of coaching. Would that we all receive such generous boosts to our packages.
Flea Market. Montgomery. It's just like. A mini. Mall. Cool Hand finds yet another reason why the word surreal dies in the face of everyday reality.
200 feet, 70 teeth. Saurian Sagacity pontificates on one of the truly inexhaustible topics in college football: why, oh why oh why Florida hates Tennessee with every fiber of its collective being.
Let's stay civil, ass-fisting shitbags. Newspaper Hack brings his call for a new civility among fans. Hear, hear:
Don't dick around when talking shit about another team's fans. I like using words and phrases like, "assholes," "bastards" and "sons-of-bitches."
We believe this to just be a starting point for a whole digression on proper usage of abusive, colorful, and profane verbiage to properly describe the opposition. Too often fans lean on the simple cromag insults worn thin by overuse: Gaytors, Bammers, Barners, Corndog-aroma'd LSU fans...there's just no space for this in a tight rhetorical race between fanbases.
There should be some kind of initiative surrounding this kind of work. And six-figure NEA grants. To buy hot tubs. For important grantees and their "committee members." If you're thinking this is all part of some grand plot to get federal money to subsidize the EDSBS Fortress of Snarkitude del Sud in Costa Rica, where we would definitely not blow taxpayer dollars on vodka faucets, dirt bikes, and a giant statue of Jack Youngblood...well, shame on you sir/madam.
Because we're totally willing to compromise on the statue. The rest is necessary for our work.
A completely worthy investment of taxpayer money, in our opinion.
Brian Jones hates college football. According to the CSTV columnist, he believes there aren't enough minority coaches or ADs. Huzzah--as an industry whose labor force skews heavily toward black athletes and has done so for over thirty years now, this is an easy if not remarkable call. Then, he pulls his human mask off and reveals his true, football-hating reptilian visage:
Games were on average about 15 minutes shorter than 2005, with fewer plays and fewer points scored, and, looking back, I had no problem with last year's rule changes affecting the clock.
Everybody was complaining about it all year long, but I was thinking, "You're crazy."
And then everyone just looked at me, like I was crazy. And here we are a year later, and nothing collapsed, which justifies my lack of a problem with the rules, my awesomeness, and my keen insight. It was like the time the Challenger blew up, and I'm thinking, like, "Yeah, but they'll keep flying 'em," or that other time I told my friend Toby that McRib would come back even though they called it "The McRib Farewell Tour." And just like that, last week, whaddya see on the menu? The fucking McRib. Take that Toby, you little mincing biatch.
--Vandy may be dropping the Richmond Spiders for another opener against Michigan in September 2007. Brian in turn says death to college football.
Well, we're hung like...um, a human? Doug's leaping on the latest internet meme: saying five nice things about yourself, which in Doug's case includes positive comments about the size of his genitals. Bully for Doug. Our own short--um, that is, perfectly average-sized list of five positive things we can honestly say about ourself follows.
1. We dance with great enthusiasm. Note: no mention of skill.
2. We type very quickly.
3. On command, can consume horrifying amounts of beer without getting drunk. This is a positive, right? We bat well above our body weight in beer drinking, which to be honest is so effortless it's gotten too expensive to be worth it. Liquor, however is a whole other story, one that involves pepper spray, very poorly timed phone calls, and mysterious ATM withdrawals from ATMs in Dubai.
4. We're unbeatable at NCAA 2007. Just unstoppable. To quote Hero: we have become the sword.
5. Dogs like us. All of them, and not just because we wear Armani's Pancetta for Men.
Leave your own in the comments section if you like.
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