A Denver man claims to have proof of alien life, but is not releasing the footage yet. Fortunately, we’ve got sources like your grandma’s got canned yams.
You wondered why the hat rarely comes off, and now you know.
Live long enough, and you will see your hero become your oppressor, and then morph into your doppelganger, and then just at the end will change into your demon tormentor just long enough to reach through a wall, grab you with its ferocious claws, and scream until its head falls off just like the witch’s does in the horror classic Witchboard. Er…
What we’re really trying to say is that if you live long enough, you will see Bobby Bowden become Steve Spurrier who becomes Bobby Bowden. Spurrier will cede certain playcalling duties this fall to his son, Steve Spurrier, Jr. No relation there. Unless you count being his son as “relation.” Which we do.
What we didn’t really know was just how monomaniacal Spurrier was, right down to writing the plays on the wristbands of his qbs himself.
“So, I’m going to try to help the entire offense and the entire team a little bit better (now) maybe by creating a little bit more time away from the play calling,” he said, adding that last year he was the one who filled out the wristbands his quarterbacks wore. “Everybody’s sitting there looking at me and I said, ‘I’m doing everything around here, right?’ (The assistants) said, ‘That’s how you do it, Coach.’ I said, ‘You know what? It’s time maybe for you guys to get a little more involved in it.’ “
Clearly, delegation of duties was an issue.
But now, in 2008, Steve Spurrier is giving his son a plum play-calling gig a la Joe Paterno and Bobby Bowden. We’d critique this as further evidence of the scourge of nepotism rearing its head again in coaching…and we do. There’s no avoiding it, even if the words SYSTEM FAIL pop up in our head when we try to critique the beloved OB. Want to play along at home? Orson as a robot. Just look at us and say, “I am a liar, everything I say is a lie.” The smoke coming from our ears is just the beginning of the mainframe damage.
The Big Board sits updated below. It’s so full of heft we had to do it King James-style. The explanations of great length and explanation follow. Thanks as always to Brian, who is hung like Reggie F’n Nelson.
This week, we shall cleareth out the Fulmer Cup Processing Station as well as update on the week’s array of drunken punches, breaking and entering, and other rankly felonious and mildly misdemeanorish charges from across the college football multiverse. Beginning with that which is most recent:
SO SAYETH the prophet, that if thou should force thy way into a dormitory, and that thou should doest so in an unlawful and force’d fashion, that thoust should be charged to the fullest with the barrister’s charge of aggravated burglary and burglary. Furthermore, if thou’st should interrupt the gossamer sleep of a fair maiden most nobly contstruct’d by the placing of a pillow across the face, and thus stopst the vital aether of life from inspiring and expiring from the pneumaticism of her lungs, well…thou shalt receiveth an assault charge, yea verily.
Nine points hath been assessed to the Miami of Ohio. May God bless thy souls.
Nevada provideth a bumper crop of DUIs, testament further that though the Lord may scatter the broad avenues of life with obstacles, he maketh enough taverns to make stumbling over those obstacles truly expensive-especially when thoust collides with the obstacle of a highway patrol roadblock.
The Wolf doth travel switfly-nay, too swiftly, and with too erratic a gait thrice in a night. For such plenty in the department of errant control, Nevada shall be assessed two points for each DUI charge, along with one bonus point for earning all three in one fell swoop. Thus the tally shall stand at seven points for Nevada, who shall fain call cabs for thou’st tipsiest of footballers from this point unto eternity.
This counteth not, as thy recruits earn not the points accrued to thee, fair reader.
Clicketh the jump for further accounting, as thou’st may be tedified by the extensiveness of mine listing and mathematicks.
Testament to the health of periodically resetting expectations: Tuberville, a genius of sorts.…the Cupdate is a brawny dish this week, and the math combined with a fierce head cold has gummed up the works. Consider perusing our column at SN where we suggest Jim Tressel manage the unreal expectations of being OSU’s head coach by following what we’ll call the Tuberville model: beat your rival like a scalded dog, alternate merely good seasons with excellent seasons, and you know, forget the fan-wife’s birthday every now and then.
The additional fun from the column is imagining darkside Tressel kicking a whole season into the wood chipper: slobbing out, eating donuts and drinking scotch from squeeze bottles during the game, picking up an arrest for DUI or barfighting, you know…something like Buckeyes Wide Shut.
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AD Kevin White takes off after eight years as the Athletic Director at Notre Dame for the job at Duke, where “three or four times a years I’ll drink a heckuva lot less coffee,” according to Kevin White. We think this means that barring another mock-rape scandal, he’s joining David Cutcliffe on the low-stress Blue Devil retirement gravy train. Notre Dame says there’s no time table for replacing White. Given the speedy pace of Catholic bureaucracy, this means the next Notre Dame AD will be announced sometime around the year 2201. Trojan Wire, ever solicitous of Irish affairs, wonders if this means future trouble for Weis, but most of the Irish fans we know think the trustees have more power over Weis’ fate than the AD. This and much more in a large Fulmer Cupdate later this a.m. It’s just massive how many charges and points will have to be assessed in a single blow. It’s downright Switzer-esque. We don’t know how you even begin to craft a legal defense about a charge involving putting a pillow over someone’s face while they sleep. “Oxygen suppression therapy?” Kirk Ferentz, done Training Day style. Target! Cain’t top that, homey! In case you wonder just how tiny Oxford, Mississippi is, they’re just now getting their first Target. Starkville has its own small town quirks, too; according to Kanu, you could write a check at Burger King there as recently as 1995. I can’t put my fist in your childhood dreams. Good to see rap songs decoded to their basic units of meaning, especially by a guy in pleated shorts. (NSFW, but only because a chorus of “SHOW ME YOUR GENITALS” is NSFW, right?)
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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.
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