Goodbye, 2010 COLLEGE FOOTBALL SEASON - twas a great year,

pimp.gif
 
Tech's problems revolve around that offensive line. Its OFFENSIVE.

Doesn't help Potts is a 6'5 statue too.
 
Tech's problems revolve around that offensive line. Its OFFENSIVE.

Doesn't help Potts is a 6'5 statue too.
 
A funny take on the week in review of college football by Spencer Hall off of SBNation


[h1]The Alphabetical, Week 4: Ryan Mallett Crosses The Chang Threshold[/h1]

Spoiler [+]
Sep 27, 2010 - A is for Automaton. Watching Pitt play football is like watching a computer call plays. Not all computers are created equal, so let's go back and be clear: it's like watching a Commodore 64 call plays on a dialup modem with an AOL account from a Bombay street internet cafe. This may in fact be the case due to cost-cutting measures, and if so the good for you, Pittsburgh. Adam Smith says you're just taking advantage of natural price/labor discrepancies, but you may also want to subcontract recruiting calls for offensive linemen to the Indian subcontinent, as well, since Pitt looked every bit like a Walt Harris team from the bad old days of the early 2000s. Hello? Yes hello [reads computer screen] young Mr. Blue Chip recruit I would like to confirm your interest in our college football scholarship package. No, I am calling from California and my name is Chip and we have openings immediately on our offensive line. Miami put them away on Thursday night, but it was clearly with Pitt's permission to do so. 

B is for Biff Loman. This will end in some kind of father/son reconciliation scene. Garcia and Spurrier will be wearing bad prosthetic face makeup, and they'll both have to dab vaseline at the corners of the eyes to keep the tears flowing, but the two fumbles in the fourth quarter coughed up by the South Carolina quarterback may have been the breaking point for Spurrier's devotion to him as the Gamecock's sole QB. 

Spurrier was already tinkering around with Conor Shaw, but the tinkering might have gone into full bore utilization when Garcia turned into a pinata in the fourth. When cracked open by Auburn defenders, Garcia spat out turnovers, handing Auburn and falling tree/quarterback Cam Newton easy points. Freshman Conor Shaw, welcome to the fun of being the new whipping boy, and Terry Dean is offering you his phone number for comfort and advice, Stephen. You just call any time you need to let it out, and remember: a man is not a piece of fruit, but to Steve Spurrier a quarterback is because the one you have doesn't have as much a-peel as the new ones GET IT HUH HUH---

C is for Chang Threshold. If you throw one interception, that might be an aberration. Two might be lightning striking twice. But if a quarterback throws three interceptions, then something has sprung loose in the brain and any infinite number of interceptions are possible after this point. It's a special threshold, and one we'll call "The Chang Threshold" in honor of Hawaii's Timmy Chang, the NCAA's all-time leader in interceptions thrown. 

Ryan Mallett couldn't have picked a worse time to cross the Chang Threshold than in the fourth quarter against Alabama, but one does not always have a choice in these matters, especially when Nick Saban is throwing Rorschach defenses at you that do not exist on film. If they had played another quarter in Fayetteville, Mallett just continues to throw interceptions until he breaks down in tears because once you get on a good rip of INTs they just keep coming. If you can throw three interceptions you can throw nine, though scientifically there's no evidence you'll throw more than that in a single game. (Florida's John Reaves did this versus Auburn in 1969.)  

D is for DERP. There's nothing really right with LSU besides the defense, and yet they stand at 4-0, but the solace of having no idea what's right with a football team is balanced by the total confusion of having no idea what's wrong with another. Of course this refers to Georgia, a 1-3 team who, when viewed on film, appears to be a non-horrible team. Watch the Mississippi State tape and you'll see nothing overtly inept about them. When you think "major program ineptitude," you think full body convulsions of football idiocy like those in the 2007 Notre Dame team or any team ever coached by Steve Kragthorpe, not what you see with Georgia 2010.  No one's snapping the ball through the endzone or throwing a post pattern to the back judge, and no one's biting on play fakes like disabled video game defenders. Watching this team implode on the field is like watching a leg break by microfracture: a holding penalty here, a missed assignment there, a moment of hesitation on a play-action pass allowing a receiver to get this much [holds fingers apart] of an opening over his defender. 

They may be the most boring fiasco in college football right now, since they deny you even the thrill of disaster. 

E is for Endogenous. Originating from within, i.e. the source of all problems at Texas. Okay, reverse: not all, since UCLA must be advanced credit for the things they did and did not do against Texas in a 34-12 upset of the seventh-ranked Longhorns on Saturday. The Bruins didn't lose four fumbles. They did beat up Texas at the line of scrimmage when required to do so. They didn't spend the first half twiddling away at a fruitless offensive gameplan. They did win the game despite 27 yards passing. That is not missing a number, and is in fact a two and a seven you're seeing there. In summary: they beat some !*+, and deserve credit. 

Something in the current DNA of Longhorn football, however, is miscoded and producing some unpleasant effects on the offensive side of the ball. It may have been a colossal error to call Texas "soft" with a roster full of Sun Belt talent, but the skein of truth in Howard Schnellenberger's 2008 comment on Texas's lack of toughness comes via the half decade of mostly constant decline in their rushing offense. 

2005-2nd 

2006-34th

2007-17th

2008-41st

2009-61st

Their current rank: 76th after four weeks, trailing Duke, South Carolina, and Ball State in yards per game on the ground. It's not a perfect toboggan run downhill statistically speaking, but the direction is clear enough. 

F is for Flair. Jim Tressel called a quarterback throwback to Terrelle Pryor up 25 on Eastern Michigan, which Pryor took in for a 20 yard TD catch. Tressel then went home and left his shoes on the floor with the laces undone. Someone could have tripped on them and really hurt themselves, but you know what? Saturday was a day for ol' JT to throw caution to the wind, so he just left them right there and then drank some orange juice straight from the carton before watching some HGTV and passing out from all the excitement. 



This happened. 

G is for Gemini. Twins of the fraternal variety are what you can expect to see at Florida for the duration. John Brantley will move the offense between the twenties, and then Trey Burton will run the Wildcat/Single Wing inside the twenties. It's not conventional, and it's not pretty at times, but it did work against Kentucky to the tune of six TDs on the day. What works against Kentucky tends to be turned to charred bits of ragmeat against Alabama, but the Gators moved, dammit, and that's more than Florida's offense has done against anyone all season. You take any ray of hope you can into the dark mineshaft of Bryant-Denny Stadium. 

H is for Handicapped Seating. 



The American Disabilities Act makes no requirements for Will Hills, but nevertheless warning signs should be posted in the future to warn those in wheelchairs if a Will Hill happens to be in your area. 

I is for Invictus. He is the captain of his own ship, the master of his own fate, and he is Patrick Peterson. Peterson struck the Heisman pose after returning a punt for a TD against West Virginia on Saturday night, which is especially fun because being a defensive player he doesn't exist in the eyes of the Heisman voters, but one must admire the gusto nonetheless. Peterson is half the LSU team right now, locking down a half of the field all to himself, returning punts for TDs, and outsquatting offensive linemen in the weight room. The other half of the team is made up of the duo of the punter and kicker, and laugh all you like but 4-0 ugly looks the same as 4-0 pretty on the books. (Until you lose due to your horribly mismanaged offense, which won't matter anyway since Les Miles will be the first coach to win a BCS title with a three loss team. I don't know how this is going to happen, but if anyone can make it happen it's The Hat.) 

J is for Jobless: Tim Brewster of Minnesota, who pulled off a rare double by losing to both an FCS and MAC school in the same year. This week's accomplishment was the MAC leg, accomplished by allowing NIU RB Chad Spann to run for 223 yards and two TDs on just 15 carries. I'm pretty sure that's an average of 839 yards a carry when you do the math, but it would have been hard to concentrate on doing the arithmetic over the "Fire Brewster" chants echoing through the stadium on three different occasions.  

K is for Kon-Tiki. Thor Heyerdahl wanted to prove his theory about Polynesians settling the islands of the South Pacific by raft so he did it himself, taking a crew on a boat made of little more than balsa wood and happy thoughts across the waters of Polynesia. He was proven right, and world reveres him as a genius for his daring. 

The same can be said of Bob Stoops, the OU coach and legend in his own right, who is attempting to play an entire season as a BCS title contender without a functioning secondary. Florida failed in this effort in 2007, but if Stoops' math is right they should be able to get at least as far as the Big 12 Championship game with what they've got. Allowing a miserable Cincy team to score 29 and amass 461 yards of offense is really testing the theory, but remember Les Miles' maxim: 4-0 is 4-0, even if it is an undefeated record you land with the plane on fire and smoke pouring out of every engine. Sail on, brave Bob, and we'll see you where the trade winds blow. 

L is for Little City, Biggest.  The Nevada Wolfpack have already beaten Cal, but could be the next real obstacle standing between Boise State and their annual claim to the BCS title game. (Special offer: claim to BCS title game is good for one bid to the Fiesta Bowl or other conciliatory at-large bid in non-title game matchup. Offer good for eternity, or as long as the BCS continues to shun Boise for schedule weakness but allows the Big East and ACC automatic bids.) Boise goes to Reno on November 27th, and barring disaster between then will be undefeated coming into a game versus Nevada's thumping pistol offense (run as well as it's ever been run right now by Colin Kaepernick).

M is for McElroy. Greg McElroy has never lost a game as a starter at Alabama, a streak Alabama continued versus Arkansas. Streaks of a team variety keep going: it was Alabama's eighteenth in a row overall, and 28th straight in regular season play dating back to 2008. It was also the eighteenth week in a row you've heard this stat, because Alabama fans like to remind you of these things. 

N is for Norvell, Jay. The Oklahoma wide receivers coach who earned a 15 yard personal foul for using profane language with a referee. If you doubt that "Jordan Rules" apply to coaches at the college level, watch Nick Saban "engage" an official with "argumentative rhetoric" in a "vivid and colorful fashion" and you will be proven wrong, since he and other head coaches routinely phosphoresce the air into a blue haze without penalty. Saban dropped a magnificent "SON OF A %%%$!" on air Saturday that stands in the pantheon of great lipread coaching profanities. (It's not the gold standard, but it was choice.) 

O is for Officiating (Subjective) (Cont'd.) In another parallel with NBA officiating, Arizona State linebacker received a ticky-tack personal foul in the Arizona State/Oregon game due largely to his past history of racking up personal fouls, making him the Rasheed Wallace of Pac 10 Linebackers. 

P is for Prince. Kevin Prince, UCLA QB, had a 38 yard run against the nation's number one rushing defense despite being a 4.8ish runner in the 40 and doing all of this through Texas' vaunted defense on a bad knee. You could say "embarrassing defeat," or you could just recite the sentence preceding one out loud for effect. They mean the same thing, but one is a lot more vivid (and therefore funnier).

Q is for Quadricep. A productively sore one today belongs to Penn State's Collin Wagner, who made five of six field goals for Penn State in their new "Three-For-All" offense that eschews TDs for stylish, demure field goals. Unproductively sore: UAB's Josh Zahn, who went 2/7 on FG attempts in a game UAB would take into overtime against Tennessee and eventually lose. 

R is for Rod Gilmore Run Pass Option Watch: Did Rod Gilmore, in calling the TCU/SMU game, repeat his weekly call for a "run/pass option" at the goal line? He certainly did. We here at the Alphabetical invite you to play along with the Rod Gilmore run-pass option watch at home, and remind you that each time Gilmore says "run-pass option" we donate a dollar to the Boys and Girls Clubs of Atlanta. After this week, I owe them at least $38 dollars. 

S is for Schlereth. He wasn't as bad as we feared as a color man, though he did lean on NFL-style "THIS GUY JUST MAKES PLAYS GRR FLEX" analysis a bit too much for our tastes. The deep look into the disturbed psyche of the offensive lineman, however, was well worth the trouble. 



T is for Tee-Dog. Boise State's tee dog is adorable, but a moment please for the OG tee-fetching dog, the New Orleans Saints' own Fetch Monster. Now if you really want to be original, train an ape to get it and then run to the sidelines to retrieve its presents of beer and cigarettes. When college football takes off in Mexico, these kind of amazing things will be both possible and probable. 

U is for Underwhelm. If you chained a college football fan between two televisions like Buridan's !*+,* and then put an ACC football game on each, would the college football fan: 

 

Disappear into a single, tiny dot of superdense matter trying to get away from both games
Die from ramming head into one television. 
Hope the slow pace of games put them in a state of suspended animation so future generations could rescue them. 
I'm asking this hypothetically, because I'd never be so cruel as to actually put on two ACC football games at once, much less chain someone up between them. 

*This was erroneously labeled "Balaam's !*+" in an earlier version and pointed out by eagle-eyed readers. Apologies for our confusion between famous @**#%. 
 

V is for Viaticum. Communion given to those in danger of death, a rite that should be administered to Notre Dame's chances of making a bowl game in year one after a 37-14 loss to Stanford. This assumes a five win Notre Dame team won't be awarded the at-large bid in a BCS bowl game, which they will, but sometimes we like to pretend the world makes a modicum of sense just for the LULZ. 

W is for West Point. Army is 3-1. Normally at this point in the season. a disclaimer follows. They haven't really played anyone. The early part of the college football schedule is a long series of appetizers made of marshmallow fluff, filo dough, and other light, flaky easily edible substances.True, but this is Army with 26 wins in the last decade. That's as many games as Ohio State has lost (25) over the past decade. Let them have this, kill joy, especially since they a.) don't pass the ball more than ten times a game, b.) their qb is named Trent Steelman. 

X is for XXIV. Did Western Kentucky win a game? No, no they did not, extending their losing streak to 24 and continuing the nation's longest FBS winning streak at losing. Big Red will be over here being held upside down until he passes out to avoid watching this. 

 

Y is for Yeti-catching. There's no more terrifying moment than to be a defender caught in the path of a rampaging Cam Newton, especially in the final five yards when Newton dives, goes to ground, and flies through knees and other fragile joints like a 747 crashing in a pine forest. I'd love to see a stat breakdown on how many yards he gets falling; out of 176 of them on Saturday night, it had to be something ridiculous like thirty five or so in all. If you see defenders diving out of the path of a falling Cam Newton, just understand: it's a safety issue first, and a football issue second. 

Z is for Zugzwang. The chess term for a situation where a player is weakened by being forced to make a move, a term analogous to the shakeout that will occur next week in the hierarchy when Oklahoma/Texas, Oregon/Stanford, and Florida/Alabama force some inevitable poll shakeout
 
A funny take on the week in review of college football by Spencer Hall off of SBNation


[h1]The Alphabetical, Week 4: Ryan Mallett Crosses The Chang Threshold[/h1]

Spoiler [+]
Sep 27, 2010 - A is for Automaton. Watching Pitt play football is like watching a computer call plays. Not all computers are created equal, so let's go back and be clear: it's like watching a Commodore 64 call plays on a dialup modem with an AOL account from a Bombay street internet cafe. This may in fact be the case due to cost-cutting measures, and if so the good for you, Pittsburgh. Adam Smith says you're just taking advantage of natural price/labor discrepancies, but you may also want to subcontract recruiting calls for offensive linemen to the Indian subcontinent, as well, since Pitt looked every bit like a Walt Harris team from the bad old days of the early 2000s. Hello? Yes hello [reads computer screen] young Mr. Blue Chip recruit I would like to confirm your interest in our college football scholarship package. No, I am calling from California and my name is Chip and we have openings immediately on our offensive line. Miami put them away on Thursday night, but it was clearly with Pitt's permission to do so. 

B is for Biff Loman. This will end in some kind of father/son reconciliation scene. Garcia and Spurrier will be wearing bad prosthetic face makeup, and they'll both have to dab vaseline at the corners of the eyes to keep the tears flowing, but the two fumbles in the fourth quarter coughed up by the South Carolina quarterback may have been the breaking point for Spurrier's devotion to him as the Gamecock's sole QB. 

Spurrier was already tinkering around with Conor Shaw, but the tinkering might have gone into full bore utilization when Garcia turned into a pinata in the fourth. When cracked open by Auburn defenders, Garcia spat out turnovers, handing Auburn and falling tree/quarterback Cam Newton easy points. Freshman Conor Shaw, welcome to the fun of being the new whipping boy, and Terry Dean is offering you his phone number for comfort and advice, Stephen. You just call any time you need to let it out, and remember: a man is not a piece of fruit, but to Steve Spurrier a quarterback is because the one you have doesn't have as much a-peel as the new ones GET IT HUH HUH---

C is for Chang Threshold. If you throw one interception, that might be an aberration. Two might be lightning striking twice. But if a quarterback throws three interceptions, then something has sprung loose in the brain and any infinite number of interceptions are possible after this point. It's a special threshold, and one we'll call "The Chang Threshold" in honor of Hawaii's Timmy Chang, the NCAA's all-time leader in interceptions thrown. 

Ryan Mallett couldn't have picked a worse time to cross the Chang Threshold than in the fourth quarter against Alabama, but one does not always have a choice in these matters, especially when Nick Saban is throwing Rorschach defenses at you that do not exist on film. If they had played another quarter in Fayetteville, Mallett just continues to throw interceptions until he breaks down in tears because once you get on a good rip of INTs they just keep coming. If you can throw three interceptions you can throw nine, though scientifically there's no evidence you'll throw more than that in a single game. (Florida's John Reaves did this versus Auburn in 1969.)  

D is for DERP. There's nothing really right with LSU besides the defense, and yet they stand at 4-0, but the solace of having no idea what's right with a football team is balanced by the total confusion of having no idea what's wrong with another. Of course this refers to Georgia, a 1-3 team who, when viewed on film, appears to be a non-horrible team. Watch the Mississippi State tape and you'll see nothing overtly inept about them. When you think "major program ineptitude," you think full body convulsions of football idiocy like those in the 2007 Notre Dame team or any team ever coached by Steve Kragthorpe, not what you see with Georgia 2010.  No one's snapping the ball through the endzone or throwing a post pattern to the back judge, and no one's biting on play fakes like disabled video game defenders. Watching this team implode on the field is like watching a leg break by microfracture: a holding penalty here, a missed assignment there, a moment of hesitation on a play-action pass allowing a receiver to get this much [holds fingers apart] of an opening over his defender. 

They may be the most boring fiasco in college football right now, since they deny you even the thrill of disaster. 

E is for Endogenous. Originating from within, i.e. the source of all problems at Texas. Okay, reverse: not all, since UCLA must be advanced credit for the things they did and did not do against Texas in a 34-12 upset of the seventh-ranked Longhorns on Saturday. The Bruins didn't lose four fumbles. They did beat up Texas at the line of scrimmage when required to do so. They didn't spend the first half twiddling away at a fruitless offensive gameplan. They did win the game despite 27 yards passing. That is not missing a number, and is in fact a two and a seven you're seeing there. In summary: they beat some !*+, and deserve credit. 

Something in the current DNA of Longhorn football, however, is miscoded and producing some unpleasant effects on the offensive side of the ball. It may have been a colossal error to call Texas "soft" with a roster full of Sun Belt talent, but the skein of truth in Howard Schnellenberger's 2008 comment on Texas's lack of toughness comes via the half decade of mostly constant decline in their rushing offense. 

2005-2nd 

2006-34th

2007-17th

2008-41st

2009-61st

Their current rank: 76th after four weeks, trailing Duke, South Carolina, and Ball State in yards per game on the ground. It's not a perfect toboggan run downhill statistically speaking, but the direction is clear enough. 

F is for Flair. Jim Tressel called a quarterback throwback to Terrelle Pryor up 25 on Eastern Michigan, which Pryor took in for a 20 yard TD catch. Tressel then went home and left his shoes on the floor with the laces undone. Someone could have tripped on them and really hurt themselves, but you know what? Saturday was a day for ol' JT to throw caution to the wind, so he just left them right there and then drank some orange juice straight from the carton before watching some HGTV and passing out from all the excitement. 



This happened. 

G is for Gemini. Twins of the fraternal variety are what you can expect to see at Florida for the duration. John Brantley will move the offense between the twenties, and then Trey Burton will run the Wildcat/Single Wing inside the twenties. It's not conventional, and it's not pretty at times, but it did work against Kentucky to the tune of six TDs on the day. What works against Kentucky tends to be turned to charred bits of ragmeat against Alabama, but the Gators moved, dammit, and that's more than Florida's offense has done against anyone all season. You take any ray of hope you can into the dark mineshaft of Bryant-Denny Stadium. 

H is for Handicapped Seating. 



The American Disabilities Act makes no requirements for Will Hills, but nevertheless warning signs should be posted in the future to warn those in wheelchairs if a Will Hill happens to be in your area. 

I is for Invictus. He is the captain of his own ship, the master of his own fate, and he is Patrick Peterson. Peterson struck the Heisman pose after returning a punt for a TD against West Virginia on Saturday night, which is especially fun because being a defensive player he doesn't exist in the eyes of the Heisman voters, but one must admire the gusto nonetheless. Peterson is half the LSU team right now, locking down a half of the field all to himself, returning punts for TDs, and outsquatting offensive linemen in the weight room. The other half of the team is made up of the duo of the punter and kicker, and laugh all you like but 4-0 ugly looks the same as 4-0 pretty on the books. (Until you lose due to your horribly mismanaged offense, which won't matter anyway since Les Miles will be the first coach to win a BCS title with a three loss team. I don't know how this is going to happen, but if anyone can make it happen it's The Hat.) 

J is for Jobless: Tim Brewster of Minnesota, who pulled off a rare double by losing to both an FCS and MAC school in the same year. This week's accomplishment was the MAC leg, accomplished by allowing NIU RB Chad Spann to run for 223 yards and two TDs on just 15 carries. I'm pretty sure that's an average of 839 yards a carry when you do the math, but it would have been hard to concentrate on doing the arithmetic over the "Fire Brewster" chants echoing through the stadium on three different occasions.  

K is for Kon-Tiki. Thor Heyerdahl wanted to prove his theory about Polynesians settling the islands of the South Pacific by raft so he did it himself, taking a crew on a boat made of little more than balsa wood and happy thoughts across the waters of Polynesia. He was proven right, and world reveres him as a genius for his daring. 

The same can be said of Bob Stoops, the OU coach and legend in his own right, who is attempting to play an entire season as a BCS title contender without a functioning secondary. Florida failed in this effort in 2007, but if Stoops' math is right they should be able to get at least as far as the Big 12 Championship game with what they've got. Allowing a miserable Cincy team to score 29 and amass 461 yards of offense is really testing the theory, but remember Les Miles' maxim: 4-0 is 4-0, even if it is an undefeated record you land with the plane on fire and smoke pouring out of every engine. Sail on, brave Bob, and we'll see you where the trade winds blow. 

L is for Little City, Biggest.  The Nevada Wolfpack have already beaten Cal, but could be the next real obstacle standing between Boise State and their annual claim to the BCS title game. (Special offer: claim to BCS title game is good for one bid to the Fiesta Bowl or other conciliatory at-large bid in non-title game matchup. Offer good for eternity, or as long as the BCS continues to shun Boise for schedule weakness but allows the Big East and ACC automatic bids.) Boise goes to Reno on November 27th, and barring disaster between then will be undefeated coming into a game versus Nevada's thumping pistol offense (run as well as it's ever been run right now by Colin Kaepernick).

M is for McElroy. Greg McElroy has never lost a game as a starter at Alabama, a streak Alabama continued versus Arkansas. Streaks of a team variety keep going: it was Alabama's eighteenth in a row overall, and 28th straight in regular season play dating back to 2008. It was also the eighteenth week in a row you've heard this stat, because Alabama fans like to remind you of these things. 

N is for Norvell, Jay. The Oklahoma wide receivers coach who earned a 15 yard personal foul for using profane language with a referee. If you doubt that "Jordan Rules" apply to coaches at the college level, watch Nick Saban "engage" an official with "argumentative rhetoric" in a "vivid and colorful fashion" and you will be proven wrong, since he and other head coaches routinely phosphoresce the air into a blue haze without penalty. Saban dropped a magnificent "SON OF A %%%$!" on air Saturday that stands in the pantheon of great lipread coaching profanities. (It's not the gold standard, but it was choice.) 

O is for Officiating (Subjective) (Cont'd.) In another parallel with NBA officiating, Arizona State linebacker received a ticky-tack personal foul in the Arizona State/Oregon game due largely to his past history of racking up personal fouls, making him the Rasheed Wallace of Pac 10 Linebackers. 

P is for Prince. Kevin Prince, UCLA QB, had a 38 yard run against the nation's number one rushing defense despite being a 4.8ish runner in the 40 and doing all of this through Texas' vaunted defense on a bad knee. You could say "embarrassing defeat," or you could just recite the sentence preceding one out loud for effect. They mean the same thing, but one is a lot more vivid (and therefore funnier).

Q is for Quadricep. A productively sore one today belongs to Penn State's Collin Wagner, who made five of six field goals for Penn State in their new "Three-For-All" offense that eschews TDs for stylish, demure field goals. Unproductively sore: UAB's Josh Zahn, who went 2/7 on FG attempts in a game UAB would take into overtime against Tennessee and eventually lose. 

R is for Rod Gilmore Run Pass Option Watch: Did Rod Gilmore, in calling the TCU/SMU game, repeat his weekly call for a "run/pass option" at the goal line? He certainly did. We here at the Alphabetical invite you to play along with the Rod Gilmore run-pass option watch at home, and remind you that each time Gilmore says "run-pass option" we donate a dollar to the Boys and Girls Clubs of Atlanta. After this week, I owe them at least $38 dollars. 

S is for Schlereth. He wasn't as bad as we feared as a color man, though he did lean on NFL-style "THIS GUY JUST MAKES PLAYS GRR FLEX" analysis a bit too much for our tastes. The deep look into the disturbed psyche of the offensive lineman, however, was well worth the trouble. 



T is for Tee-Dog. Boise State's tee dog is adorable, but a moment please for the OG tee-fetching dog, the New Orleans Saints' own Fetch Monster. Now if you really want to be original, train an ape to get it and then run to the sidelines to retrieve its presents of beer and cigarettes. When college football takes off in Mexico, these kind of amazing things will be both possible and probable. 

U is for Underwhelm. If you chained a college football fan between two televisions like Buridan's !*+,* and then put an ACC football game on each, would the college football fan: 

 

Disappear into a single, tiny dot of superdense matter trying to get away from both games
Die from ramming head into one television. 
Hope the slow pace of games put them in a state of suspended animation so future generations could rescue them. 
I'm asking this hypothetically, because I'd never be so cruel as to actually put on two ACC football games at once, much less chain someone up between them. 

*This was erroneously labeled "Balaam's !*+" in an earlier version and pointed out by eagle-eyed readers. Apologies for our confusion between famous @**#%. 
 

V is for Viaticum. Communion given to those in danger of death, a rite that should be administered to Notre Dame's chances of making a bowl game in year one after a 37-14 loss to Stanford. This assumes a five win Notre Dame team won't be awarded the at-large bid in a BCS bowl game, which they will, but sometimes we like to pretend the world makes a modicum of sense just for the LULZ. 

W is for West Point. Army is 3-1. Normally at this point in the season. a disclaimer follows. They haven't really played anyone. The early part of the college football schedule is a long series of appetizers made of marshmallow fluff, filo dough, and other light, flaky easily edible substances.True, but this is Army with 26 wins in the last decade. That's as many games as Ohio State has lost (25) over the past decade. Let them have this, kill joy, especially since they a.) don't pass the ball more than ten times a game, b.) their qb is named Trent Steelman. 

X is for XXIV. Did Western Kentucky win a game? No, no they did not, extending their losing streak to 24 and continuing the nation's longest FBS winning streak at losing. Big Red will be over here being held upside down until he passes out to avoid watching this. 

 

Y is for Yeti-catching. There's no more terrifying moment than to be a defender caught in the path of a rampaging Cam Newton, especially in the final five yards when Newton dives, goes to ground, and flies through knees and other fragile joints like a 747 crashing in a pine forest. I'd love to see a stat breakdown on how many yards he gets falling; out of 176 of them on Saturday night, it had to be something ridiculous like thirty five or so in all. If you see defenders diving out of the path of a falling Cam Newton, just understand: it's a safety issue first, and a football issue second. 

Z is for Zugzwang. The chess term for a situation where a player is weakened by being forced to make a move, a term analogous to the shakeout that will occur next week in the hierarchy when Oklahoma/Texas, Oregon/Stanford, and Florida/Alabama force some inevitable poll shakeout
 
WEEK 5 Review
Spoiler [+]
Oct 4, 2010 - A is for AMAZING HAPPENS HERE. The Alphabetical this week may just be 26 separate entries devoted to the madness of the last two minutes of the Tennessee/LSU Game. 



You know a classic piece of live football atrocity when the highlight film begins with a converted 4th and 14, especially when it's against a Tennessee team that has no business being in the game in the first place, a Tennessee team playing a lawn chair at center, a Tennessee team with linebackers whose ACLs explode for no reason, a Tennessee team whose depth chart just reads "NOPE" at no fewer than seven major positions. Tennessee's there, and like a novice climber stranded in the death zone on Everest, you know it's a matter of time before they run out of oxygen, take off their clothes, and begin rolling in the snow like dying men suffering from mountain madness and cerebral edema. 

Tennessee's already doomed in theory as the inferior team late in the game even on basic football princlples before you activate the computer worm capable of crippling the entire football matrix as we know it: Les Miles.

 
Some men just want to watch the world burn. Others set it on fire accidentally and call their friends to come over and watch. Les Miles is both. 

Jarrett Lee throws a pass into triple coverage to start the sequence. Jarrett Lee, he of the multiple pick sixes and benching two years ago. He's back, and that's how bad LSU's offense is at this point with Jordan Jefferson attempting to "make pass go that way into hands." They now use him as a kind of running quarterback, which he's not. That would be Russell Shepherd, who is now a wide receiver who never gets the ball. Jordan Jefferson, the non-running QB, scored LSU's only TD to this point in the game on a wholly uncontested 83 yard run through the gut of the Tennessee defense. You knew the demons were in charge of this game from this play forward, and also that when you run on offense as nonsensically as LSU does, the only logical cure is to face an equally nonsensical defense. Tennessee rose to that challenge, and we toast you for this, Volunteers. 

LSU gets the ball on the two as a result of a pass interference penalty (natch) and does what any good coach would do with three downs and a running clock with 32 seconds left  in the game: call a quarterback sweep with your non-running running quarterback. Like much of Dangermouse and Cee-Lo's work together, the matchup of Gary Crowton's playcalling and Les Miles' attitude makes for sometimes nonsensical but always disturbing, affecting work. 

The clock runs. You do two things when you might want to stop the clock on the goal-line down 14-10 with a running clock. You may spike it---wait, that's not happening. There's a thing about spiking the ball at LSU, if you'll recall. They could call time out, but they have no timeouts because Les Miles is pretty sure the federal government demands those back at the end of the year if you don't spend them all. Though they've been on the two yard line ever since the pass interference penalty, the LSU offensive staff suddenly remembers OH MY GOD WE HAVE A GOAL LINE PACKAGE and sets off a fire drill the People's Republic of China would call "disgracefully hurried and chaotic." 

Huge men sprint off the field and onto it. The clock winds. Les Miles is seen throwing live chickens onto the field. Who knows where he got them, but they're all part of the plan now. The LSU sideline's complete anarchy triggers a disproportionate reaction on the Tennessee sideline. They send off three men, put in four, and one of the three sent off rushes back onto the field like a child terrified of missing the school bus for a field trip. (This child then ends up in the wrong town because they got on the wrong bus.) Derek Dooley wraps the headset cord around his neck and attempts to choke himself to death rather than watch what's happening. The crowd silences itself by placing a eighty thousand bourbon bottles in eighty thousand mouths at once and draining them simultaneously. 

Then the most magnificent part of the play happens. This sentence appears in its own box because everything about it is spectacular: 

Then the ball is snapped with the game on the line between two major college football powers with one team having 13 men on the field and another with a non-running running quarterback who watches in horror as the ball is snapped over his head and covered for a game-ending busted play. THIS ALL HAPPENED IN REAL LIFE. 

Competence is overrated as a form of entertainment while incompetence can be side-splitting stuff. I watched this in a bar full of people in Tuscaloosa, and the reactions were giddy not because of any real mass hatred toward both teams, but because they knew that with a quality arsonist like Miles on the sidelines something was getting set on fire: LSU, Tennessee, or possibly both. Oh, and LSU scored on the next play when a penalty was called on Tennessee for too many men on the field because a 9-4 defense is effective but highly illegal, and Tennessee players started weeping on the field.

I'm applauding, all of you, as loud and as hard as I can in your general directions. We shall not see another ending to match this beautiful hatchet job until next week when LSU beats Florida at home 7.5 to 2 on a blocked extra point and a half a point awarded for hitting all three crossbars on a single missed FG attempt. It's in the rulebook, look it up. 

B is for Boulder'd. This is how low the Buffaloes have fallen: Colorado fans rushed the field after beating a 1-3 Georgia team that lost to Mississippi State. There should be some kind of body to sanction this kind of poorly applied field-rushing, but...well, it is Colorado, and it's been Donner Party dismal there. You go right ahead, Buffaloes. 

C is for Catenaccio. Italian for "door-bolt," and the soccer term for locking down a lead by dropping everyone into defense and watching you, the opponent, flail uselessly into the face of wall of defenders, Alabama currently ranks 107th in the nation in tackles for loss. This is acceptable because Alabama simply wants to stop everything you do right at the line of scrimmage, score 24 points or so, and just wait for you to implode while they run the ball, slap down every attempt you make at doing anything whatsoever on either side of the ball, and work on the art of time-killing. They don't care about conquering: trench warfare and strangulation will be more than enough for them, thank you very much, and they happen to excel at it. Of all the hypothetical BCS matchups, the Oregon/Alabama one tantalizes the most since it involves a team one hundred percent committed to rapid scoring offense facing a team that would be happy to hammer out a ten point lead and then punt in between face-punching defensive series.  

They are to college football what Italy is to World Cup soccer: precise, tactically conservative, and brutally efficient. Forza Alabama! is too Euro-fied for the All-American Brawndo tastes of the Alabama fanbase, but it would be an oddly fitting cheer given their style of play. 

D is for Dantzler. You're no Woody Dantzler, Denard Robinson. First, you're not named "Woody," an underutilized nickname in the 21st century thanks to Toy Story. Second, Clemson sort of occasionally had a defense to back up the former Tiger great's game-length solos on offense, something Denard Robinson does not have in the slightest. Tennis game-planning had to be the case for Michigan: break serve a few times, get the ball last, and hope you could run out the clock just as you skated across the goal line. Denard Robinson crossed the goal line with 21 seconds left to put Michigan up 42-35. (Tennis math seems to work just fine for the moment for Michigan, actually.)

Third, you're not Woody Dantzler because you're better than the legendary Panther of the Piedmont, and that hurts to admit because Dantzler is my favorite obscure spread option QB of all time, the brave prototype who ran Rich Rod's nuclear veer attack before it was even a proven commodity at the FBS level. Going for 494 yards of offense and 5 TDs all by yourself in a game where you received no help from your defense whatsoever gets you the throne, son. Enjoy its splendors. (Splendors= the double plush terrycloth robe that says "Dancin' Dantzler" on the back. They even washed it for you!) 

E is for Ebbed. As in receding from its high point at the worst possible time. Ben Chappell's line for the Hoosiers is the stuff not normally seen outside of the Big 12 South: 45-64, 480 yards, and 3 TDs to one INT. Michigan's defense is horrible, and as good as it would feel you can't even blame Greg Robinson with a secondary full of walk-ons and part-time epileptics (they only seize when the ball is in the air; otherwise they're fine.) 

F is for F#$@*# Seriously: Denard Robinson's 905 rushing yards are more than 91 teams totals on the year in total rushing.  

G is for Gums, Bleeding. Northwestern QB Dan Persa took a shot in the face from an onrushing Minnesota defender, the kind of awful, neck-snapping blow to the upper body that in football comes with yellow flags, and in rugby comes with a cup of tea and complimentary kick to the balls. Against any other team this goes for a wounded duck for INT, or a fumble, or otherwise a positive play, but this was against Minnesota, so it flies into the back of the endzone for an acrobatic TD and eventual Gophers loss. Dan Persa's lip is probably split today making speech difficult, but even he could mouth the words "Tim Brewster is so fired" with ease and accuracy. 

H is for Hale. And hardy, as Robert Griffin found just what his rebuilt ACL and Baylor needed for a football comeback: the Kansas Jayhawks. Griffin finally recovered some of his freshman form against the Jayhawks, who appear to be protesting their unequal take of Big 12 football revenue by driving the value of the brand through the floor. Griffin's 380 passing yards, 64 rushing, and four combined TDs outgained the total production of the entire Kansas team in a 55-7 rout of the Jayhawks that was as fine a bid for Sun Belt membership as one can ever hope to see. (But Kansas fans, remember: this rout was brought to you profanity-free by Turner Gill.) 

I is for Inefficiency. Jacory Harris is not a fan of it, and like master power bench presser James Henderson, he would rather roll with them big dollars than mess around with spare change. Harris was only 13-33 on Saturday against Clemson, but on 6 of those 13 throws something really exciting happened. Harris threw four touchdowns to two interceptions, leading Miami to a 30-21 victory in Clemson and generating plenty of sideline excitement when Miami celebrated in their traditional fashion: punching each other in the groin. 



via the Seventh Floor  

J is for JDAM. Oregon had 31 first downs and 626 yards of offense on Saturday. Which Saturday? Oh, any of them at this point. At this point Chip Kelly's offense has become like the Joint Direct Attack Munition: strap it to anything and it instantly becomes a well-targeted piece of weaponry. Oregon remains on pace to smash Oklahoma's 2008 scoring record after their 52-31 victory over Stanford despite losing their starting quarterback to off-the-field nonsense in the offseason and having nothing you would define as a go-to receiver in their offense. (Don't even tell me, non-Oregon fan, that you could pull "Jeff Maehl" from your pocket before reading this. You didn't and couldn't.)

They are to offense right now what Alabama is to defense: a system whose composite parts make up a greater whole no matter the parts. The running back will have at least 200 yards, the quarterback will pass for 200 and run for 100, and as a defense your best plan is to pray someone fumbles once and gives you a stop. 

K is for Knox. Jim Knox is going to die doing his Mountain Dew Red XTREEM sideline reporter work one day. Just know that he'll die happy, and most likely in front of your horrified eyes. 



His inspirations never end. Remember: no other sideline reporter has ever been dropped from a couch in Manhattan, Kansas, and no other sideline reporter ever will. 

L is for Least Comprehensible Playcall of the Week. Any time Florida ran John Brantley on a pure speed option to the short side of the field. It really had to become comedy at one point, since otherwise the call was a minor tragedy in the making as defenders hammered down on the running back and dared the dropback passer to run. Brantley didn't even look like he wanted to live, much less run an enthusiastic, committed option. He made Chris Leak look like an option genius, and I remember Chris Leak running exactly two successful options his entire career at Florida. 

M is for Milquetoast. Can one call an offense polite? Texas' comes close, as their blocking is genteel, their passes gently lofted to receivers, and their running backs courteously avoid hitting the hole too hard in order to avoid offending anyone who might appear in the gap.  They have a monopoly on team courtesy, however: Texas extended Oklahoma drives with rude penalties and didn't so much have the courtesy to write up a decent thank you note. Like Florida, Texas is a ridiculously talented team who can't figure out what to do with the weapons they have, and the resulting fumbling has been embarrassing to watch. 

N is for Nooner. For one reason or another the noon shift of games, usually stocked with at least one surprise, have been uniformly dreary this year. Even the upset special of Saturday--Illinois taking an early lead in Champaign on Ohio State--turned out to be the usual Ron Zook swoon as Illinois was ground down slowly by the hammering Buckeye offense and some serious dosage of Tresselball. (BTW, long-term strategic advantage of Tresselball: when you have a game where your star QB only throws for 76 yards, no pollsters get on you for looking like warmed-over crap because "That's just the way they play." Brilliant long-term thinking, really.) 

O is for Opine. The best open mike moment of the entire weekend came during the BYU/Utah State debacle. Over the air: 

BYU fan: I CAN'T BELIEVE WE'RE LOSING THIS GAME. 

Utah State fan: GO BACK TO WHERE YOU CAME FROM! 

BYU fan: THIS IS TERRIBLE. 

Utah State fan: Boo! Booooooo!

BYU fan: GO COUGARS! THIS IS NOT FUN! 

I kind of like to imagine Will Ferrell doing the dialogue here. I also imagine he's eating a hot dog, because that's what i do in blowout losses: hit the concession stand to eat my sorrows. 

P is for Pain. Texas Tech lived about three awful games in the span of a single game against Iowa State. First, a blowout in allowing Iowa State to go up 24-0; then a comeback to tie the game at 24; then a horrendous collapse capped by a play almost as humiliating as Fat Guy Touchdown: the onside kick attempt returned for a touchdown for Iowa State. The Cyclones scored 28 in the fourth against Texas Tech, because when they collapse they like to make sure that whatever is standing beneath them is killed and killed quickly. 

Q is for Questionable Quarter Quadrant. This has to be an event on par with blood red lunar eclipses, but every team that played a game for the SEC east this week lost: Tennessee, Kentucky, Vandy, Florida, and Georgia all took the o-fer on the weekend, with only South Carolina's flawless victory over the bye keeping the division from taking the universal donut on the week. The West, by contrast, won all five of its games, including three over SEC East opponents. 

R is for Repossessed. Rutgers had been missing payments here and there, falling behind to lesser competition all year, but the Repo Man came at last for Rutgers against Tulane, a truly not good team who patched together some trick plays and horrendous play by the Scarlet Knights into a win. Greg Schiano, having lost to Tulane, will now probably win the Big East because that is just how horrendous and inconsistent the conference has been. 

S is for Sprinkler System. Jerrod Johnson at quarterback, dishing balls in all directions at once. Sometimes they lead A&M back to a tie with minutes left in the game, as they did against a resurgent OSU Cowboys team in the second half of their Thursday night game. Then again, Johnson's picks helped keep OSU in the game, and ultimately gave them the win when on the final drive he drilled a deep ball right into the hands of the Cowboys' defense for the game-winning possession and ensuing field goal. The ball's going somewhere, and you may not know exactly where, but give him enough time and Jerrod Johnson will eventually water the whole field with passes. 

U is for Unimpressed. Go ahead and win by a field goal, Washington. It's not like Lane Kiffin's gonna look impressed. 



via 30fps.mocksession.com

Just after this a Washington defender came over and accidentally bumped Kiffin. At that point the sad music from Charlie Brown began playing, and it just all got a lot funnier from there. 

V is for VanderBeek Of the Week. 



This week's Weepy Dawson goes to Tennessee, who had players literally weeping openly at end of the game. No fun shall be made of you, for what happened there was truly inexplicable and tragic, and also because the men weeping can power clean you or me through the roof with ease.  

W is for Withdrawn: The vote of confidence in NC State, who we ranked with shaking hands last week before they lost to Virginia Tech this weekend 41-30. Cartons of skim milk all around to the NC State coaching staff, and shame on us for believing anyone in the ACC wasn't going 8-5 or 5-8 this season like every ACC team ever. 

X is for Xanax. I don't even want to think about how the LSU/Florida game is going to end this week. The only guarantee in life is that no matter how horrifying and incomprehensible the end of the last LSU game was, the only thing capable of topping it is the next LSU game. Just listen to him: even he's managed to boggle his own mind. LES MILES IS HAVING FUN ON THE LES MILES RIDE BECAUSE EVEN HE DOESN'T KNOW WHAT'S HAPPENING. 

/mindblown

Y is for Yes. [Jeopardy Buzzer Noise] "What is are Mike Locksley and Butch Davis both still employed?" Locksley was on his best behavior in a 38-20 loss to UTEP, while Butch Davis and UNC beat ECU 42-17. 

Z is for Zapp Brannigan. The blowhard space captain from Futurama, whose quote may be useful for the ever-growing list of fans whose teams whose teams suddenly self-detonated this weekend: 

Stop exploding, you cowards. 

Zapp knew it was a long battle, and so should you. Hold tight: today's top five are tomorrow's casualties, and you should remember that the race is not always to the swift, nor the strong, but sometimes to those mad enough to keep going no matter the circumstances. I don't even think you need to ask who we're talking about here
 
WEEK 5 Review
Spoiler [+]
Oct 4, 2010 - A is for AMAZING HAPPENS HERE. The Alphabetical this week may just be 26 separate entries devoted to the madness of the last two minutes of the Tennessee/LSU Game. 



You know a classic piece of live football atrocity when the highlight film begins with a converted 4th and 14, especially when it's against a Tennessee team that has no business being in the game in the first place, a Tennessee team playing a lawn chair at center, a Tennessee team with linebackers whose ACLs explode for no reason, a Tennessee team whose depth chart just reads "NOPE" at no fewer than seven major positions. Tennessee's there, and like a novice climber stranded in the death zone on Everest, you know it's a matter of time before they run out of oxygen, take off their clothes, and begin rolling in the snow like dying men suffering from mountain madness and cerebral edema. 

Tennessee's already doomed in theory as the inferior team late in the game even on basic football princlples before you activate the computer worm capable of crippling the entire football matrix as we know it: Les Miles.

 
Some men just want to watch the world burn. Others set it on fire accidentally and call their friends to come over and watch. Les Miles is both. 

Jarrett Lee throws a pass into triple coverage to start the sequence. Jarrett Lee, he of the multiple pick sixes and benching two years ago. He's back, and that's how bad LSU's offense is at this point with Jordan Jefferson attempting to "make pass go that way into hands." They now use him as a kind of running quarterback, which he's not. That would be Russell Shepherd, who is now a wide receiver who never gets the ball. Jordan Jefferson, the non-running QB, scored LSU's only TD to this point in the game on a wholly uncontested 83 yard run through the gut of the Tennessee defense. You knew the demons were in charge of this game from this play forward, and also that when you run on offense as nonsensically as LSU does, the only logical cure is to face an equally nonsensical defense. Tennessee rose to that challenge, and we toast you for this, Volunteers. 

LSU gets the ball on the two as a result of a pass interference penalty (natch) and does what any good coach would do with three downs and a running clock with 32 seconds left  in the game: call a quarterback sweep with your non-running running quarterback. Like much of Dangermouse and Cee-Lo's work together, the matchup of Gary Crowton's playcalling and Les Miles' attitude makes for sometimes nonsensical but always disturbing, affecting work. 

The clock runs. You do two things when you might want to stop the clock on the goal-line down 14-10 with a running clock. You may spike it---wait, that's not happening. There's a thing about spiking the ball at LSU, if you'll recall. They could call time out, but they have no timeouts because Les Miles is pretty sure the federal government demands those back at the end of the year if you don't spend them all. Though they've been on the two yard line ever since the pass interference penalty, the LSU offensive staff suddenly remembers OH MY GOD WE HAVE A GOAL LINE PACKAGE and sets off a fire drill the People's Republic of China would call "disgracefully hurried and chaotic." 

Huge men sprint off the field and onto it. The clock winds. Les Miles is seen throwing live chickens onto the field. Who knows where he got them, but they're all part of the plan now. The LSU sideline's complete anarchy triggers a disproportionate reaction on the Tennessee sideline. They send off three men, put in four, and one of the three sent off rushes back onto the field like a child terrified of missing the school bus for a field trip. (This child then ends up in the wrong town because they got on the wrong bus.) Derek Dooley wraps the headset cord around his neck and attempts to choke himself to death rather than watch what's happening. The crowd silences itself by placing a eighty thousand bourbon bottles in eighty thousand mouths at once and draining them simultaneously. 

Then the most magnificent part of the play happens. This sentence appears in its own box because everything about it is spectacular: 

Then the ball is snapped with the game on the line between two major college football powers with one team having 13 men on the field and another with a non-running running quarterback who watches in horror as the ball is snapped over his head and covered for a game-ending busted play. THIS ALL HAPPENED IN REAL LIFE. 

Competence is overrated as a form of entertainment while incompetence can be side-splitting stuff. I watched this in a bar full of people in Tuscaloosa, and the reactions were giddy not because of any real mass hatred toward both teams, but because they knew that with a quality arsonist like Miles on the sidelines something was getting set on fire: LSU, Tennessee, or possibly both. Oh, and LSU scored on the next play when a penalty was called on Tennessee for too many men on the field because a 9-4 defense is effective but highly illegal, and Tennessee players started weeping on the field.

I'm applauding, all of you, as loud and as hard as I can in your general directions. We shall not see another ending to match this beautiful hatchet job until next week when LSU beats Florida at home 7.5 to 2 on a blocked extra point and a half a point awarded for hitting all three crossbars on a single missed FG attempt. It's in the rulebook, look it up. 

B is for Boulder'd. This is how low the Buffaloes have fallen: Colorado fans rushed the field after beating a 1-3 Georgia team that lost to Mississippi State. There should be some kind of body to sanction this kind of poorly applied field-rushing, but...well, it is Colorado, and it's been Donner Party dismal there. You go right ahead, Buffaloes. 

C is for Catenaccio. Italian for "door-bolt," and the soccer term for locking down a lead by dropping everyone into defense and watching you, the opponent, flail uselessly into the face of wall of defenders, Alabama currently ranks 107th in the nation in tackles for loss. This is acceptable because Alabama simply wants to stop everything you do right at the line of scrimmage, score 24 points or so, and just wait for you to implode while they run the ball, slap down every attempt you make at doing anything whatsoever on either side of the ball, and work on the art of time-killing. They don't care about conquering: trench warfare and strangulation will be more than enough for them, thank you very much, and they happen to excel at it. Of all the hypothetical BCS matchups, the Oregon/Alabama one tantalizes the most since it involves a team one hundred percent committed to rapid scoring offense facing a team that would be happy to hammer out a ten point lead and then punt in between face-punching defensive series.  

They are to college football what Italy is to World Cup soccer: precise, tactically conservative, and brutally efficient. Forza Alabama! is too Euro-fied for the All-American Brawndo tastes of the Alabama fanbase, but it would be an oddly fitting cheer given their style of play. 

D is for Dantzler. You're no Woody Dantzler, Denard Robinson. First, you're not named "Woody," an underutilized nickname in the 21st century thanks to Toy Story. Second, Clemson sort of occasionally had a defense to back up the former Tiger great's game-length solos on offense, something Denard Robinson does not have in the slightest. Tennis game-planning had to be the case for Michigan: break serve a few times, get the ball last, and hope you could run out the clock just as you skated across the goal line. Denard Robinson crossed the goal line with 21 seconds left to put Michigan up 42-35. (Tennis math seems to work just fine for the moment for Michigan, actually.)

Third, you're not Woody Dantzler because you're better than the legendary Panther of the Piedmont, and that hurts to admit because Dantzler is my favorite obscure spread option QB of all time, the brave prototype who ran Rich Rod's nuclear veer attack before it was even a proven commodity at the FBS level. Going for 494 yards of offense and 5 TDs all by yourself in a game where you received no help from your defense whatsoever gets you the throne, son. Enjoy its splendors. (Splendors= the double plush terrycloth robe that says "Dancin' Dantzler" on the back. They even washed it for you!) 

E is for Ebbed. As in receding from its high point at the worst possible time. Ben Chappell's line for the Hoosiers is the stuff not normally seen outside of the Big 12 South: 45-64, 480 yards, and 3 TDs to one INT. Michigan's defense is horrible, and as good as it would feel you can't even blame Greg Robinson with a secondary full of walk-ons and part-time epileptics (they only seize when the ball is in the air; otherwise they're fine.) 

F is for F#$@*# Seriously: Denard Robinson's 905 rushing yards are more than 91 teams totals on the year in total rushing.  

G is for Gums, Bleeding. Northwestern QB Dan Persa took a shot in the face from an onrushing Minnesota defender, the kind of awful, neck-snapping blow to the upper body that in football comes with yellow flags, and in rugby comes with a cup of tea and complimentary kick to the balls. Against any other team this goes for a wounded duck for INT, or a fumble, or otherwise a positive play, but this was against Minnesota, so it flies into the back of the endzone for an acrobatic TD and eventual Gophers loss. Dan Persa's lip is probably split today making speech difficult, but even he could mouth the words "Tim Brewster is so fired" with ease and accuracy. 

H is for Hale. And hardy, as Robert Griffin found just what his rebuilt ACL and Baylor needed for a football comeback: the Kansas Jayhawks. Griffin finally recovered some of his freshman form against the Jayhawks, who appear to be protesting their unequal take of Big 12 football revenue by driving the value of the brand through the floor. Griffin's 380 passing yards, 64 rushing, and four combined TDs outgained the total production of the entire Kansas team in a 55-7 rout of the Jayhawks that was as fine a bid for Sun Belt membership as one can ever hope to see. (But Kansas fans, remember: this rout was brought to you profanity-free by Turner Gill.) 

I is for Inefficiency. Jacory Harris is not a fan of it, and like master power bench presser James Henderson, he would rather roll with them big dollars than mess around with spare change. Harris was only 13-33 on Saturday against Clemson, but on 6 of those 13 throws something really exciting happened. Harris threw four touchdowns to two interceptions, leading Miami to a 30-21 victory in Clemson and generating plenty of sideline excitement when Miami celebrated in their traditional fashion: punching each other in the groin. 



via the Seventh Floor  

J is for JDAM. Oregon had 31 first downs and 626 yards of offense on Saturday. Which Saturday? Oh, any of them at this point. At this point Chip Kelly's offense has become like the Joint Direct Attack Munition: strap it to anything and it instantly becomes a well-targeted piece of weaponry. Oregon remains on pace to smash Oklahoma's 2008 scoring record after their 52-31 victory over Stanford despite losing their starting quarterback to off-the-field nonsense in the offseason and having nothing you would define as a go-to receiver in their offense. (Don't even tell me, non-Oregon fan, that you could pull "Jeff Maehl" from your pocket before reading this. You didn't and couldn't.)

They are to offense right now what Alabama is to defense: a system whose composite parts make up a greater whole no matter the parts. The running back will have at least 200 yards, the quarterback will pass for 200 and run for 100, and as a defense your best plan is to pray someone fumbles once and gives you a stop. 

K is for Knox. Jim Knox is going to die doing his Mountain Dew Red XTREEM sideline reporter work one day. Just know that he'll die happy, and most likely in front of your horrified eyes. 



His inspirations never end. Remember: no other sideline reporter has ever been dropped from a couch in Manhattan, Kansas, and no other sideline reporter ever will. 

L is for Least Comprehensible Playcall of the Week. Any time Florida ran John Brantley on a pure speed option to the short side of the field. It really had to become comedy at one point, since otherwise the call was a minor tragedy in the making as defenders hammered down on the running back and dared the dropback passer to run. Brantley didn't even look like he wanted to live, much less run an enthusiastic, committed option. He made Chris Leak look like an option genius, and I remember Chris Leak running exactly two successful options his entire career at Florida. 

M is for Milquetoast. Can one call an offense polite? Texas' comes close, as their blocking is genteel, their passes gently lofted to receivers, and their running backs courteously avoid hitting the hole too hard in order to avoid offending anyone who might appear in the gap.  They have a monopoly on team courtesy, however: Texas extended Oklahoma drives with rude penalties and didn't so much have the courtesy to write up a decent thank you note. Like Florida, Texas is a ridiculously talented team who can't figure out what to do with the weapons they have, and the resulting fumbling has been embarrassing to watch. 

N is for Nooner. For one reason or another the noon shift of games, usually stocked with at least one surprise, have been uniformly dreary this year. Even the upset special of Saturday--Illinois taking an early lead in Champaign on Ohio State--turned out to be the usual Ron Zook swoon as Illinois was ground down slowly by the hammering Buckeye offense and some serious dosage of Tresselball. (BTW, long-term strategic advantage of Tresselball: when you have a game where your star QB only throws for 76 yards, no pollsters get on you for looking like warmed-over crap because "That's just the way they play." Brilliant long-term thinking, really.) 

O is for Opine. The best open mike moment of the entire weekend came during the BYU/Utah State debacle. Over the air: 

BYU fan: I CAN'T BELIEVE WE'RE LOSING THIS GAME. 

Utah State fan: GO BACK TO WHERE YOU CAME FROM! 

BYU fan: THIS IS TERRIBLE. 

Utah State fan: Boo! Booooooo!

BYU fan: GO COUGARS! THIS IS NOT FUN! 

I kind of like to imagine Will Ferrell doing the dialogue here. I also imagine he's eating a hot dog, because that's what i do in blowout losses: hit the concession stand to eat my sorrows. 

P is for Pain. Texas Tech lived about three awful games in the span of a single game against Iowa State. First, a blowout in allowing Iowa State to go up 24-0; then a comeback to tie the game at 24; then a horrendous collapse capped by a play almost as humiliating as Fat Guy Touchdown: the onside kick attempt returned for a touchdown for Iowa State. The Cyclones scored 28 in the fourth against Texas Tech, because when they collapse they like to make sure that whatever is standing beneath them is killed and killed quickly. 

Q is for Questionable Quarter Quadrant. This has to be an event on par with blood red lunar eclipses, but every team that played a game for the SEC east this week lost: Tennessee, Kentucky, Vandy, Florida, and Georgia all took the o-fer on the weekend, with only South Carolina's flawless victory over the bye keeping the division from taking the universal donut on the week. The West, by contrast, won all five of its games, including three over SEC East opponents. 

R is for Repossessed. Rutgers had been missing payments here and there, falling behind to lesser competition all year, but the Repo Man came at last for Rutgers against Tulane, a truly not good team who patched together some trick plays and horrendous play by the Scarlet Knights into a win. Greg Schiano, having lost to Tulane, will now probably win the Big East because that is just how horrendous and inconsistent the conference has been. 

S is for Sprinkler System. Jerrod Johnson at quarterback, dishing balls in all directions at once. Sometimes they lead A&M back to a tie with minutes left in the game, as they did against a resurgent OSU Cowboys team in the second half of their Thursday night game. Then again, Johnson's picks helped keep OSU in the game, and ultimately gave them the win when on the final drive he drilled a deep ball right into the hands of the Cowboys' defense for the game-winning possession and ensuing field goal. The ball's going somewhere, and you may not know exactly where, but give him enough time and Jerrod Johnson will eventually water the whole field with passes. 

U is for Unimpressed. Go ahead and win by a field goal, Washington. It's not like Lane Kiffin's gonna look impressed. 



via 30fps.mocksession.com

Just after this a Washington defender came over and accidentally bumped Kiffin. At that point the sad music from Charlie Brown began playing, and it just all got a lot funnier from there. 

V is for VanderBeek Of the Week. 



This week's Weepy Dawson goes to Tennessee, who had players literally weeping openly at end of the game. No fun shall be made of you, for what happened there was truly inexplicable and tragic, and also because the men weeping can power clean you or me through the roof with ease.  

W is for Withdrawn: The vote of confidence in NC State, who we ranked with shaking hands last week before they lost to Virginia Tech this weekend 41-30. Cartons of skim milk all around to the NC State coaching staff, and shame on us for believing anyone in the ACC wasn't going 8-5 or 5-8 this season like every ACC team ever. 

X is for Xanax. I don't even want to think about how the LSU/Florida game is going to end this week. The only guarantee in life is that no matter how horrifying and incomprehensible the end of the last LSU game was, the only thing capable of topping it is the next LSU game. Just listen to him: even he's managed to boggle his own mind. LES MILES IS HAVING FUN ON THE LES MILES RIDE BECAUSE EVEN HE DOESN'T KNOW WHAT'S HAPPENING. 

/mindblown

Y is for Yes. [Jeopardy Buzzer Noise] "What is are Mike Locksley and Butch Davis both still employed?" Locksley was on his best behavior in a 38-20 loss to UTEP, while Butch Davis and UNC beat ECU 42-17. 

Z is for Zapp Brannigan. The blowhard space captain from Futurama, whose quote may be useful for the ever-growing list of fans whose teams whose teams suddenly self-detonated this weekend: 

Stop exploding, you cowards. 

Zapp knew it was a long battle, and so should you. Hold tight: today's top five are tomorrow's casualties, and you should remember that the race is not always to the swift, nor the strong, but sometimes to those mad enough to keep going no matter the circumstances. I don't even think you need to ask who we're talking about here
 
Too bad A&M just missed out on Tuberville by a year. I like Tubs but I don't like the fit at Texas Tech, for his sake. Gonna take some time for them to first get rid of Leach's imprints all over that program and then rebuild it to Tuberville's style. 
 
Too bad A&M just missed out on Tuberville by a year. I like Tubs but I don't like the fit at Texas Tech, for his sake. Gonna take some time for them to first get rid of Leach's imprints all over that program and then rebuild it to Tuberville's style. 
 
If he is no longer doing what he needs to do in order to get into ND (
nerd.gif
) then it is a wrap.

I wish it was kept under wraps better. %%%@ had been going on for a while then everything leaked yesterday. ND and their fans prolly put the full court press back on him.
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