March 24, 2025

GAMEDAY TO ORANGE AND BLUE GAME. WE BIG TIME, BABIES.

Urban Meyer drinks your milkshakes-he drinks them up! The internet’s awesome: There Will Be Blood is likely 75 minutes of riveting acting surrounded by agonizingly constructed film school frippery, meaning you have to watch nine hours of grim squinting and sun-fried landscapes. Or you can just watch the coolest scene in the whole movie according to everyone who had the misfortune to sit still for that long free on the internet, and savor the fun of watching a hammered DDL beating a milky preacher to death with a bowling pin. And if that was a spoiler for you, then thank us for doing you the favor of spoilage. You have better things to do with your life, like sit in the FUCKING PHOENIX AIRPORT. (Yes, we’re still there.)

Anyway, Urban Meyer’s got Gameday at the Orange and Blue Game, signalling that Gameday might have grasped the full deprivation of college football fanbase by sending the whole crew (including Erin Andrews, Florida alum) to the game for the festivities and a ripping sunburn. Your milkshakes, we own them.


My recruiting straw goes ALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL the way over to your milkshake! I DRINK IT UP! I DRINK IT!



Filed under: Blog Buddies, Coaches, the BCS, scandals, arrests, and other eccentri, College football, Southeastern Conference, acting!, damn that's smooth  by Orson Swindle

JIM TRESSEL, UNFAIRLY EXCERPTED.

Our tour of the nation’s brown-themed brown airports continues. Phoenix, where brown isn’t a color, it’s a way of life!

The Canton Rep has a good, simple profile piece on Jim Tressel and yes, how stultifyingly Midwestern and staid and oh jeez white bread he really is. It’s the kind of filler piece the offseason’s littered with: a beat reporter, a laboriously arranged meeting with a coach, and five or six quotes he’s got to juggle into 900 words of Pawsome©*, a piece about how he’d coach for nothing, etc, etc.

It also contains a photo that is as incisive a comment on a person’s home life as any we can possibly conjure.


Didn’t pick the drapes. No clue what’s for dinner. Can’t identify either dog by name. Photo adjusted by Peter.

So in order to liven this up, we’ve excerpted the piece into only its most interesting and unfair quotes. GO:

All Jim Tressel wants to do is make it to Mars. “I used to tell people, ‘I live on Mars.’ ” His four college-aged kids poke him.

“Those trees,” Tressel said.

$12,000 a year.

The home on Mars was a castle.

Today, Tressel and his wife, Ellen, live in a brick.

He has no hobbies, no interests. He seems likely to take his own life.

When Ohio State hired Tressel, he made Bernie Kosar a dentist.

Quite honestly, the only good thing is a deep-sea fisherman.

I always tell my wife, ‘When they fire me, I’ll beat your butt.’ ”

“I decided a very long time ago that I would sacrifice my self-worth.”

A lunch at Raintree Country Club raised money for Boys.

During the season, Mondays are family nights. The coaches’ families eat Woody Hayes.

Tressel yelled, “You’re better than the people working in the cafeteria.”

His brother set fire to Tressel.

*Property of the All-American Bear Company, who will fuck your shit up with a blackjack for stealing their copyrighted language.



Filed under: Big 10 Conference, Coaches, the BCS, scandals, arrests, and other eccentri, College football  by Orson Swindle

AIRPORT STUCK

Stuck in the airport, and cursing the nation of slackers who get up three hours behind we proper Christians on the east coast. What other madness do you people embrace? Exercise? Using your spoon as a fork? Ass-groping former weightlifter steroid freak Austrian governors?

The net result for us in experiencing the NCAA tourney from the vantage point of deep inside the smoky anus of Vegas is this: college football must never, ever have a playoff. Nevah. That’s our gut instinct right now after having watched the weird dénouement of the tourney’s first weekend in Vegas and realizing that the NCAA cannot effectively coordinate the mating of two donkeys, much less a major football tournament.

Because we’re typing this off our phone while waiting in line to be told that we’re not making our connecting flight in Phoenix, we’ll be succinct: the season remains everything in college football, and a playoff would tangibly devalue the regular season’s value. Man on moon, yes; but seeing the dispassion of turning the game into a neatly compressed lump of productmeat suitable for easy heat ‘n bake consumption made us irrationally sad.

As it stands, every team with a decent body of work gets their one moment in the sun, unless they get the Motor City Bowl, in which case they at least get a moment of glory in the rain of fiery ashes and locusts that has been pelting Detroit for 40 years or so. A playoff kills that dead.

Onto the plane. It’s strictly working on the lizard brain level right now, but the image of a season easily ended in tidy fashion on four screens in Vegas makes us want to split the rails of a playoff train’s tracks and watch the wreck ensue.

It’s just this weekend’s Colbert gut instinct, but it’s there.



Filed under: Uncategorized  by Orson Swindle

CURIOUS INDEX, 3/24/08

Yes, we’re finally escaping the orbit of Las Vegas. It’s a degenerative orbit at best: we arrived here full of plans and dreams and money and Werther’s Butterscotches, and now we’re typing this from the Clark County Library without pants, a wallet, or our left eye. The eyepatch, however, is saucy, and our street persons’ production of Pirates of Penzance is gonna kill, baby. And those butterscotches? When you run out of cash, they’ll get you more than you think in barter.

And this just happened. If you’re fond of that “heroin/jugular” feel, putting any dollar amount over the number that makes your ass pucker up a bit and the taste of aluminum appear in your mouth is on your list of things to do in a casino. Just don’t do it like we did it.

Jacked, pumped, and Sanchez’d. The Tiffany position in college football is open…sorta. Mark “Dirty” Sanchez and his army of luchadore mask-wearing fansboys is the clear leader in the jump seat for post-season awardage, the starting qb slot for USC. The likely future custodian of the USC Matt Leinart Golden Penis Cozy, Sanchez will probably top Arkansas transfer Mitch Mustain and freshman Aaron Corp provided Mustain doesn’t shoot the lights out in spring ball.

Pete Carroll’s current facebook status: “Pete Carroll can’t wait for Spring Ball to start on Tuesday.” Nick Saban’s current facebook status: “Dropping one grain of sand on a bound and gagged Joe Pendry’s forehead at a time until he apologizes for dinging my car in the parking lot.”

This year’s Wonderlic leaks aren’t as sensational as in years past-there’s no VY six, no Frank Gore 8, no Roderick Green rocking the vaunted low of a 3 for Roderick “MMM, Paste” Green, who received the score after eating half the test and then curling up on the floor for a well-overdue nap.

Matt Ryan got a 32 (Jesuits, what!) and Boise State’s Ryan Clady, one of the leading draft picks at o-line, didn’t live up to the respectable scores of his brethren by pulling a 16 from his brain-hat. No one exceeded the worst contextual score we’ve ever seen: Marcus Vick’s 11. Vick is currently overseeing his brother’s remaining properties, which you may recognize from the piles of garbage piling up outside them and the periodic fires burning in them.

Paul Johnson ain’t sayin’ shit about what his offense will look like in year one at Georgia Tech:

“I said, ‘No they’re not. I mean they don’t run the same thing the New York Giants do and the New England Patriots,’ ” Johnson said. “And I was like, ‘Well, what do you call it?’ And the guy goes, ‘Well, I guess you’d call it conventional.’ I said, ‘There you go. Call it whatever you want. They’re all a little bit different.’ “

That’s not what drew our eye to the AP report, though. This did:

Neither of the experienced candidates, Calvin Booker or Josh Nesbitt, have attempted a pass in a college game.

Hey! Games against UNC don’t count as college games anymore.



Filed under: Atlantic Coast Conference, Coaches, the BCS, scandals, arrests, and other eccentri, College football, Pacific 10 Conference, Southeastern Conference  by Orson Swindle

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