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Yesterday our phone, pawing feebly at clogged signals in Morgantown, died around 3 p.m., thus plunging us into an internet-less hole for 12 hours. The terror was palpable, but it did allow us to talk to "real people" in an "authentic environment" for "real life color." It also allowed us the opportunity of being handed moonshine in a jar that just had "red corn" and an illegible date written across the top. HINT TO HOW THIS STORY ENDS: your author clutching his chest and saying "god-fucking-dammit" in front of total strangers!

We're in transit to DC out of WV and have to drive through that scary foggy part of Maryland spotted with "WATCH FOR WILDLIFE!" signs, but the mag will be up when we can get it. Otherwise, enjoy your Sunday, and please do attend a game at West Virginia sometime if only to see Dana Holgorsen's personalized police interceptor yourself.

Oh, and the best surprise we had waiting for us when we got back was that photo of Vontaze Burfict, who is probably telling Matt Barkley what a nice person he is despite saying he was a "dirty player," and then suggesting they exchange information on Linkedin for future professional networking purposes.