Flogging Mollie

So my local newspaper sportswriter has struck again. I promised I wasn’t going to browbeat the guy any more for his missteps, but . . . I guess I lied.

In today’s Virginian-Pilot, Bob Molinaro has once again littered the Sports section with drivel, and in this case, it’s indefensible. From the get-go: his column is entitled “More College Games on TV is Not Necessarily a Good Thing.” I cringed at first read, knowing all too well that the 666 words contained within (not a joke; not a coincidence) would evoke fist-clenching and teeth-gnashing.

I knew what was coming, for I have been reading Mollie’s stuff for way too long. He’s in his third decade of writing for the Pilot, and he hasn’t aged gracefully. Instead of donning the robes of a senior statesman and venerable elder like a Shirley Povich, over the years Bob Molinaro has absorbed the persona of a whiny old crankpot, a cantankerous curmudgeon with some sort of misdirected shoulder chip. I feel like I’m reading a third-rate Tony Kornheiser – in an era where even Tony himself is a pale shadow of his once-worthy self.

And so we venture through the barren wasteland of sports insight that’s today’s piece. The column asserts that the recent all-day, all-night college basketball extravaganza was a pointless exercise. It further attests that there are far too many college basketball games on television these days. Specifically, it highlights the fact that “292 ACC games will be on some form of television,” following it up with “But is more really better? I don't think so. More is just more.” Ugh.

He goes on to include the following assessments:

“Perhaps, too, the unintended consequence of ESPN's marathon is to remind jaded viewers that between now and March they can expect a glut of meaningless basketball games.”

“Many things are more enjoyable in smaller portions.”

“Attempting to digest basketball's TV schedule is like walking down an aisle at Costco past the industrial-sized containers of condiments. You like mayonnaise, but when you see it displayed in two-gallon jars, you feel indigestion coming on.”

And really, I could have included the entire segment. But somewhere in the mix, Bob tried to slip this one by me:

“I say this as a life-long fan of college basketball. I like eating chocolate, too, but not five times a day.”

No. Herein lies my problem with this article, Mr. Molinaro. If the words you wrote were uttered by my sister at dinner, by my co-worker between meetings, even by my dad flipping through channels, my jockeys would be obscuring my buns rather than ‘twixt cheeks in a knotted, painful, thong-like bunch. But the words were printed in a mass-circulation publication in a section labeled SPORTS. I expect a little – no, a lot more from you.

I want my network news anchors to be utter newshounds. I want them to eat, drink, breathe, sleep and sweat news. I want them to know so much about history that friends and acquaintances call them at all hours of the day just to settle bets, and to know so much about current events that their beer buddies nickname them “CNN.” I want them to have educated opinions on everything news-related – tempered with loads of historical perspective.

I want my rock critics to know much more than I do about music, and I think I know quite a bit. I want them to be able to tell me that a new Old 97’s album is in the works within 48 hours of Rhett Miller calling Ken Bethea to talk about it. I want them at a show three nights a week, to know things like why Adam Ant reversed the D’s when he would write ADAM AND THE ANTS, and to – at all times – be able to steer me towards unheard gems.

And dammit, man, I want my sportswriters to be insatiable sports addicts. I want sports on their brains at every waking moment . . . and also the backdrop in the every dream. I want them to secretly think that the NBA season isn’t long enough. I want them to call the day prior to and the day after the Midsummer Classic “Black Monday” and “Black Wednesday.” I want them to have a new take on tired topics, have a running schedule of must-see sports on the tube or in person, and run the company’s expense budget ragged by attending sporting events all year long. I want them more rabid than any mere fan, and I want the prose they put forth to exude sports fanaticism. Factor in a cool perspective bred of a supremely vast historical knowledge, and these are the people I want to read.

Maybe it’s just me. Maybe the same folks who elected a guy president simply because “he seems like one of us, like he’d be a good fella to have a beer with” instead of actual inspiration want their sports columnists to be more everyman-ish, more average Joe – a casual fan just like them.

I think that’s bunk of the highest order. That column is a privilege. A pedestal. You’re there because you have two things going for you: (1) You can write. You put words together in a way that turns pages. (2.) You know sports in and out, up and down; you spend all of your time watching, writing, talking, and thinking about sports; and you bring to light the finer points the casual fans might miss.

Why does it matter? Because when sports columnists have that rare combination of wisdom, zeal, style and skill, they can elevate in the public an awareness, a sensibility, and a passion for all things sports. The best newsmen and newswomen keep you wanting to know more about what’s up in the world. The best music gurus can make you dust off the old stuff, dig up the new stuff, and get off your hind quarters and go see live music. The best sportswriters make the games pertinent, make them more interesting, keep you plugged into it all, and reveal an overt joy for the material in all that they do, say, and write.

So “Terrell Owens is a pain in the neck and a distraction to the team” doesn’t do it for me, Bob. “The Fighting Irish have problems bigger than Charlie Weis” starts to get a tiny smidge closer. (Although not including the barb “but no beltlines” was a missed opportunity.) Predicting the Skins would beat the Broncos was even better, going against the grain; that you pegged Kyle Orton as a major reason why proved fallible, and the thinly veiled, self-congratulatory “aw shucks, I’m not really a genius” cowpie of a column that followed undid much of that momentum, unfortunately.

And now this. Too much college basketball on TV? Oh, my. Are we longingly lamenting the demise of the days of three channels on the air giving us one basketball game a week and the knob we had to turn with our hands on the B/W with rabbit ears? If you really were a sports enthusiast in the truest sense or even a "life-long fan," you’d be telling us that there’s no such thing as too much basketball on the telly. You’d insinuate, as you did in today’s column that the hoops marathon was “ESPN gimmickry,” but you’d revel in it, anyway. Just as you’d wax poetic in March about “hope springing eternal” on the diamond, you’d be giddy with college pitball galore this week. Yes, many of the games aren’t must-see TV in the competitive or monumental way, but how fun is it for an otherwise national-broadcast-deprived I-A hoops program to get a little airtime? How fun is it to see a game played at 6AM? How fun is it just to be kicking off a new season? It all starts to get the college basketball juices flowing, and it should spark some interest in our sportswriters to do a little research and tell us who looks good on the local and national landscapes this season. But, no.

And too many games on TV this season? Piffle. I’m not suggesting you have to TiVo, watch, and critique every one of them. But how awesome is it that you have such a huge assortment of choices available? As analogies go, don’t equate this to the restaurant with a menu that’s too large. You have three minutes to make a meal choice, and some menus are indeed too big. But if that was your menu from now until the first week of April, wouldn’t you bask in the 10-page Bennigan’s-style book of food rather than a one-pager?

My decision to renew the Extra Innings package every year has increasingly become something you could file under “financially asinine,” and this season in particular should have scared me off. By March, though, I just know I’ll be plunking down way too much money for the awesomeness of over 1,000 baseball games available for my viewing. 1,000 baseball games. Is more really better? Hell, yes, you cretin. Am I going to watch 1,000 baseball games? Of course not. But I grew up lucky to get WWOR as a basic cable bonus for a couple of years, catching a Mets game here and there and wishing like mad for more. With the package, 140-150 Mets games are right there for me. And Red Sox games to see how Rob’s mental health is at the moment, and Yankee games so I can recall how Michael Kay’s voice could drive a man to mass murder, and just all those frickin’ games. I take the remote and stroll up and down the dial, rolling around in all that baseball like Woody Harrelson in all that money in Indecent Proposal. It’s not an “overcrowded schedule.” It’s absolute luxury, because I love baseball, and I love sports.

ACC basketball (not football, mind you) is great viewing. Top to bottom a competitive conference with a lot of history. More ACC hoops on TV is better to many, many people. Their local sports guy telling them it’s not is mind-numbing.

Bob, I sense that you aren’t Mr. Crabby-pants about sports so frequently in real life, that you do still revel in the concept. That maybe you’ve tapped into a persona that suits you. So show us the real you. Make us love it as much as you do. But if you’re not . . . if this is you, if you feel that all that basketball clogs the airwaves and precludes you from seeing . . . whatever other dreck is passing for actual television content these days, then please stop writing. Please step down, become sportswriter emeritus, and let someone else with an unquenchable thirst for sports and everything about it do your job. They’re out there, giddily tuning in, rooting for one side or the other, and celebrating an era when technology gives us sports overload.

Not bemoaning . . . celebrating.


[And I aim to put my money where my mouth is later today with an enthusiastic post about sports (and otherwise).]

Fuck your shoe...

I don't post here often during the week because I'd have to get up extra early to beat the normal morning filler posts that TJ slaves over each night. Plus, between shaving my head, trimming my beard and electing a few popes, well my morning's pretty well full. However, I don't want you to think I'm just college football posts and banned material. No, no. I'm far more than that. When I was "working" from home I often posted about a wide variety of things...basketball, drugs, Ric Flair and...yeah, that's about it. I'm sure I've touched on a few other topics during my tumultuous time here at Gheorghe, but my memory is not what it once was and I don't much feel like combing through the archives.

While this post does is definitely basketball related, basketball plays but a bit part in things. Instead, I bring you this morning Youtube clip in the hopes of adding a little humor, a bit of a smile and a sprinkling of crazy to your Thursday morning. Who better to bring all of these things to the table the Ron Artest? He is truly an artist and crazy is his medium.

Most of you probably missed this clip since it happened late Sunday night, and closet racists like Rob, Whitney and Zoltan hate the NBA and everyone associated with it. (Except for Stu Jackson of course, they love that fucking guy.) Anyway, enjoy the comedic stylings of Ron Ron the Rottweiler...and have a good Thursday.

Q: Are We Not Men? A: We Are G:TB

Seems like a higher and higher percentage of the concerts I see these days fall under the "Reunion Tour" heading. Over the last decade or so, I've witnessed the reformations of quite a few acts, highlighted by the E Streeters' impressive return in '99. That one was so brilliant that they've stayed mostly together (RIP Danny Federici) ever since. Others . . . well, not quite so brilliant, but in most cases they deliver.

The Bruce shows were big news and big events, as was The Who's 6th or 7th "Farewell Tour" that I saw in 1996, but little re-groupings like the Violent Femmes in 2007 have proven nearly as enjoyable. There have been bands off minor hiatuses like the Black Crowes coming back in '05, and bands back together after 20+ years like The Police in '07. There are the ones nearly nobody else here has heard of (New Potato Caboose and Indecision last year, The Connells in 2006), the ones only the alt-rock dweebs would appreciate (Camper van Beethoven in 2001, Pixies in 2004, Fishbone in 2005), and the ones that were so killer that I can't properly convey the coolness (The Pogues in '06, Random Idiots in '04). Man . . . it's rampant.

Oh, yeah, before all of this I saw The Monkees' reunion at Norfolk Scope in the mid-eighties. Peter Tork kicked ass.

Some folks have a differeing viewpoint than I on this stuff -- they see sad, aging, debatably washed-up musicians trying to cash in one last go-'round. Pathetic. While they'll touch on some truth in such an assessment, the world isn't so rich in top-tier rock and roll concerts that I'll discount Part Deux regroupings just because it's been a while.

So long as they aren't trying to carry on without integral members, I'm in. I'm looking at you, INXS, The Cars, Alice in Chains, and, as we covered extensively, The Beach Boys. You don't see incomplete, rather phony versions of The Beatles, The Clash, Queen, Nirvana, The Ramones, or The Jackson 5 touring these days, thank the Lord. Come on. The dudes are dead.

Among the inane conversations Rob and I have had after many a beverage, some time ago we threw out there a number of bands we'd like to see re-group for a tour. Since that time, a handful of them actually have. I'm still holding out for The Kinks, Talking Heads, Uncle Tupelo, The Replacements (minus dead Bob), The Jam, The Smiths, R.E.M. (playing old stuff with Bill Berry back), and even some lesser-knowns -- risking more mockery for rock snobbery again, but oh, well -- like Hoodoo Gurus, Squeeze, the English Beat, and Norfolk's own Waxing Poetics. Oh, and Wham! In some cases, it'll never ever happen, but further estranged bedfellows have gotten under the sheets in the last decade or so. (Note the absence of a potshot there directed at anyone from our sister blog.)

So go catch a newly re-formed older act sometime. Here and there I've been missing some highly publicized tours of KISS, the Sex Pistols, Jane's Addiction, Eagles, etc -- or in some cases, I wouldn't say I've been missing them, Bob. But by and large I've been sucked in like a tractor beam by bands I thought would never get back together.


Like Devo. Who are touring for the first time since 1990 or so, who played at the 9:30 Club in DC on Sunday & Monday night, and whom I saw Sunday.

Devo . . . best known for "Whip It," yellow rubber jumpsuits, and tripod hats. And geekiness galore. If you file acts like They Might Be Giants and Weezer under "geek rock," the genre is pretty much defined by Devo. In 1978, they were five pencil-necked inspirations for the Louis Skolnick character in Revenge of the Nerds. In 2009, they are five fiftysomething, pot-bellied, graying . . . inspirations for Louis Skolnick's dad.

Back then, they also made very good music, and they're still doing it. Sunday night was packed at the 9:30, as full as I've ever seen it. The place was filled with aging nerds in tripod hats, music snobs like myself, and lots of curious sorts. Great stuff.

Three things Devo did that are common downsides to the reunion tour: 1. They played the shortest set I've heard in quite some time. (A little less than an hour.) 2. They're playing the same thing night in and night out, with a few exceptions. 3. They are playing albums in their entirety, meaning other great hits are omitted.

You see, they are promoting the soon-to-be-released deluxe editions of their two biggest albums, so they play two shows in each town on the tour: the first show features their first album played start-to-finish with a 2-song encore, the second show does the same for the other one. I get it, these guys are old and not terribly athletic (see the video below for evidence), so they can't combo it. But after so long, "Whip It," "Freedom of Choice," "That's Good," and a few others should really be played every night. (Sunday night showcased their first album, Q: Are We Not Men? A: We Are Devo.)

But even though a few points will be docked for these concert no-no's, it was still a highly worthy trip to the local music saloon. The energy was super-high, they sounded very good, and the old songs do hold up, despite being very much of that era.

Best songs: their cover of "(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction," "Come Back Jonee," "Gut Feeling," "Gates of Steel," and especially the story of the boy with "one chromosome too man-y, "Mongoloid" . . . as seen below in a show a week or two ago.





...and now for something completely deranged. This is Neil Young's "Hey Hey, My My" as performed by Neil and Devo in a bizarre, post-apocalyptic 1982 film called Human Highway (featuring Neil Young, Devo, Dennis Hopper, and Dean Stockwell). Devo are wearing creepy-assed masks and doing weird stuff, per usual. How they crossed paths with Neil Young is anybody's guess, but supposedly this song's inspirations had a lot to do with Neil's shared vision of de-evolution (Devo for short), at least in rock & roll. Weird, wacky stuff.

Neil Young & Devo

Paul | MySpace Video

G:TB Confessional

Bless me Gheorghe, for I have sinned. I've waited 32 years for my first confession:

1. Over the weekend, I yelled at my 9 month-old for "crying just to piss me off".

2. Sunday night I turned off the TV because the Pats game was "over" with 6 minutes to play. But then last night stayed up to watch the entire Ravens-Browns game because I had Ray Rice on my fantasy team.

3. During the 6:00 AM Monmouth game this morning, I commented to my 2-year old that a referee made a good call and "the player shouldn't get so angry at the referee - he's just doing his job".

4. On the way to work this morning, The Eagles came on the radio...and I didn't change the station.

5. While in line at Starbucks, I told my sales Vice-President, and Carolina fan, that Roy Williams is a good coach...

6. Twice this morning on a conference call I used the phrase, "It is what it is"...and meant it.

7. When a colleague told me today she was volunteering at a home, I asked if it was for "Oldies or Specials"...and still don't really feel bad about it.

8. I don't think Kari Wurher is all that good looking. But kept Vanna White in my masturbatorial roladex filed under "A" from the ages of 11-13.

9. I really didn't give it 110% during lunch time hoops today. I didn't play any help defense, made no attempt to blockout, and, on most posessions, settled for jumpers instead of working for a better shot.

10. I made up at least half of these items to get this post to an even 10.

I'll await your penance...

Off to the Great Armchair in the Sky. RIP, Mr. Ober

As an adolescent in the late 1980's, I was glued to MTV. They were my pop culture beacon. I think I admired Pauly Shore, I know I didn't think Adam Curry's hair was weird and I loved the young ladies on the screen. From the Go Gos to the girl in the Warrant video that had a piece of cherry pie fall in her crotch to every woman who ever appeared in a Van Halen video. I loved them all. But one special lady stood out. And her name was Kari Wuhrer. She was the gratuitous T&A on the grossly entertaining game show Remote Control. She was only 20 years old and had not yet begun her death spiral into Cinemax late-night films, science fiction flops and horror flicks. She was young and nubile and sorta slutty, and was a pleasant visual contrast to the ugly but hilarious bits by Adam Sandler, Colin Quinn and Denis Leary. She was the Nicole Eggert of MTV. A hot, barely legal woman who peaked before she turned 21 and then slowly slid downhill into the dark side of minor Hollywood fame. And probably got a venereal disease from Scott Baio somewhere along the way.

As we come to terms with Mr. Ober's passing yesterday from a heart attack at the age of 52, let's pause for a moment to reflect on that show, a bizarre snapshot of pop culture from 1987-1990.

(somber pause)

Now let's remember Ms. Wuhrer, before she did this. Or this. Or this. Let's remember her in her barely legal glory. Thank you Ken Ober for helping keep the show together for a few years to allow 13 year-olds from New Jersey to enjoy the Kari Wuhrer era.

I continue to detest the Titans

Bud Adams clearly read G:TB's Bills/Titans preview. Here's his response.



Note that Frank Wycheck, he who threw the infamous spot pass to Kevin Dyson, is emblazoned below Adams' luxury box. Is there not a more prominent Titan to post on such a prominently placed placard?

Hat tip to Geoff for bringing this to my attention.

JaMarcusian Efforts

Do the Raiders have a QB coach? If so, he should be fired for his JaMarcusian efforts at teaching JaMarcus Russell how to throw a football. A Google image search for "jamarcus russell throws off his back foot" gives you this:

I never played organized football, but I'm pretty sure that this isn't acceptable form for a Pop Warner QB, let alone an NFL starter. Bend your knees for God's sake.

Do the Raiders have a conditioning coach? If so, he should be fired for his JaMarcusian efforts at getting JaMarcus Russell into shape. The same Google search yielded this gem:

I'm 35, I sit in front of a computer all day, I drink beer often, I eat tons of fried food, and I'm generally out of shape. And I still look like less of a schlub than this guy.

I don't put much stock in QB ratings, but JaMarcus Russell's performance this year is extremely JaMarcusian. His weekly passer ratings are 47.6, 46.0, 22.6, 48.5, 85.4, 68.2, 31.1, 56.8, and 45.8. And that 85.4 gem? A 44-7 loss to the Giants in which JaMarcus went 8/13 for 100 yards, 0 TD and 0 INT. Through 9 games he has 1067 yards, 2 TD, 9 INT, and a 47.1% completion percentage. That's 118.6 yards, 0.22 TD, and 1 INT per game. The guy averages less than a quarter of a TD per game! Amazing. He's on pace for 1897 yards, 3.56 TD, and 16 INT for the year.

Which begs the question, who is worse at his job: JaMarcus, his coach, or his trainer? Is anyone else on earth worse at their job than one of these three guys?

Picks, Dicks and Nicks

If there is anything that closeted Republicans like more than cock it's black cock. I'm not sure why it works this way, but anything Republicans hate also turns them on like nobody's business. Thus, when Geoff hears Verne Lundquist repeatedly using the words "Urban" and "Cock" this afternoon, he's probably going to have to excuse himself, lest the vision of Steve McNair's cinnabon be too much for him to handle.

Geoff's a pro though, I'm sure he'll just head on down to Reagan National for a little men's room two-step. Hey...everybody's got their own way of dealing with their personal issues. TJ double fists bacon cheeseburgers, Whitney brags about his drinking escapades, Rob makes delicious cookies with some of his friends from inside a tree and...Geoff lets young black men have their way with him. To each their own.

Iowa (+13) @ Ohio State: I don't like the thought of Ohio State in the Rose Bowl any more than the next guy, but I'd rather see that than have to watch Iowa get rolled by 4 TDs in Pasadena late on New Year's Day. Anyone remember what the Rose Bowl was like a couple years ago when Illinois played USC? Yeah, well, that game's a barn burner in comparison to what would happen to Iowa against Oregon or USC. Iowa's not good. Not even close. They've almost lost to the likes Northern Iowa and Indiana...and last week they lost to Northwestern. Now, I don't think Ohio State is very good either but they have better athletes and a deeper team than Iowa, and its not even close. Ohio State wins comfortably, Terelle Pryor throws for less than 150 yards and completes under 50% of his passes.

Florida State (+6) @ Wake Forest: Wake Forest absolutely has Bobby Bowden's number. Which is a good thing because Bobby lost his number and can't find his keys. It'd be extremely helpful if somebody at Wake could call Bobby's wife and have her come and pick him up. He's overdue for his early afternoon pre-nap nap. This week the national media has made a big deal of Bowden not knowing the score of last week's FSU-Clemson game late in the 4th quarter or whether or not the Noles actually even took the lead back from Clemson in the 4th quarter. The people who find this remarkable have clearly never seen Bowden's Sunday morning postgame show. Bowden's been stumbling through that thing since I was 10. He never knows anyone's name, save for maybe his QB. He can't describe the plays accurately and generally stumbles around until Gene Deckeroff just decides to start narrating plays and identifying players with Bowden occasionally chiming in to tell you that a certain player's Mom makes a great sweet potato pie or that he just crapped in his depends. People...Bowden's been a complete and total trainwreck for years. He doesn't know the gameplan, he doesn't know his players and he doesn't know where he's at half the time. I'll tell you what he does know though...FSU's not beating Wake.


Alabama (-14) @ Mississippi State: Did you hear the latest SEC rumor? Nick Saban paid those freshman at Tennessee to commit armed robbery this past week. Yeah, that's the word flying around SEC message boards. You know what's not a rumor...When Saban rapes the little Thai boys he keeps in his basement, he does it while wearing nothing but his straw Alabama hat...but he makes the boys wear houndstooth hats. Nick Saban is sick fucking puppy, folks. Mississippi State's going to keep this close deep into the 4th quarter but much like those little Thai boys they'll still end up under Nick Saban covered in their own blood and Nick's feces. Bulldogs cover, Bama wins.



Florida (-15) @ South Carolina: To borrow a phrase from Orson Swindle, this is a matchup between "the nation's grumpiest 9-0 fanbase versus the coach who first allowed them to be the nation's grumpiest 9-0 fanbase". He's right, Florida fans are insufferable right now. Go to any Gator message board and all you'll read are posts asking (or in many cases telling) what's wrong with the offense, and often, the team in general. Now, I'm not in love with this team like I was last year's but at some point it gets to be a bit much when every single win is followed by a couple pages of angry posts asking for the OC to be fired or changes to the OLine or begging Tebow to go out and get laid, if only to "relieve the pressure".

As for this game, it worries me. I worries me deeply, in places I don't like to talk about at cocktail parties. You see, its easy to think about the last two times these teams have played each other and surmise that this is going to be a blowout. However, that would be shortsighted and naive.

The first two times these coaches took each other on, the games ended up changing the course of the each Gator season and, in both cases, the direction of the football program as a whole. We all remember the blocked FG from 2006 (most stressful game EVER) that propelled Florida to an SEC title and, eventually, the National Championship.



However, many people don't know the full story about the first time Meyer and Spurrier faced each other in Columbia. Florida lost to South Carolina that day, and it was ugly. Anemic offense, soft defense and sloppy play on special teams all contributed to an embarrassing loss in Columbia that day. However, what transpired afterward forever changed the face of the Florida program under Urban Meyer. There was what Meyer calls a "come to Jesus" meeting on the plane as it sat on the tarmac in Gainesville late that Saturday afternoon. The meeting lasted a couple hours and at the end of it some players were demoted from starting positions, other players were kicked off the team outright and there were, if the rumors are to be believed, a few punches thrown between various players from opposing factions within the team. As regrettable as some of that may have been, from that point on, Florida's football program has steadily on the rise. A loss today in Columbia certainly wouldn't erase all that progress, but it would severely damage the goals and hopes of a senior led football team that's just finally starting to get everyone healthy. If Florida's going to announce that they're "back" to the rest of the nation, today would be a good time to do it. I'd like to see that, but I'm not betting on it. Not with South Carolina's pass rush (and not with Carlos Dunlap and Jermaine Cunningham both recovering from ankle injuries...seriously though, everyone else is pretty healthy...I swear). Carolina covers.

Official Mid-November G:TB College Football (D)opus

If it's mid-November, it's time to wallow in NCAA Football's annual fizzle to the finish. If college football is the second biggest sports league going (with the NFL being first), it's amazing how it can get away ending so badly every year. Computers, whiny coaches, whiny reporters, whiny schools, ignorant pollsters, blah-fucking-blah. If you're like me, you end up rooting for outcomes that create a debate-free conclusion to the season because you're so fed up with the nonsense. Ever since Penn State got jobbed in 1994, I've loathed the ambiguity of each season's climax. Of course, if you're really like me, you also like foreign objects in your rectum. But that's a story for another time.

So the New Jersey branch of G:TB thought we would look at the remaining schedules of the undefeated teams and opine on a likely national champion. Much to our chagrin, we didn't land on Rutgers.

So what do we have here? We have a lot of teams in the hunt with odd non-conference games late in the season. Florida vs. FIU? Alabama vs. Chattanooga? Cincy vs. Illinois? Those first two match-ups suck. I want trap games, heated rivalries and potential pitfalls. Not pastings of chumps. I like the Illinois game as a spoiler. But then again, I also like eating Campbell's Tomato with Rice soup out of the can with a spoon, like tomato jello. It's good and it's cheap and it only involves one thing to wash. Besides these crappy games, we have a few potential spoilers. The match-ups favor a Texas-Florida finale, but it ain't that simple. Let's see how the teams line up.

#1 - Florida:
11/14: @ South Carolina
11/21: FIU (is this a real school?)'
11/28: Florida State
12/5: Alabama (SEC Championship)

Undefeated Season Chances: Gators will destroy a demoralized group of cocks and whoop it up on FIU and FSU, bringing them undefeated into the SEC Championship. Many people think it's a toss-up between the Gators and the Crimson Tide. But the non-Floridian contingent among the executive staff here thinks that Tide will roll pretty handily over the Gators in Atlanta, if only because we like Bama's uniforms more. We would give the Gators better odds, but Gator Nation still needs to prove that Tebow can walk on water, as has been rumored in Gainesville.


#2 - Texas:
11/14: @ Baylor
11/21: Kansas
11/26: @ Texas A&M
12/5: Big 12 Championship?

Undefeated Season Chances: Strong, to very strong, just like this guy's portfolio. We would've liked Kansas more as an upset option if it hadn't shat the bed so ferociously the last six weeks. Four straight losses is atrocious. Rock. Chalk. Suck balls. So Texas will sail past a shit sandwich Huskers or Wildcats squad into the national championship, allowing us more shots of Colt's lady-friend, like the one above. And the one below. But we'll also get more shots of Mack Brown and those ass-brown uniforms. Any shots of Mack Brown is too much.


Alabama:
11/14: @ Mississippi State
11/21: Chattanooga
11/27: @ Auburn
12/5: Florida (SEC Championship)
Undefeated Season Chances: See above.

Undefeated Season Chances: We don't like the Tide to make it through this gauntlet, easy as it may appear. We have pulled out our Sharpies and circled the Black Friday game against Auburn. The Tigers had a 3-game whiff in mid-October, but are back on track after a nail-biter against Furman. We think the Tigers will knock off Georgia this weekend and scheme up a plan to put Alabama on their ass the day after Thanksgiving. You heard it here first.


TCU:
11/14: Utah
11/21: @ Wyoming
11/28: New Mexico

Undefeated Season Chances: We think TCU will get caught by the 25 year-old Utahns this weekend. The ghost of Moroni will haunt the Christian heathens from Texas. And who can root for a Horned Frog, anyway?

Cincinnati:
11/13: West Virginia
11/27: Illinois
12/5: @ Pitt

Undefeated Season Chances: We don't see the Bearcats getting through this interesting stretch, even if Dave Wannstedt's face figures prominently in one of them. The Tony Pike vs. Zach Collaros debate will become more of a distraction than the new-to-the-big-time-Bearcats can take. Too bad Bob Huggins isn't around to do something gross and unethical to attract attention. Again. Cincy goes down at Pitt in December, and they may go down to our favorite water-skiing coach in November.



Boise State:
11/14: Idaho
11/20: @ Utah State
11/27: Nevada
12/5: New Mexico State

Undefeated Season Chances: Strong, even though they no longer have Ian Johnson in the lineup. How old is this guy? I feel like he played there all decade? Unfortunately, we don't see an undefeated Boise squad cracking into the top two slots. They seem destined to be this year's undefeated "small" conference team to play in a BCS bowl. But let's be honest here. One win over a decent Oregon squad can only carry them so far. The rest of their victories are against a motley crew of chump squads (Tulsa, Miami of Ohio, Bowling Green, Cal-Davis, etc.). Inconvenience for you, I'm sorry. Don't overlook the Nevada game on 11/27. Both teams are undefeated in conference play, and the game could be for all the WAC marbles.

Conclusion:
So, if you've done the math here, you'll see an undefeated Texas team facing off against a one-loss Alabama team for the title, and you'll watch it on a terrible Fox broadcast because they think you can buy the rights and hire Barry Switzer and everything will be great. No it won't. The coverage will suck. Like it always does. Florida will be pissed because they have a higher quality loss than Alabama, but nobody will care because Urban Meyer is a smarmy jackass hiding behind a thin veil of benevolence.

Happy watching, gents. Here's one more shot of Ms. Glandorf for you folks. You've seen it before, but there's nothing wrong with seeing it again.

CAA Action -- It's . . . not bad

Well, good friends, it's that time of year again. It's time for the cagers to reach for that initial tip, whatever that means. It's November -- turkey time in America, and for a generation or two there have been few bigger turkeys than the College of William & Mary's men's basketball program. The last few years, however, have been a period of aberration, the occasional blip on the radar when the Tribe men's hoops program emerges from the muck and reaches plateaus of competence, even aptitude. Okay, it was one very good year in 2008, and then last year they were back to 10-20 and suck a-plenty.

Tonight kicks off the 2009-10 season for the green and gold, and what better way to do it than with a patty-cake opponent like . . . UConn? Really? Well, it's Friday the 13th, so maybe anything can happen. (It can't.)

But this nearly-annual Tribe futility has only been happening since the early 80's. In 1983, the first year of the Colonial Athletic Association (though it was still called the ECAC South for two years), the William & Mary Indians swept the regular season and . . . lost in the championship tourney final. Unfortunately, William & Mary men's hoops would find itself in the same company as Kajagoogoo, SMU, Richard Chamberlain, Vanessa Williams, Ralph Sampson, UVA men's basketball, "Remington Steele," Sally Ride, the USFL, "Manimal," the DeLorean, and Dexy's Midnight Runners: the successes of 1983 would be fleeting and followed by a quick, long slide downhill into the abyss.

Long before then, however, the College of William & Mary in Virginia was something of a basketball factory. Okay, well, the College could at least compete -- to wit, the all-time NCAA single-game rebound champion is Bill Chambers, William & Mary Indian. Chambers had 53 rebounds on Valentine's Day, 1953. (It's rumored he nailed his ex-girlfriend's sister that night for #54.) This feat has always been a conversation piece for W&M students and alums; if you're at all familiar with Tribe athletics, you know Bill Chambers' claim to fame.

But it raised a question for me: why do we all know his name, but very, very few of us know Jeff Cohen's? Cohen's career mark of 2000 pts/1500 rebs is far more impressive than a one-night performance . . . Is it because Chambers later coached at his alma mater (presumably inflating his own legend by making sure the undergrads knew of the feat)? Is it because he did it against UVA? I don't know. I think it comes down to two things: (1) William & Mary athletes are so very rarely #1 in anything ("Thriller" does NOT count), and (2) no matter how stat-geeky the College's grads are, they still can be wooed by one night of (probably contrived) glory.

Here's the thing, though: Jeff Cohen deserves his due. I just looked this up, and here are every one of the players with 2,000 points and 1,500 boards in their NCAA careers:

Tim Duncan, Wake Forest
Malik Rose, Drexel
Derrick Coleman, Syracuse
Ralph Sampson, UVA
Elvin Hayes, Houston
Jeff Cohen, your College of William & Mary Indians
Elgin Baylor, Seattle
Joe Holup, GWU
Dickie Hemric, Wake Forest
Tom Gola, LaSalle

Pretty amazing company. (Joe Holup's name evokes chills, yes.) I know the pre-1973 game was different -- someone smarter than I can explain how -- but they didn't asterisk Roger Maris for having 8 more games. And like I alluded to, Top 10 in anything for the Tribesters is huge. Jeff Cohen should be a household name. (A W&M fraternity household, that is.)

* * * * *

Did You Know???
Chuck Swenson, who coached the Tribe from 1987-1994, holds the record for lowest career winning percentage for W&M coaches (.316) since Samuel Hubbard went 4-9 in the peach basket era (1916-1917). His in-conference work was even worse; his 27-71 (.275) mark is unfathomable in modern college sports, perhaps the DiMaggio 56-untouchable record of Tribe basketball. Swenson, like G:TB founder Rob, stands about 5'3". I'm just saying.

Surprisingly, however, Tony Shaver, whom we all seem to continually appreciate at the helm, is in the conversation. His Tribe teams are 65-113 (.367) overall, 33-76 (.302) in-conference. He's one cellar-dwelling year before it's neck-and-neck for the all-time dishonor. Let's hope against hope that it doesn't happen.

* * * * *

Did You Know??? Part 2
Hubie Brown was an assistant coach at William & Mary in 1968. Yep, Hubie Brown.

Greek Week at G:TB

I hate the Titans more than any NFL team. I hate their flaming logo. I hate Jeff Fisher’s hick mustache/mullet combo and the inordinate amount of respect he gets despite having a 0.544 career record. I hate watching the ugly brand of football they’ve played for the past dozen years. I hated Jevon Kearse in his first stint with the Titans. I hated all the undue media fellation bestowed unto Steve McNair with his 6.9 ypa and Eddie George with his 3.6 ypc. I hate Derrick Mason, the worst 10,000 yard receiver of all time.

But my hatred for the Titans was truly born on January 8, 1999, the day when that which the mainstream media and other peckerless douchewads refer to as the “Music City Miracle” occurred. I freely admit that this hatred is stupid. Completely irrational. It’s just a game. The Bills couldn’t have won it all. The Titans are a bland franchise without a storied history, completely unworthy of my disdain. But I can’t shake it. I hated Bud Adams’ postgame comment that he had never seen anything like the “Home Run Throwback” play before. (Which is total horseshit. Unit M’s A-side intramural team ran that play in 1996. The Redskins ran it with Desmond Howard and Darrell Green, too.) I hate watching replays of that spot pass. It’s like the Zapruder film, you can’t really tell what happened. It always, and rightfully, appears on “Top 10” lists. And I know I’ll have to watch it multiple times before this weekend’s Bills/Titans tilt.

The team that plays in Tennessee doesn’t deserve to be called the Titans. To make my case I need to enlist the aid of Thomas Bulfinch, a Harvard-educated accountant who lived in Boston in the nineteenth century. In his free time, he summarized classic stories “in simple, condensed form for young or busy readers.” Kind of like what we do here at G:TB. Bulfinch’s most famous work, “Bulfinch’s Mythology,” was given to me by my grandmother when I was about 8 years old. Today I turn to this tome to take Tennessee’s Titans to task.

The Titans were a race of gods who begat, and were eventually overthrown by, Zeus and the rest of the Olympian gods. Jupiter ate all of his children, except for Zeus, who later tricked Jupiter into vomiting them up. Ripshit from exposure to digestive juices, Jupiter’s children got medieval on his ass and imprisoned Jupiter and the rest of the Titans in Tartarus. Homer said Tartarus was as far beneath Hades as Hades is beneath the earth. And from what Bulfinch has to say, being in Tartarus sucks. Thus being a Titan sucks.

The Houston Oilers were an original AFL franchise that was eventually overthrown and subsumed by the NFL. Then they were relocated to Tennessee, which sounds a lot like being banished to Tartarus to me, and renamed the Titans. But is this franchise sufficiently miserable to warrant the Titans moniker? I think not. The Titans have not experienced nearly enough suffering to qualify for Titan status. They should be stripped of the name and henceforth called something more fitting, like the Yokels, Bumpkins, Hillbillies or Inbreds.

But who has the right to bear the Titan burden?

There were a bunch of Titans, according to Bulfinch. The most famous one is probably Prometheus. He and his brother Epimetheus (but not his buddy Epididymis) were tasked with making man and animals, and providing them with various faculties like claws, strength, wings, and so on. Epi screwed up and gave all the faculties out to the animals without saving any for man. So Prometheus gave man fire. Apparently he wasn’t supposed to, and, as you probably know, he was punished by being chained to a rock where a bird would peck out his liver every day, and it would grow back every night only to have the whole bird pecking thing happen again. What you probably don’t know is that Prometheus knew some secret that would have gotten him off the rock, but he refused to drop a dime on his boy Jove (the stop snitchin’ movement started early) and he remains on the rock to this day. According to Bulfinch, “He has therefore become the symbol of magnanimous endurance of unmerited suffering, and strength of will resisting oppression.”

Sounds like the Bills to me.

Prometheus gave us more than fire. Pandora, the world’s first woman, was created to tell you about new music you like . . . er, rather to punish Prometheus and mankind for the fire incident. So without Prometheus we would be sitting around in the dark and not getting laid. Kind of like the Wheelhouse staff.

Pandora had a box (yeah she did!) that she wasn’t supposed to open. But she was a woman, and G:TB readers know that women never listen, so it’s no surprise that she opened it and all sorts of miserable shit poured out. Kind of like when Ralph Wilson opens his mouth at a press conference to announce a new coach. All that remained in Pandora’s box, much like a Bills fan’s heart, was hope.

But the Bills don’t deserve to be called Titans.

The Tennessee Titans are not the first Titans. There were the aforementioned Tartarus Titans, of course, but also the New York Titans, who later became the New York Je(s)ts. TR has previously summarized Jets misery in this space. The Titan name is more fitting for them than for Tennessee. Like the Titans of Greek lore, they briefly ruled the league (1969, clicks), and were then banished to the football version of Tartarus, losing games and sucking balls for eternity. Not only are they banished to a stretch of swamp off the Turnpike, said stretch is named for their cross-town rivals. And their fans are “the symbol of magnanimous endurance of unmerited suffering, and strength of will resisting oppression.” Tommy Bulfinch would approve.

The Bills are no Titans. Unlike the Jets, the Bills never ruled. They never had an ignominious fall from deity. They were never stripped of godhood. They were always merely mortal.

The Bills could be Tantalus – fulfillment is within sight, but perpetually out of reach. Rooting for the Bills is a lot like rooting for Sisyphus. You know they’re destined lose in the end and hoping for success is pure futility. Ixion was fucking bumming too. He was chained to a spinning, flaming wheel and had to constantly yell “You should show gratitude to your benefactor!” But these comparisons aren’t quite right.

The Bills are like Tityus. He was a giant, but not a Titan. He also tried to assault some goddess so he was given the same punishment as Prometheus. The thing with the birds eating his perpetually regenerating liver – that’s the analogy I’m making to the Bills, not the business with the assault. O.J. is a killer, not a rapist.

When the Bills move to Toronto in a few years, they have to drop the Bills mascot. It makes no sense outside of Buffalo. Hopefully they’ll read G:TB and rechristen the team the Tityuses, or even better, the Tityii. We shall see.

This is supposed to be a preview of a football game, not a classics lesson. So here’s some incisive analysis.

The Inbreds welcome the Tityii to Doublewide Stadium with open arms and a gap-toothed smile. They have the league’s #2 rushing offense. Inbred RB Chris Johnson leads the league with 959 rushing yards, averaging an insane 6.7 yards per carry. He’s apparently the fastest guy in the league. The Tityii run defense is as impotent as Raffie Palmeiro, giving up more total yards on the ground than any other team in the league. Opponents average 173.6 yards per game on the season, 209.8 yards per game in their past 6 outings. Their Barry Sandersesque 5.1 ypc against is the 14th worst ypc against in NFL history. Let me say that again. The 14th worst yards per carry against IN THE HISTORY OF THE EN EFF FUCKING ELL. They give it up like Ashley Dupre.

John Fox should have been fired on the spot the second he allowed Jake Delhomme to throw a single pass against the Tityii. Jeff Fisher may be an Inbred coach, but he won’t screw this up. The only way he can lose is if he puts Chris Johnson on the bench. Because every time Johnson touches the ball he’ll score. I guarantee Johnson has a historic performance on Sunday, barring injury. Three hundred yards is not out of the question. I’m not kidding. The Tityii gave up 210 yards to 31-year-old Thomas Jones. You don’t think Chris Johnson can top that? Hell (Tartarus?), Johnson could get 200 yards with Vince Young chipping in another 100 yards rushing … by the end of the 3rd quarter.

The Inbreds have the worst pass defense in the league, statistically, but I don’t buy it. They played the Steelers, Texans, Colts, and Pats. That skews their numbers a bit. Ryan Fitzpatrick will never be mistaken for Roethlisberger, Schaub, Peyton, or Brady. The Tityii couldn’t score at will through the air against Mount Saint Mary’s girls quadriplegic team. And the Inbreds are fair to middling against the run. This will be ugly.

Final score: Inbreds 38, Tityii 10