Last Monday, we ran an AP wire item stating that the crash of US Airways Flight 1549 was caused when a Canadian goose was sucked into the plane’s air intake. The unfortunate critter has since been re-identified as former Syracuse coach Greg “GERG” Robinson. We regret the error, and wish the Michigan football family all the best as they move forward with a new defensive coordinator that best resembles a fine pink mist.

Thursday’s “Hits and Missus” family advice column cited the example of Chris Dalman as someone who chose family over football, as he quit the Stanford football staff to “spend more time with his wife and kids.” Dalman’s representatives called this week to clarify Dalman’s reasons for leaving, which should have read as the following.

Chris Dalman is leaving Stanford to spend more time with your wife and his kids.

We regret the error and wish Coach Dalman luck in his future endeavours.

Tuesday’s Curious Index included an item implying that Tennessee head coach Lane Kiffin is part unicorn.  We have since been provided with a file photo revealing the horn in question is actually an egg tooth. Kiffin’s mother assures us it fell off in early adolescence. We regret the error.

Push, little one!

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Congrats to Georgia for getting the instant recruiting bump of getting your spring game on ESPN. Avoid trying to one-up Florida’s sun-dappled extravaganza complete with sprinting contests, etc., and just point the camera at the stands. At the girls. Not the white kids in blackface.

THAT’S RACIST!!!

To combat these harmful stereotypes, very white us will be the ones handing out fried chicken at a tailgate at the game, partially because of this post, and mostly because fried chicken is really fucking good.

Jim Tressel is finishing the final leg of his journey home from a worldwide walkabout. He sold his passport for entry into a man-dog fighting tournament in Afghanistan, but borders are but figments of the imagination for the brave and determined.

THE UNITED STATES/MEXICAN BORDER. 9:12 a.m. MEXICAN SIDE

A crowd of migrant workers headed north mills around on a desolate patch of yellow earth covered in scrub. Three sad strings of rusty barbed wire mark the border. There is a sudden stir in the crowd. The men focus on a single hooded figure walking through the crowd carrying a jug of water.

Mexican one: Mira, mira! (points) Es El Escarlata!

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Slows: they’re truly rare. Some players may flirt with slows, and others may have sluggish periods in their history, but the prejudice towards “speed” and “agility” has unfairly pushed the rich and luxurious pleasure of slowness to the side.

The luxurious running of the great Jared Lorenzen: slows at their most beautiful.

Take the boldly unrapid running of 1990s Florida quarterback Noah Brindise, for example. Unfairly pigeonholed as a non-prospect for his “eccentric” throwing motion, “natural flak jacket” physique, and “conspicuous lack of ability,” scouts overlooked Brindise’s most outstanding skill.

We speak of course about his astonishing, unreal slows.

An athlete with compelling slows cannot merely run slightly behind the pack. No, he has to have the special talent to make the average look quicksilver, to make thin air seem like knee-high mud he is mired in, to make even the mundane act of taking a snap seem like it’s taking place in an underwater football game observed through the glass of an enormous aquarium. He has to make continental drift look like rabbits fucking. He has to make sloths impatient. He has to be…dare we say…Marino-esque.

As an athlete with 6.09 speed, we know this from experience: slows are something you’re born with, and cannot acquire as an adult. It’s something you just have-ask Jared Lorenzen, a qb who broke loose from the huddle like a chunk of glacial ice slowly shearing off and splashing down into icy waters, or the great Chris Weinke, whose immense slows contributed greatly to the success of the FSU offense at the turn of the century. (Having no ability to go anywhere, he had to hang in the pocket. Running was not ill-advised, so much as it was not an option.)

Bringing us to Todd Boeckman, the Ohio State qb gently described as “very immobile” by NFL scouts. Own that, son. When they make line you up at the combine…power-walk that motherfucker. Then throw a perfect bullet of a deep out through the nearest 300 pound scout and walk away to the nearest fast car. (Because you’ve just committed murder, and you’re not running away from anyone.)