WE LIVE IN CHARMED TIMES. When an NC State quarterback throwing hot dogs in the flat isn't the best moment of your Friday, you know it's a special moment in history. But yet, here we are, watching TCU remind us of that instant in life when you have to make a decision about things.
(Via.) And now a discussion of why you should just walk the hell out if you want to at the point in life's proceedings where you just start saying "bullshit" out loud involuntarily.
We really didn't have opinions about anything until the age of 17. Everything we thought was some kind of cheap reproduction of something we'd read, heard, or inherited. The rest was stimulus/response: food, sex, sleep, and the impulse to see things burned, blown up, or smashed to bits. That part's still very important. The first bit is not.
Anyway, senior pictures came around. This process is one of those automated, stupid givens in the process of leaving compulsory education along with buying a ring, a yearbook, and marking your passage by asking your parents to write checks for things you will throw in a box and forget about completely. When you find them later, you are supposed to be wistful, and have a moment. There's a script for this shit that someone has somewhere, and we never received a copy.
The guy doing the pictures just cattled people through the process. You took a picture with a gown on, then your clothes--normal crapwear for us, since we completely forgot it was happening, or never knew-and then a "flair picture." Girls wore some boa monstrosity, and guys got a leather jacket because...um, leather jacket.
So gelatinous proto-us takes a seat, and when the photographer says, "now, put on the leather jacket," some other person just says "Hell no." Not blob-us: probably 35 year old us, traveling back in time and taking the reins to put something like an actual person into the unformed mass of flesh and nerve endings sitting there.
"No, put on the jacket. Everyone does it."
"No, not me. That thing is bullshit. Get it away. It sucks."
This marks the first opinion we ever had about anything that was truly ours. What we're saying, TCU student sitting there going "um, really?", is that you can decide to just walk out at this moment, and not do this. You don't have to do any of it. This is your 400 Blows moment where you realize you can just point at something like this, politely murmur "bullshit," and run to the beach and do something you want to do. Don't sit through bullshit, and turn down the leather jackets of the world at every opportunity.
(P.S. All of this is null and void if you want to just ROCK THE SHIT out of the leather jacket photo. If not, don't. No one's making you.)
YES DABO CAN RECRUIT. He's not a genius, but son, he ain't dumb, either.
SO EVERYONE HATES MICHIGAN IN THE BIG TEN. For the record, we do not hate Michigan for many reasons. In fact, we only really hate Indiana in the Big Ten, and that's mostly because of three drunk jackasses who, in a three win season at Indiana, once poured beer on and taunted a Purdue fan because one of those three wins was over the Boiler makers. The puppies who kick smaller puppies are simply the worst.
AND STILL MORE PLAYOFF PONTIFICATION. Sharp on the zero-change benefits of the current playoff debate.
MIAMI NEWS IS USUALLY DOUBLE-EDGED BECAUSE EVERYONE ENDS UP BLEEDING. If the timing of the NCAA ruling is what it could be, well, at least there's a positive angle on it for Miami in addition to the obvious negatives.
O-LINE EROTICA. Shakin' The Southland highlights offensive linemen's favorite methods of making a 300 pound man running full speed seem like a complete and very unpleasant surprise to unfortunate defensive linemen and linebackers. (Not pictured: the evil and rare toss play isolating a cornerback on an a tackle.)
ETC: Watch this and die of mirth and insult. Happy holiday, dude we probably wouldn't ever hang out with at a bar. The saddest thing about this is that Tom Coughlin won't be able to call someone a pussy for being verifiably dehydrated. Damn you, StoryCorps. Congratulations, you are the only person without children or a grad program. Brian Floyd at the US Open, just hanging out with Tiger, NBD. Just a required rewatch every few months or so. The Highway of Tears in BC is a terrible sports town. Lil Jon is grammatically similar to the entire French population.