Carolina Blew?

We are likely months, if not years, from conclusions about the University of North Carolina’s L’Affaire Belichick. Certainly, there’s plenty to discuss already, but early results have done little except confirm the football program’s nondescript status within the sport’s hierarchy, albeit now with a much larger spotlight. 

Such is the case when a school with a modest football history goes off script and pays exorbitant sums to hire one of the sport’s most accomplished coaches, a guy with six Super Bowl rings who is also 73 years old and had never coached a minute in college. Oh, and with an attractive, opportunistic, sensitive-to-scrutiny girlfriend almost 50 years his junior in tow. 

But hype is hype, and in a quest for football relevance, several UNC Big Checkbooks circumvented the regular hiring process and went back-channel to recruit Coach Hoodie, with the promise of big money and full control of the program. Their throw-weight prevailed, and the administration signed off. Wholesale staff and roster makeover ensued and enthusiasm within the fan base spiked, accompanied by national curiosity about how it all would play out. 

The Tar Heels’ opener, a 48-14 nationally televised home dump trucking by TCU, exposed them as miles away from their stated goal of championships and illustrated that it doesn’t matter who’s wearing the Big Headset if players are lacking or don’t perform. Last weekend’s 20-3 win against Charlotte, a meh American Athletic Conference program, provided little evidence of progress. Upcoming games against FCS Richmond and Central Florida, a middlin’ Big 12 opponent (hard to keep up with who’s where these days, ain’t it?) in its own reset won’t reveal much. 

UNC’s next “test” comes Oct. 4 versus Clemson in its ACC opener. Meanwhile, former NFL scout and now snoop and take-haver John Middlekauf first reported last week that Belichick banned New England Patriots scouts. Belichick confirmed the report and responded that since he’s banned from the Pats’ facility, they’re banned from UNC’s facility. 

It’s a remarkably pissy move aimed at owner Bob Kraft, particularly considering that the Patriots are coached by one of his former players, Mike Vrabel. Subsequent reporting by ESPN and others reveal that other NFL team scouts are only permitted to watch limited practice time and that NFL personnel may talk only to the Tar Heels’ pro liaison and will have “zero access” to Belichick and his assistants. It’s an interesting tack for a program and staff trying to attract talent by touting their NFL bonafides and ability to prepare players for the pros. 

Belichick’s college and UNC pivot have also revived discussion in some corners about where he resides in the coaching pantheon. It seems ridiculous to question the chops of a guy with a fistful of rings and the second-most wins in NFL history. But he was sub-.500 in Cleveland in his first head coaching stint and sub-.500 in New England after Tom Brady departed. 

The Belichick-Brady pairing and its role in the Patriots dynasty was a chicken-and-egg question for a long time. The Patriots’ and Belichick’s 29-38 record in the four years after Brady decamped for Tampa and won a Super Bowl may have tilted the discussion in the quarterback’s favor, especially as it pertains to their latter years in Foxboro. 

Speaking of poor general managers, Chapel
Hill ties, and money

I think it’s beyond dispute that Belichick is a great coach who was a poor general manager and offensive unit assembler, which led to substandard records and Kraft cutting the cord in 2023. His desire for full control likely figured into the rest of the league taking a pass when a guy who’s getting a bust in Canton became available. In Belichick’s year away, he got a whiff of the college coaching and campus experience through his son, Steve, and his compadres and enjoyed it greatly. And then several guys with Chapel Hill ties and money and grand ideas of UNC football’s potential reach dovetailed with an unemployed Big Whistle convinced he still has tread on the tires, and here we are. 

He could have kept a foot in the game on a smaller stage, and probably earned handsome side money, as a consultant and clinician. But the opportunity to run a show and receive eight figures annually to do so scratched an itch. At this point, it's probably fair to ask: So, where are you going with this, Sparky? It’s a valid question and I’m not sure I have a good answer. 

I guess the larger point is that for all the analysis and opinions and snark that every game and move and press conference remark prompt, for all the skepticism about novice Chapel Bill in a wildly unsettled college landscape, we’re nowhere near a reasonable judgment and may not be for several years. The Belichick Experiment could succeed; it could flame out spectacularly or fizzle meekly (my money is on the latter). The man’s body of work invites a level of attention that far exceeds the pace of the work itself and the task at hand, which is unsatisfying in an impatient society that frequently demands immediate returns. The risk and financial outlay certainly merit accountability and some measures of improvement along the way – for both Belichick and those who instigated his arrival – but it’s not necessarily wise to permit the audience to dictate terms.

I am fit as a goddam fiddle, alternatively titled "The Streak Redux"

Almost four years ago I touted my Peloton purchase in a Gheorghemas post.  I have continued to use it regularly and although I haven't been able to drop my weight significantly below 169 pounds (and really, why would I want to) I am fit as a goddam fiddle.  I routinely crank out rides of 11-13 kJ per minute (Danimal scoffs at that) and work up a mighty sweat but cool down in about five minutes.  When I'm not doing rides I'm lifting weights or doing yoga.  Not heavy weights or good yoga, but I'm trying (I hate lifting weights).  If I'm away from home I'll do a run on the hotel treadmill or even outside (!) on the street.  I have convinced myself that this shit is fun, worthwhile, and too expensive to collect dust in the basement.

So thorough is this self-inflicted Jedi mind trick that yesterday I completed my 365th day in a row of doing at least one Peloton activity.  A streak, if you will.  rob's wife streaked with me.  She also participated in the ride I took to make the streak one year long. 

Some of you will remember my last streak which ran sometime during the spring semester of 1996 when I went after Buck's house record for most consecutive nights out.  This was a streak of an entirely different tone and tenor than my current health kick.  Eventually I broke the record, and when I saw Buck I told him so.  He replied "I don't remember setting a record like that" which means his streak destroyed his memory or he was full of shit when he told an impressionable freshman about his drinking exploits.

Unlike my streak of 1996, I feel no pressure with this one.  In fact I feel good!  I'm not keeping it alive just to say I did, I'm enjoying myself.  I'm sure this streak will come to an end but it won't be a relief when it does.

Food Back On Its Bullshit?

I don't know why this topic has taken up so much of my blog-related mental space of late, but the universe really seems to be tilting gustatorily at the moment. This one's a doozy.

Rhode Island-based ISCO Spirits has an inventive portfolio and a sustainable mission. As the distiller says on its website, "Our spirits are fiercely unique, land-and-ocean-inspired and handcrafted." Their Seaflow Ocean Gin is made with local seaweed and oysters in addition to the juniper you might expect. They offer an everything bagel aquavit, for chrissakes.

Those tempting tipples have nothing on their newest limited release. Friends, I give you ISCO Pizza Vodka. It's made with 100% organic wheat, tomatoes, pizza spices, and fresh, gooey mozzarella cheese. Bloomberg spirits columnist Kara Newman tasted it, and came away impressed, saying "It didn’t disappoint: The clear liquid has a big, tomato-y scent and oregano-forward flavor and a mouthwatering, garlicky exhale. (Seriously; keep a breath mint in your back pocket.) Put all together, it really does taste uncannily like a saucy slice."

The good folks at ISCO, who I now want to hang out with, offer some cocktail ideas for what they claim is the world's first pizza vodka. Again from their website, "From Italian Stallion Shots (like a tequila shot with all Italian ingredients), to Pizza Luges, to upscale savory Caprese martinis and clarified Hawaiian Milk Punches, Pizza Vodka can be dressed. up or down just like the versatile food on which it is based. Perfect for dive bars to Michelin stars and everything in between!"

Indeed, the Italian Stallion sounds delicious: Pour 1 oz. of Pizza Vodka into a shot glass, wet your hand as you might for salt in a tequila shot, shake shredded Parmesan cheese on your hand, lick the cheese, drink the shot, chase with a pepperoncini. I'm not a vodka fan, but that might change things for me.

Whoever gets to Providence next, grab a couple bottles. At $30, they're a bargain. Salud!

Breaking Music News

In a series of posts on Bluesky last night, R.E.M. frontman Michael Stipe ended decades of speculation by revealing the lyrics to 'It's the End of the World as We Know It (and I Feel Fine)'. Over to you, Mike:

Ok its ‘feed it off an aux, speak, grunt no strength, the ladder start to clatter with fear fight down height, wire in a fire representing seven games, a government for hire and a combat site’.

— Michael Stipe (@michaelstipe.bsky.social) September 5, 2025 at 12:13 AM

The entire thread is a hoot, including this reveal about 'Chronic Town', 'Murmur', and 'Reckoning':

Any other lyrics— don’t even try chronic town murmur or reckoning btw— just form vowels and syllables, and mean it

— Michael Stipe (@michaelstipe.bsky.social) September 3, 2025 at 9:55 AM

It's the end of the mystery as we know it. And I feel fine.

Food is...Getting Smarter?

In which we both appreciate a blessed snack combination and an authentic American personality.

Mike Golic Junior faced at least mild criticism early in his career owing to his Nepo Baby path to prominence at ESPN. His father is beloved by many as a happy go lucky fat defensive lineman turned svelte radio and television personality. Junior unquestionably benefited from his dad's notoriety as one half of the legendary Mike & Mike morning show, making some of his first public appearances on the program.

But if Junior was all nepo, he'd have faded away over time. Instead, he's become a unique and talented voice, capable of breaking down offensive line play (he played at Notre Dame before being waived by the Pittsburgh Steelers in camp) and Taylor Swift lyrics with equal authority. He can do professional color commentary on a college football game and poke fun of himself with aplomb. He's made a point of supporting female broadcasters like Jessica Smetana and Chiney Ogwumike. He says shit like this, "There are always two different ways to go about everything - you're either so talented that people can't deny it, or you're willing to come in, work, and be a great teammate. I always thought, let me make sure I leave everyone I work with as best as I can." 

And more directly relevant to this post, he's an unabashed lover of food, especially gooey, greasy, snacky stuff. 

Recently, he dropped this review:

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Mike Golic Jr. (@mikegolicjr)

I think he'd be fun at a G:TB summit.

Goin' Solo

Fine, I'll do it myself. Just like a pair of G:TB faves who usually front terrific bands who are dropping solo records over the coming weeks. 

Jeff Tweedy's Twilight Override will be released on September 26. It's a 30-song triple record. A goddamned opus. Here's "Enough", which is probably what Tweedy felt by the end of the recording process.

Old 97s frontman Rhett Miller follows Tweedy with A Lifetime of Riding by Night on October 10. Miller finished the record just days before he underwent vocal chord surgery that's kept him off the mic for several months. Looking forward to hearing this one live, including "Come as You Are".

Seen a Million Faces?

In a recent edition of 'We Defy Augury', our guy Professor G. Truck compares and contrasts the paths taken by two sons of Jersey in an effort to understand and explain the impact of place on literature and art. During a discussion of Jon Bon Jovi's heavily-local lyrics, the Professor references Bon Jovi's smash, "Dead or Alive".

I'm not a big Bon Jovi fan - the whole hair metal thing was never really my bag. But that tune kicks ass, and I love it unironically. There's a lyric that's always resonated with me: "I've seen a million faces. And I've rocked 'em all." Bombastic, braggadocios, and maybe not all that hyperbolic.

Which got me to thinking. I have rocked very few faces. But have I seen a million in my 55 years on the planet?

A few things to consider. I did not spend much time at all in major cities until my early 20s. I lived on small towns and military bases, and we vacationed in places like Cape Cod. Went to a few Red Sox games in that time, and played a bunch of sports, so I wasn't totally isolated. 

But let's assume for the sake of argument that my facecount was pretty low until I turned 25. How many faces per day would I have to have seen to get to a million? There are 10,950 days in 30 years. So over that span, a person would need to average 91 faces a day to get to a million.

In recent years, I probably average fewer faces than that most days. I work from home, so that's a constraining factor. If we don't count Zoom calls, I may not see a face other than my wife's today. Last weekend, which was pretty normal, I'd estimate I saw 200 faces at dinner at a busy spot on Friday, and another 100 at the bar we stopped in to get a nightcap. Then 200 faces at a brewery on Saturday, and another 75 at the restaurant we went to afterwards. Probably at least another 100 at the farmer's market that morning. That's 675 on the weekend, which makes up for the faceless weekdays in terms of the average.

And in the before times, I traveled a decent amount to large cities where it's reasonable to assume I saw a thousand faces a day just by walking around. I worked in Tysons Corner for a decade, and in addition to the faces in my building, I'd usually go out to grab food and see dozens of faces. In my earlier days, Whit and I would spend a not insignificant amount of time in bars in the greater DC area - gotta be several hundred faces per outing. That's before we get to concerts and major sporting events, where a thousand feels low (I'm not counting all the fans in the stands, just the ones I actually saw in person. (In face? Whatever.)

Throwing all that into the mental blender and carrying the one, I'm pretty confident that I've seen a million faces. Now to commence with the rocking.