This is still one our our very most favorite threads on the site, ever, and as we pause to contemplate the offseason stretching before us, we realize our souls could do with some cleansing. A list of our most recent transgressions follow:
1) Of all the reasons I'm content to be rid of Kiffykins, and they are myriad, that fucking accent of his was the absolute worst. His voice made me want to take bamboo shoots to my eardrums.
1a) That said, I hope Steve Spurrier retains his 0-1 record against the little guy for all time, because that shit's funny no matter where you went to school.
2) I only took on mid-major coverage over at the Purple Y! because every other feature I'd attempted on the site so far had died a grisly death after two or three weeks and I thought I had to have some signature piece to be of any use to the operation. Now, nearly a year later, I have genuine affection in my heart for teams like Central Michigan and UTEP and Nevada and South Alabama, and would rise up with fists against any man who dared take the name of Robb Akey in vain. I'm not even kidding a little bit. I'll fucking fight you.
1) I won't miss Tim Tebow. After three years of loopy delivery, headfirst scrambling, and crying, I yearn for the polar opposite of our beloved Baby Rhino Jesus. I want a quarterback who squirts the lime in his eye, shoots tequila, and then eschews the salt for a snorted line of Ritalin huffed off the small of the back of an honors dorm student wondering how a 1500 SAT, broke parents, and a chance visit outside the dorm ever got her in this position.
I want good decision making skills on the field and horrific ones off it. I want a charismatic bastard at quarterback with zero wheels, bad hair, a refusal to wear underwear, and facial hair that would make Kenny Stabler gay. If there are quotes on his eyeblack, it will be his cellphone number to allow for easier access to his pantsular region by the ladies. If he leaves the pocket, it will be because he has just thrown a 70 yard TD, and has to go to the bench by rule.
John Brantley's not it, but who knows: a proper demon possession is something we're long overdue for at Florida, especially since Rex Grossman's reign as the Nitrous King of Gainesville is now more than ten years in the past. Holy fury was pleasant, but tiring. Give us a Doc Holliday, minus the tuberculosis, of course. Correction: keep the TB. Makes 'em sexier, and less patient for success (because things have to sort of happen, you know, sooner rather than later, man.)
2.) I don't hate Nick Saban. In fact, I am nothing short of fascinated of him, since he's a little midget Ahab who speaks ninety different variations of human and makes every single team he has play the exact same way no matter who is on the roster. Someone who can do that is both terrifying and intriguing.
3.) I love the following music belonging to other teams:
"Yea, Alabama." Because people actually sing it, and the lyrics are pleasantly anachronistic.
"Hail To The Victors." Again, you sing the lyrics with gusto, you win covert fans.
"Hold That Tiger/Tiger Rag" It is damned difficult not to hum along to, even if you're in the stadium.
4.) I don't hate Pam Ward. Not because she does a good job or doesn't do a good job, but mostly because her voice fades into the woodwork like a well-camouflaged moth. I can't recall anything she's ever said on a broadcast ever. Listening to her isn't excruciating, but is instead like eating an entire box of cornstarch-based packing peanuts: so flavorless as to evoke no reaction whatsoever.
5.) The SEC's sole difference is that we care more. Facts be damned: dispense all discussions of draft picks by conference (who gives a shit about the NFL?), conference television revenue, national titles, conference records...the only thing truly differentiating the SEC from the rest of college football is the degree of obsession. Thus the futility of engaging in any debate with an SEC fan. We invented conference monotheism, and practice it with a fervor bordering on the tribal.
You have facts? That's cute. We have concentric circles of loyalty familiar to Bedouin swordsmen and AK-47-toting guerillas alike. Cross them and the ALL CAPS come out every time no matter what happened last bowl season.
1) My last two regular sexual partners have been graduates of Tennessee and Florida.
2) I interviewed for a job at Clemson. And was really disappointed when I didn't get it.
3) I am inordinately fond of Derek Dooley and want him to succeed, on all but one day of the year.
Clear your hearts and confess your sins below. Absolutely no mockery of anyone's trespasses against the game of football will be permitted. This is a safe place, and violators will be ejected with far greater quickness than they would from an actual church. Go in peace, in the name of the father, and of the son, and of the Schnelly.