YOU ARE TRAPPED BENEATH A BOULDER ON AN UNMARKED TRAIL IN THE HIGH SIERRAS: STANFORD AT OREGON STATE
Dammit you thought Stanford was the one who always went to Corvallis and lost but nope, that's USC. Stanford's won their last five in a row against better Oregon State teams than this one, the one that lost 35-7 to transitional Michigan with serious offensive deficiencies.
Stanford will still regress because it is Stanford on the road. David Shaw will punt from the opponent's 30 yard line; Kevin Hogan will throw for like, eighty yards. Stanford redlined a bit against USC last week, but even a fatigued and half-committed Cardinal team should be able to sit on Oregon State until they lose hope.
This should happen sometime in the second quarter, shortly before the bears finally get whiff of your panic pheromones and find you laying helpless beneath this boulder.
YOU ARE TRAPPED IN A DIVING BELL ALONE WITH ONLY A DVD SET OF THE WEST WING TO ENTERTAIN YOU: BYU at MICHIGAN
Aaron Sorkin is the greatest children's television writer of our time. Did anyone ever really watch The West Wing, or believe people ever talked like this, or that anyone in politics is this smart or interesting or together? (Rob Lowe alone is two standard deviations above the most attractive person in Washington, DC.) Does anyone watch reruns of it, or do you just pretend to after cringing at how bad this has aged and /or how terrified you are that you ever enjoyed this? Do you watch Veep and suddenly realize how this isn't a show, but is instead someone on eight pounds of cocaine writing a demented version of a distance learning civics course on DVD?
BYU/Michigan should be a pretty good game. The West Wing is bad. You're stuck in a diving bell so after you get through BYU/Michigan you should watch it. But dammit, man, don't act like there's any other excuse to watch it. There's seven seasons of it. SEVEN. Even a few days in a decompression chamber won't get you through the whole endlessly monologuing shitpile of it all.
Aaaaaah, the subtle tradeoffs of fantastical motormouthed sexy nerds who don't exist blathering about a form of democracy that never existed. Aaron Sorkin never wrote about a fat bastard who wanted a hand job and a hunting junket for a 53rd degree subclause in the farm bill. FUCK OFF, WEST WING, AND BYU BY A FIELD GOAL.
YOU ARE TRAPPED IN THE LAST SINGLE DRY CHAMBER OF AN OTHERWISE SUNKEN SUBMARINE: MARYLAND AT WEST VIRGINIA
You're completely screwed, so you'll need someone in a similar situation to laugh at, and thus wring a few more drops of pleasure from this nasty, soiled bar rag of a life. And that's where the consolation that only Randy Edsall can provide comes in, and makes your last few hours on this earth seem somewhat less wretched, even if you are trapped in the galley of a Los Angeles-class submarine resting on the floor of the Atlantic Ocean.
YOU ARE TRAPPED ON A CLIFFSIDE CAVE WAITING OUT A LIGHTNING STORM: TENNESSEE AT FLORIDA
You'll need some sleep, as the rangers might not be there for quite some time, and it's really, really loud in there with all the thunder. Something lulling, peaceful, and punctuated by the sound of gently tumbling punts. Tennessee and Florida are by degrees the same football team, trading a few points here and there at the quarterback spot, sure, but otherwise similar in the "have running backs, have defense, and everything else shows up pretty much on a random, quantum basis."
The price of punts is going down this weekend, and it'll mostly be because the market's getting flooded by this game's supply. Watch it, and gently lull yourself to sleep as long as the giant, marauding condor who lives in the cave doesn't come back to reclaim that nest you're using as a pillow. (The condor's coming back, btw. Try to lull him to sleep with Tennessee's second-half playcalling.)
YOU ARE TRAPPED IN A CORN MAZE FILLED WITH RABID RACCOONS ON YOUR HEELS WITH NO HOPE OF ESCAPE: CAL AT WASHINGTON
You'll need to watch something fast and loud enough to distract from the panic of running and the nibbling of tiny teeth designed to open garbage cans. So yeah, let's put on Cal, the pesky, undefeated raccoon of the conference capable of biting everyone and making them insane enough to miss extra points and blow huge leads, all while being small enough to destroy IF YOU COULD JUST GET YOUR HANDS ON THE LITTLE BASTARDS. It's a Cal game, so you'll get football rabies eventually. But ohhhh, what a chase until then.
YOU ARE TRAPPED BENEATH SEVERAL HUNDRED FEET OF RUBBLE WITH GARY PATTERSON AFTER A ROGUE EARTHQUAKE STRIKES THE DFW AREA: TCU AT TEXAS TECH
Await the moment when you, in a small air pocket that somehow has cable television, watch Gary Patterson as he watches a member of his secondary get duped on a double move by a Texas Tech receiver. If the resulting explosion doesn't kill you, then the blast should clear the rubble and allow for a hasty escape on foot from the scene. If not, snuggle close to Patterson: he's a giving companion, and runs hot enough to provide significant body warmth in an otherwise frigid, hopeless situation.
Either way you're going to hopefully have enough oxygen to finish the game, which is probably the best of the week, and definitely the one you'd choose to watch before having a hotel or two fall on you.
(The rogue earthquake? Caused by fracking by T. Boone Pickens, leveling TCU, and getting Oklahoma State one step closer to Big 12 conference domination.)
YOU ARE TRAPPED IN A BURNING BUILDING IN LOS ANGELES FOLLOWING A HUGE NATURAL DISASTER, BUT ARE A CHILD OR SPOUSE OF THE ROCK: UCLA AT ARIZONA
Listen, it's gonna be okay. I know it's bad, but Daddy's coming to get you. His giant, veiny arms are currently expertly latching together a rescue harness he's going to dangle off the side of a helicopter. You'll almost reach it, and then almost fall, and then Daddy's going to have to say dammit, back off, Charlie, because we're gonna have to go to plan B.
Plan B involves Dwayne The Rock Johnson curling his massive thighs around the landing ski of the helicopter, and dangling upside down until he can reach you. Now this may seem unsound, especially because the building, well, it's gonna start collapsing for no discernible reason, because buildings just seem to do that when he's around. But he's got you, even if Plan B has no safety backups, no emergency harnesses, and is in fact way, way more dangerous than doing nothing, and seeing if you survive the fire.
Grab his hand. Daddy's here, and he knows you can do it.
Now you'll slip a little. Be sure to scream -- this doesn't help, but you have to do it. Struggle for no reason, and then feel Dwayne The Rock Johnson's mighty, tribal-tatted arms enfolding you in the kind of love he can show you at last now that the first 45 minutes of this film have put his crazy commitment to duty and his job in perspective. Things are gonna be different now, sweetie. Once we get out of this, it's all gonna be different.
He hugs you. Dwayne The Rock Johnson puts his lips to your ear and whispers something you'll never, ever forget:
"Pac-12 night games are poison, and only a syphilitic fool bets on them."
The helicopter roars towards the ocean. For the first time in your life, you feel safe.
YOU ARE TRAPPED IN A PAC-12 GIG BY YOUR PREVIOUS HABIT OF JOB-HOPPING AND ARE ENJOYING SUCCESS BUT REALLY DON'T WANT TO PLATEAU BEFORE GETTING ANOTHER SHOT AT A BIG-TIME JOB YOU'RE SECRETLY CRAVING BUT CAN'T ACTIVELY PURSUE DUE TO THAT AFOREMENTIONED REPUTATION AS A DISLOYAL JOB-HOPPING CAREERIST: USC AT ARIZONA STATE
Does this describe you? Well it definitely doesn't describe Todd Graham, who'd probably want to win this game anyway, but should feel extra motivated to win because losing to a USC team that just got paved by Stanford would look real bad in general, and super bad for your future job prospects elsewhere. Not that you're Todd Graham, or that Todd Graham would even be thinking about this stuff. Nope. Not him.