Tonight, EDSBS Live returns in vicious fashion for our IRON TUSK EDITION!
Hate week requires Mastodon; Texas/Texas Tech requires Wendell Barnhouse, the in-house scribe for the Big 12, who will be joining us to tell us why no one plays defense in the Big 12.
Listen hyah. We’ll hear you then.
Ty’s done at Washington. Coaching the rest of the season in the [NAME REDACTED] arrangement, but will not find a job before then like [REDACTED] did.
You gonna eat that? I gotta start economizing.
So there’s that, which preceded Georgia decimating Florida in the Cocktail Party last year. A gag order has been issued to his team by Urban Meyer, presumably to avoid bulletin board material and keep the team focused, but he did talk about the dance by not talking about it, which is talking about it but DAMN YOU AND YOUR LOGIC:
“I think it’s old news … and it has no bearing on this year’s game,” Meyer said Sunday. “It’s two teams battling for the SEC East.”
Meaning a spectacular choreographed retribution is planned for Saturday. Our proposals for how Florida will attempt to one-up Georgia in the excessive celebration department follow, listed from least likely to most likely and by mode of celebration:
Tex Avery: A horde of walk-ons and mascots hoisting anvils, safes, and grand pianos on pulleys above the endzone waits for Georgia’s first score.
Busby Berkley: The endzone rolls back, a pool emerges, and a wedding cake rises from the pool lined with leggy dames! The rest goes just like this, but with Tim Tebow playing the part of Miss Piggy:
Batman-style: Jeff Demps scores, throws a smoke bomb down on the ground, and disappears in a fog, only to reappear suspended in a glass box over the student section, peacefully napping upside down.
Palin-style: Tim Tebow scores, turns to camera, winks and makes cutesy little “pyew! pyew!” gun shots at the camera.
Strauss-style: Counters UGA’s 2007 sponsorship of “Soulja Boy” with tasteful group minuet.
Hot Rod-Style Fifty huge dudes in orange and blue do this on the sidelines-not on the field, mind you-when Florida scores.
SAW-style. At first score, Dave Matthews is dropped screaming from lights, thus breaking the collective will of the UGA fanbase. Or should we say he CRASHES INTO THE GROUND BWAHAHAHAHAHAA
Leave your own suggestions for further Florida or Georgia dance-off routines or celebrations below.
Delightfully literal metaphor from LSUFreek on what speedy, tiny running backs like Noel Devine and Rainey/Demps can do to your defense:
NYT, 10/24/08:
“I think the small, fast running back has a place in football,” said Les Miles, the L.S.U. coach, whose reigning national champion Tigers were pummeled by Florida, 51-21, on Oct. 11, when Demps rushed for 129 yards, including a 42-yard touchdown. “It’s probably a role that will expand the way football is going.”
Running backs on the whole tend to be snack-sized as far as football players go: a quick survey of the top ten rushers in the nation this year reveals only one, Andre Anderson of Tulane, who is listed at 6′0″. (BTW: that is his Fantasy Nobility name: Andre Anderson of Tulane, Ruler of Estates and Sirer of Kings.) Even the “power backs” in the top ten-Donald Brown of UConn and Shonn Greene of Iowa-are at 5′10″ and 5″11′, respectively.
Thus Miles suggesting there’s a role for the smaller back refers to even smaller backs than you might think, the Chris Raineys and Jeff Demps of the world, generously listed in the 5′ 5″-5′9″, 150-180 pound range. Since the spread offense is going nowhere and neither are they, these gifted gentlemen need a name, a category, and a definition, and we’re here to provide it. The new verbiage, codified:
Quarkback (?kwork-bak), n. A running back loosely defined as being 5′9″ or less and weighing between 150 and 180 pounds and possessing 4.4 speed or less. Derivation: internet slang.
Example: Jeff Demps, Florida quarkback, ran so fast on his third quarter dash to the endzone he inflicted second-degree burns on SEC official Penn Wagers as he passed him.
Glad we could help. (Andrew wants part ownership, or at least inspirational credit from this entry. Granted in heaps.)
Tennessee is slogging through a miserable, sad bog of a season, and yes oh my isn’t that a shame. For those of us who take joy in watching the denizens of Helm’s Deep on the Tennessee River weep, there is but one regret, and that is watching bastard-killing, kerosene-swilling, heart-thrilling Eric Berry labor away with more wattage by himself than the entire offensive eleven combined.
Berry inspires men and weakens women’s wills. He pleases the eyes of children and the noses of dogs. He is awesome, and you should tip your hat as he passes, even if it means stealing someone’s hat to do it-even if it is a policeman’s hat. He’ll understand what you’re doing once you explain it to him. Trust us.
Men With Balls is in stores today. Go buy it for any number of reasons: because you find diagrams of bent penises funny, or because you appreciate a good autoerotic asphyxiation joke as much as the next person, or because you pity Drew’s children, who will have to support their father, sans pension, retirement fund, or liver, in his old age and after his premature death from gout at the age of fifty-three.
It really is superior bathroom reading, and was actually written to be digested in the exact length of a single average bowel movement. For Drew, who subsists entirely on Trader Joe’s snack foods and other foofy white person foods, these are violent, explosive episodes, so they might be shorter than you think, depending on your diet.
Buy here, buy often, and if you’re a Georgia fan, be sure to hide it when your pastor or mother comes around, or you’ll go to hell, because there are bad words and evolution ‘n stuff in it!
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GET YOUR WAR ON. Georgia/Florida. The terrible people, doing the terrible dances, with the terrible jerseys, terrible domestic beers in large plastic bottles, and the terrible things in public places with the terrible music. We couldn’t be happier to see humanity at its non-murderous ugliest come back around. Viva la coke orgy! Batten ‘em down. We don’t think there’s necessarily a party line at ESPN-we really, really don’t. It’s not like they have little Frank Luntz talking points they vomit up, and dissent seems to be tolerated well enough, especially when they can split-screen said dissent and blast it at high volume. Yet, here’s the Penn State Watch, a largely sentimental movement dismissive of Penn State’s less-than-robust strength of schedule and lack of a championship game. Mike Golic, this morning on Mike and Mike: “Well, it looks like Penn State’s a lock for the title game.” If it will make him look more arch than he already fancies himself, Mark May will come out swinging against this with top hat and cape on, presumably announcing this while tying a bewigged Lou Holtz in a maiden outfit to railroad tracks. Punishments=tied to chair with Jim Delany in a werewolf mask holding a blowtorch. The Big Ten Commish and Kim Jong-Il of college football’s influence sphere says the Big Ten replay officials were in error when they made some shit up about the pylon being part of the playing field, even when you touch it out of bounds. We were so looking forward to receivers running, picking up the pylon, and then catching passes cleanly in the front row of the endzone stands for TDs, if only to watch opposing fans play pass defense. Sacks allowed: 3. What an irresponsible, gimmicky offense: three sacks allowed, a 12 yard plus average per catch, 5.5 yards per carry average on the ground, zero games lost to injury for the qb (who never, ever gets touched) and as many fourth down conversions as punts on the season. Texas Tech will never get anywhere with that foolishness. Bill Stewart, Carlton fan. In his petite profile on SN Today, WVU head coach Bill Stewart lists the following as his favorite television shows: What’s on TV: CSI, The George Lopez Show and The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air The idea of Bill Stewart guffawing at full volume at the Carlton dance is serving as a substitute for our eighth cup of coffee this morning. |
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The Alphabetical is hyah; your Fearless Leader and trusty sidekick are, respectively, out enjoying a beautiful fall day and huddled in the fetal position under the bed dreaming of a world without 800 yards in penalties. Kindly accept this ‘Freek offering with our compliments, and a pleasant afternoon to all.
(And admit it, you’d sit through four hours of Stark!Brooding!Emptiness! if it meant watching a rival SEC coach get bludgeoned to a bloody pulp with a ninepin.)
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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