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CURIOUS INDEX, 8/31/2009

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Practicegate, One: A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough,without ever having felt sorry for itself, but not outside of the NCAA's allotted hours designated for dropping dead from boughs. Camp Barwis may have you ready to ring the bell. He just wishes you would, maggot. Just ring the bell and you'll get a warm towel, hot food, and--OH DAMMIT WHO THE HELL CALLED THE NCAA? This is what I had the wolves for, dammit.

The Detroit Free-Press noted Michigan's exceeding the allotted practice hours prescribed by NCAA rules, and to hell with them for that since it forces everyone to do what both coaches and college football fans despise doing: actually having to read the NCAA's regulations. (Especially Lane Kiffin, who would rather be reading Maxim.) Brian goes point by point with loads of yellow box quotes to back up the snooze-inducing legalities of the rules, but in summary: Michigan likely did violate rules by having quality control personnel count players' attendance at "voluntary" workouts which, of course, were not truly voluntary in any way. No one denies this.

Practicegate, two. Someone will write bad columns about Rich Rodriguez going too far. They may address him as "DickRod" to belittle him. They will cite this as an example of college athletics becoming too much of a professional business. These columns will suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck, and you know it.

The ongoing drama at Michigan is between their mercenary dick of a coach--like Nick Saban, notorious dick, Urban Meyer, dick to anyone outside of the program, and Bobby Petrino, treacherous dick, Rich Rodriguez is a mercenary dick--is pissing off the lilac-holding romantics in the Michigan old guard mooning for the days of actually having a Michigan man with cantankerous but grandfatherly ways presiding over their quaint but successful football program. Dicks do things like count non-participation in voluntary workouts, run their team until they fill the gutters with their vomit, and piss off columnists. Dicks also win football games much of the time, something former Michigan qb Chad Henne sees as the end product in all of this:

"I really think whoever’s saying it really doesn’t want to be there," Henne said. "If they’re saying that then they’re not really worried about the team, they’re not worried about what they’re going to do during their season and they’re kind of just giving themselves up. That’s just negative talk right there. So whoever it is just really doesn’t care about the team, I would say.

"If they’re complaining about that, then they don’t want to be the best they can be and that’s their own fault."

Please, don a rat-cap and wave a pom-pom with your letterman's sweater over in the bathtub gin and jazz section over in the stands where fans from the 1920s sit if any of this shocks you. This is illicit professional sports charged with the loony tribalism of the regional, sponsored by universities in the same way universities have always helped develop young talent. If computer programming majors at Georgia Tech can code until their eyes bleed, the same should apply for anyone with a sponsored talent on scholarship who wants to work extra hours. This message brought to you by the 21st century, reality, and having a fucking clue.

Debose, interrupted. Andre Debose, hamstring, perhaps surgicalized. Florida now has only Jeff Demps, Chris Rainey, Brandon James, and eight other ridiculously fast people made in a lab to replace him.

Seriously, we're not weird. Oklahoma fans, Mormons; Mormons, Oklahoma fans, though this is complete and utter reporting FAIL and you know it:

"There’s an honor code," said Brent Babcock, an Oklahoma City chiropractor who graduated from BYU in 1980. "No alcohol consumption, no tobacco, no premarital sex. Even wild man Jim McMahon honored the code."

LIES. This man had sex like he was flossing teeth: twice a day and vigorously for his health, no matter what some honor code said. To paraphrase Michael Irvin, not sharing himself with the world would have been the real crime.

We promise to wait at least eight games to fire you. Gus Malzahn has fuzzy, warm guarantees of love and affection at Auburn re: job security, meaning nothing because this is Auburn, and no one has any idea who the hell decides what. Keep you boxes packed, leave nothing in the refrigerator, and keep your car running. #nothingmakessenseatAuburnever