Rules and Theories for Sports Fans in Georgia: Bunk Beds, Boston Coattails and Bandwagon Wheels going flat

Bill Simmons of ESPN is one of my favorite writers ever. Not just because we share a fanatical love of basketball, top ten lists and statistics, but because he goes outside the box with his writing. Bill often goes on tangents throughout his articles, complete with footnotes, that are not only hilarious, but informative. For example, he could be talking about the NBA Finals and then suddenly do two paragraphs about how "The Air Up There" may be the worst movie ever made (it's close.....Cabin Fever is my vote for worst movie ever) or how he saw David Lee Roth in Vegas and got hammered with him. He weaves pop culture, sarcasm, and some "this one time, at band camp" stories with sports and really keeps a reader intrigued. Check him out on ESPN.com or http://www.grantland.com/, his very own website. I promise, if you are a sports fanatic, you will not be disappointed.

One thing Bill has done in the past is create his own rules and theories about certain players and sports. The most famous one he has done is the "Ewing Theory." Seriously, type "Ewing" into Google and The "Ewing Theory" is the first entry to pop up. Essentially, the Ewing Theory applies to players who receive an inordinate amount of attention and fan love, yet their teams never really accomplish anything with them. Then, when said player leaves the team (trades, retirement, etc.) the team rises to even greater heights. Obviously, this is a dubious homage to the career of Patrick Ewing. If you review the Knicks history while he manned the paint in Madison Square Garden, you will notice two things. Number One...he had the largest knee pads in the history of basketball. Number Two...the Knicks seemed to play better without him in the lineup. Check out Bill's article, it's very interesting and thought provoking. http://proxy.espn.go.com/espn/page2/story?id=1193711

Anyhow, Bill inspired me to create some sports rules and life theories for Southerners, mainly Georgians. These rules are going to be an absolution of Southern life and fandom forever, I can feel it. I want to be quoted years from now in an internet newpaper on Mars...."yep, ol Brad called it, the Chipper Jones-Hooters-Cold Sore Theory has held up all these years." Yep, that's what I want. These rules are brought to you by Herschel Walker's Sixth Personality, Left Hand Milk Stout Beer, RC Cola and Moon Pies, and Bear Bryant's accent. Why the Bear? Because I went to Tuscaloosa in 2002 when we played Bama and their pregame video started with the Bear saying "I ain't never been nuthin but a winner" in that Arkansas/Alabama accent that was thicker than a Chicago politician's wallet. I got a chill, and they were the dang enemy that day. That man is still powerful and he's been dead for nearly thirty years. Without further delay, here are some rules and theories for Southern fans:

1) The Dale Earnhardt, Jr. Compromise

All Southerners must cheer for Junior, even though we know he will never win a Winston/Sprint/Sega/TD Waterhouse/Whatever It Will Be Next Year Cup. It's never going to happen. However, pulling for Junior is a de facto cheer for his late father, the alpha and omega of NASCAR drivers. If and when Junior wins a race, Southerners must oblige the victory with a "well, this may be the year..." discussion, speak forlornly about Dale Senior's death, and then blame Junior's failures on his crew chief. The Son of the Man cannot be held accountable, no matter how many times he finishes 20th or worse. Other examples of this Compromise: Hank Williams III, Shooter Jennings, Derek Dooley, and Mike Shula.

2) The UGA/Alabama Eternal Bunk Bed Theory

Although we are close in proximity, share our entire western border with them, and sometimes fight over who gets to be on the top bunk, we just don't hate each other. We are like eternal dorm roommates that go out for beers on Friday and hate the other guys on the hall together. Yes, we've woken each other up the night before a test and yes, when Alabama passes out after too many drinks, we will draw on their face. We've had some knock-down drag-outs (the 1976 UGA victory to seal the SEC title, the 1985 Alabama last second win in Athens, the 2002 Man Enough Game, the 2008 Alabama victory that officially put them back on the map) but when the dust settles, we are opening each other's PBR's and toasting to the fall of the arrogant, self absorbed jerk (Florida), the obnoxious redneck (Tennessee) and the poser who drives a leased Hummer (Auburn).  The Eternal Bunk Bed Theory applies to Earnhardt, Jr/Tony Stewart (Southerners like Tony, he's old school and hates the sissified NASCAR of today), UNC/South Carolina, and to an extent, Bill Dance/Jimmy Houston. (Don't ask. It's a Saturday morning Cass Grocery thing. We fought over which show to watch, but we all loved both of these guys. Don't even get me started on deer season. Dean Durham shooting a sixteen pointer in Texas vs. Denny Brauer catching snook off Marathon? Forgetaboutit.)

3) The 2004 Boston Coattail-Riding Rule (Metro Atlanta only)

When the Red Sox came back to beat the Yankees in the ALCS in 2004 and went on to win the World Series, a sudden transformation took place in metro Atlanta. Victory-starved Georgians, tired of waiting on the Braves, decided to infiltrate Dick's Sporting Goods and become Red Sox fans. Even in Athens, the fratmosphere was rife with navy blue, old English red "B" hats. People who have never been within 300 miles of Boston, have no clue who Carl Yazstremski was, or to whom I am referring when I say "Tony C," pretending to be Fenway faithful. Seriously, ask them anything about the Red Sox prior to 2004. You'll get the same blank stare you get from Florida "fans" about anything prior to 1990. When the Celtics won in 2008, the same rule applied. The last time the Hawks played Boston in Philips, the fan division was about 50/50. In this recession, I'm relatively certain that the upstanding residents of Boston and the surrounding areas did not fork over $1,500 in flights and tickets to come to Atlanta. I guess Atlanta sees itself as the Boston of the 1990's, when all of the major Boston teams were on the skids, just waiting for the light at the end of the tunnel. The difference is that Bostonians stood with their teams during those times, where Atlantans bail. Why didn't they get behind the Marlins after 1997? Why not become Yankees fans after the 1998-2000 dynasty years? Or why not the Buccaneers after 2003? It makes no sense, really. Other examples of the Coattail Rule:  braindead west Georgians/Bama, illiterate north Georgia/Tennessee (1990's), frontrunning south Georgia/Florida/FSU(1990's).

4) The Auburn Conundrum of 2010

Notice how Auburn, even after winning the National Championship, did not take off in terms of gaining new fans and recognition? In 2010, I did not see the insanely drastic increase of Auburn gear on people's cars and heads like Alabama in the last year. Seriously, Alabama's fanbase quadrupled here in 2011, judging by the number of car tags, flags and brand, spanking new hats on people's heads. Are their colors too ugly? That cannot be the answer, as Florida and Tennessee gear permeated the land after their national championship years, and no color is more heinous and obnoxious as Cheetos Orange or worse, Cheetos Orange mixed with blue. Are they too far away? Nope. Auburn is 30 minutes from Columbus, Georgia. I think some of the west Georgia counties actually get to utilize in-state tuition at Auburn. Hell, they have a billboard in Atlanta, encouraging high school students to make a trip to the Plains.

I guess it's just not "sexy" to be on Auburn's bandwagon. I think the NCAA/Newton scandal so sullied the reputation of that team, that even the most frontrunning Atlantans just could not see themselves sporting Auburn gear. Maybe it was the "one and done" way it all went down. Recruits weren't falling all over themselves to go to Auburn after the 2010 season, but for some reason, they salivate like Pavlov's dogs to get to Tuscaloosa. The same principle applies to the Florida Marlins, the Chicago White Sox (if the Cubs win one, watch the influx of Cubs fans in ATL, it will be epic), and the Tampa Bay Buccaneers.

5) The Atlanta "Everybody Hates Chipper" Rule:

Have you ever seen a superstar so universally disliked by his own people than Chipper Jones? They complain about his contract. They complain about his Hooters waitress fetish. They complain about his numerous injuries (there's some credence there, I swear he went to the DL after Terry Pendleton "Indian rug burned" his throwing arm once) This Rule applies to superstars of teams who just can't quite win the big one on a regular basis. With fame comes responsibility and when you lose, it normally falls on guys like Chipper. Never mind he's the second best switch hitter of all time, the greatest Brave other than Hank, and helped them win their ONLY World Series....he has played his entire career in ATL without seriously considering leaving. Yet, he is still a pariah. Think about all the old stories about Mickey Mantle, Joe Namath, Muhammad Ali and Dimaggio or modern guys like Michael Jordan, Jeter, and Larry Bird? Hell, all of these guys had skeletons in their closets, big ones.....waaaaay bigger than "what's that sore on his lip?"  The difference between these guys and Chipper? Winning on a consistent basis and not being in Atlanta.

Ponder this: Don Mattingly and Wade Boggs played for the Yankees and Red Sox, respectively, in the 1980's. Neither of them won a World Series title during their entire careers in New York and Boston, and for the the most part, the franchises were not successful when they played for them. However, these guys are universally revered by Yankees and Red Sox fans. Hell, Boggs finally won a ring playing for NY in the late 90's and Boston people were happy for him. Just think if Chipper defected to the Mets and won a World Series ring? Would Atlanta be happy for him? Yeah, about as happy as a Cassville native who won a free ride-along with Jeff Gordon.

Stay tuned for more Rules and Theories in the future. I'm currently working on a few theories for Cassville:

1) The "Empty 2 Cycle Oil Can" Rule
2) The "John Deere Lawnmower" Fallacy
3) The "I've Switched to Red Man Golden Blend" Theory
4) The "She Done Left Me" Syndrome
5) The "Workin' on Mah Car" Excuse

Cultural Conversations in Georgia : Buckshot Jones, Goldman Sachs and Turbo Tax

"Don't you worry about it, boy; you my hoss, even if you don't ever win a race." -Duane Allman

I love this quote. It sounds like something from the benches at Cass Grocery. Duane would have fit right in up there, if you ask me. Disregard the long hair and drug abuse, this guy was as Southern as a fried chicken milkshake with a side of Moon Pie fries. Fellow Southerners ought to "Google" his name and read some of his quotes, there are some real classics there. I wish that somebody famous would suddenly appear up there one day and talk to those guys. I swear, if Dale Earnhardt, Waylon Jennings or George Jones made a cameo in Cassville, every single person on that bench would die a happy man.

It's really funny to compare the conversations of people from different cultures. Since I'm a snooty Cobb County resident now, I've had the dubious honor of frequenting enough Starbucks locations and rubbing elbows with the bluest of blue bloods to get a fair grasp on the important topics facing metro Atlantans today. Take yesterday for example. I was in the Marietta-Dallas Highway Starbucks, where I overheard the conversation of three regular customers sitting near the register. These guys are in this coffee shop every day, believe I know. They sit in the same spot, talking louder than Buckshot Jones's quarter panel smacking against the wall at Bristol after lap 33.

**Sidenote: The Buckshot Jones 32 Rule was invented in Cassville by myself and three other men. Buckshot was a NASCAR driver in the 90's. He hailed from Georgia, went to UGA and was massively popular amongst the citizenry of Cassville. Plus, his name was Buckshot. Anyone named after ammunition, a football coach, a country musician or farm equipment would attain God-like status at Cass Grocery. Poor Buckshot could NEVER finish a race. It always seemed that after Lap 32, Buckshot would just flush all of his racing knowledge, go "deer in the headlights" on us and total his car in a sharp turn. We would watch the races and once lap 32 ended, there would be a collective "oh s***, I hope Dale ain't near Buckshot" and we'd cringe, waiting for him to self destruct.

Anyhow, these men were discussing the pros and cons of Microsoft Word 7 and the efficiency of Turbo Tax:

"I tell ya, Bill, the new drop down menu on the Start icon is much easier to deal with. It combines...."

(interrupting him, 7 decibels louder): "I like the old menu better. I like having the "Format" menu separate."

(another interrruption, 12 decibels louder): "You guys don't know what you are talking about, when you point and click on the Page Tab....."

At this point, I wanted to pour my coffee in my ears. They rambled on and on, but luckily I had my head phones and Ipod, so I turned on Merle Haggard's "I Think I'll Just Stay Here and Drink" to drown out the drivel of some of the most bored individuals in the known universe. Give me a discussion about the latest copper wire theft on Peeples Valley Road. Give me a riveting diatribe about the virtues of using lag screws or laying sprinkler pipe in the mud up in Pine Log. Bring on the arguments about the best food plots for deer in north Bartow, how much PVC glue costs or the size of your fan belt. Microsoft Word? Turbo Tax? Enter Cassville....

"Microsoft? Is that the new tar (tire) that Michelin just put out? Them babies are expeeeensive....whooowee!"

"Turbo Tax. Heh. The IRS can kiss my ass. I'll send them some sawdust this year, they done stole enough from me. Turbo. They'll get my money when I'm gotdam good n ready!"

"They'll put a lien on you, Larry!"

"Lien? What they gonna lien? I own my tools and that Polaris right yonder (points to the back of the truck). They can't have it!" (nods head defiantly, takes a drag from a Marlboro Red)

Same topic. 30 miles apart. Vastly different result.

Let's meander further into the city. I was at Twist (restaurant at Phipps Plaza) eating lunch after Court and had the pleasure of sitting next to two men taking their lunch break at the same time. They were obviously in the insurance/sales business. You know how you can tell? They use large words for no apparent reason in their everyday conversations and name drop, all mixed with their former collegiate vocabulary. These are words they only learned a year ago during their training seminars.

"Dude, Jeff called me yesterday. He is developing a strategic partnership with this other dude in Miami. I think if we continually maximize our efforts and coordinate the synergistic aspects of this endeavor, we'll be so money.

"Word. This guy I know at Goldman-Sachs, he is the Director of Advanced Financial Directives, he can help us coagulate our knowledge with brand recognition. We're talking some serious fiscal implications in a positive direction. I'm so jacked right now. Hang on, gotta call coming in." (Bluetooth firmly entrenched in the ear)

After laughing/vomiting in my mouth a little, I remembered when they guys at the store tried to sound technical and do the name dropping.

"Hell, we was out there in Rome and Randy came out there...you know Randy, he's the head of the county department upair (up there) and he tol' us to get all the polybutylene off that property right then. I was working on the driveshaft and catalytic converter of that truck we got, so I didn't have to do it. Don't nobody mess with Randy. He makes biiiiig money too. Got him a twin engine Ranger boat up at Lake Weiss."

45 miles apart. Technical talk and name dropping. Goldman-Sachs and.....Randy. So different, yet so similar.

There's nothing wrong with Atlanta people. It's just a different culture. Quite frankly, some of the nicest and most interesting people I've ever met are city/suburban dwellers. I've never hidden my love for New York City and its citizens. Conversely, some of the most smug, back stabbing, self absorbed jerks I've ever known live in Bartow County, Georgia. They are another source of comedy altogether. If the entire world was a 10 mile radius from town square, they would be kings. Unfortunately for them, there are the rest of us.

So, if you are ever in Cassville and you are not privy to the intricacies of using toggle bolts vs. metric bolts or spark plug wire sizes, listen to the conversation closely. Absorb the vocabulary. Remember the big names. Introduce yourself as "Waylon Earnhardt Smith" and whatever you say after that will be OK by them. Just don't get carried away, or you'll be another Buckshot 32 victim.

Values in the 30123: Basic Truths for the Cassville in all of us

What a year 2012 has been so far. We are literally setting records at work, leaving me no time for fun/blogging/decompression. For that, I apologize, as I have had some complaints. I appreciate the complaints because it means y'all are actually reading these dang things! I promise to get back on schedule and fill your lives with Cassville appreciation, sarcasm and as always, love for the Dawgs and hate for our enemies.

Anyhow, as I was sitting at my desk this week, I thought about values. I know we are not born with values, we are only born with basic instincts. Our values are created by our environment and our interactions with each other. These interactions all crash together in our cerebral cortex like Dick Trickle in the third turn at Talladega, mix with what our parents told us, along with hormones and there you have it. I know we are told throughout our educated lives that we are all the same "deep down," but I'm here to tell you....that is a crock. That is the most preposterous statement I've heard since a Yankee once told me that "sugar makes grits taste better, buddy"  Take your sacrilege back to Minnesota along with the "buddy" crap. We are not the same, nor will we ever be. Each culture has its own set of values and basic truths that they observe, without fail. That is the definition of "deep down" and I know from observing Cassville natives that we are not like anyone else.

Here are some basic truths that every Cassvillian must observe:

1) There is only God. Anything else is wrong and anyone who doesn't believe that should be taken "out back"  and beaten. ("Out back" is a wonderful Southern colloquialism. "Out back" is a ubiquitous area where certain offenders are taken and physically manhandled by an individual or a group who disagrees with said offender. You won't find any kangaroos in this outback......only Darryl, Dwayne and all their uncles and cousins, ready to pummel you. Any non-Cassvillian needs to avoid "out back" as much as possible.)

2) Speaking of God, Dale Earnhardt sits at His right hand, espousing the virtues of Intimidation and putting sinners into the wall like Darrell Waltrip at Daytona. It is also Sterling Marlin's fault that Dale wrecked and died. Disagree with that, you'll be "out back" before you can say "I wonder if the far (fair) will be in the Big Lots parking lot this year?"

3) The Far (Fair). Everyone must go. No exceptions. You must also come back to Cass Grocery to discuss all prizes won at the bottle cap throwing station, any altercations with your ex-spouse who was there with his/her new squeeze and of course, how bad "them young'ns" were whilst waiting for the Ferris Wheel. At least one of them must receive a "whuppin'" in line, showing everybody runs the show in your house (or double wide).

4) "Whuppins" are an acceptable form of punishment, whether it be public or private. Public is preferred actually. FYI, the bathroom at Cass Grocery was the site of many whuppins. That room was like the Tower of London. All it took was a kid whining about not getting candy, and the kid's "Diddy" would look at me and say, "Can I borree (borrow) y'alls bathroom?" Nothing in the world can prepare you for a double negative infused, profanity laced tirade about Kit Kat bars: "Don't you NEVER gotdam whine at me like 'at (that) in this store. The damn race is on and we gotta git back. You ain't gettin nuthin! Shane! Cody! Y'all go get in the damn truck!" They storm out, buy their Natty Light and lay drag on their way home.

It will sometimes lead to a misdemeanor charge of "battery under the Family Violence Act," but if you go through life without an FVA charge, you haven't truly lived. Furthermore, you "done told him twiced (twice)" not to touch your Elvis commemorative plate collection.

5) Elvis is not dead. Moving along...

6) Every landlord is a jerk. Nobody has a nice landlord, it's not possible. "I done told him that my septic tank was backed up and he ain't doin' a dang thing about it, that icehoe (asshole)." Anyone who claims to have a nice landlord is a liar, and can be taken "out back" as such. (FYI, Dad was a landlord once. He made the incredible jerk move of demanding timely rent, so the tenant lit the place on fire. Another tenant beat his wife's face to a pulp in the front yard and another was busted growing an insane amount of marijuana in the basement. Rentals in Cassville: worth every penny.)

7) Gun ownership is encouraged, and it's even cooler if you have a "carry permit." You also must show this permit to others as much as possible, then pull up your pants leg to show them the brand new Glock strapped to your ankle, which caused your light bill to be paid late. Who cares? You gotta protect yourself. On the benches at Cass Grocery, I was witness to an arsenal of weaponry over the years, which lead me to believe two things: 1) We'd never be robbed in broad daylight and 2) if the Russians did invade us, I'm staying put. Those Commies would have been cut down in a hail of gunfire before you could say "The only good thing about Georgia Tech is that it's next to the Varsity." Wolverines!!!! (+1 for Red Dawn reference)

8) Trespassing is an offense punishable by death. We abide by Texas law here, "Texas East" so to speak. If your Justin Ropers touch a blade of grass in my pasture, it's the .30-06 for you. If you are not killed, you will certainly be taken "out back" and educated about the intricacies of Cassville property ownership. A couple of guys I went to school with learned the hard way about his rule. They weren't killed, but a Winchester rifle across the forehead will make you think twiced (twice) about roaming a pasture that doesn't belong to you.

9) All medical procedures must be done by emergency room doctors. No matter how large or small the problem may be, a hangnail all the way to the Ebola virus, you MUST go to the emergency room (via ambulance, of course. It's free, right? Oh wait...). All immediate family, uncles, aunts, cousins, co-workers, fellow church members and the guys from the Masons Lodge must show up to hold a vigil by your bedside. Of course, when you get a $2,500 hospital bill, you must go up to Cass Grocery and complain about it. There are no exceptions to this basic truth. Oh, and don't forget to wear your hospital bracelet for the next week...it's a great conversation starter.

"What happened to you, Leonard?

"Hell, me and Inez was at the Waffle House and I stepped in a oil slick and fell on my ice (ass). Rushed me to the emergency room. Cracked tailbone. I bet it caused my COPD to flare up too. I'm gonna call Ken Nugent. Hell, they even tol' me I got fibrmal-ga (fibromyalgia). I can't even work now. I am eating Klonopins left and right."

10) If you ever need to settle your differences and/or do something shady or illegal, the parking lot of the store is where it needs to occur. Once, a cheating boyfriend was caught with his other woman at his house. Instead of dealing with it at home, he and the woman sped off in his car and drove to the store. His longtime squeeze, we'll call her "Kristy," got in her car and followed them. They park next to the pay phone and of course, Kristy is right behind them. She removes a four foot piece of Re-Bar from her trunk and proceeds to demolish every piece of glass on the car, screaming obscenities that would make Chuck Norris shave his beard. After she finished, they drove away, covered in glass. She approaches Dad in tears and says, "are y'all gonna call the law?" Dad, trying not to laugh and living up to another Cassville code of honor, replies, "No way." She simply took them "out back" and this is totally acceptable behavior.

For shady or illegal activity, the pay phone at the store is your ticket. There is no telling how much meth, marijuana, prostitution, fraud, embezzlement, and the conspiracy to commit various and sundry crimes was discussed on this phone. Every time someone used that phone, they looked as if they'd just robbed a bank or burned somebody's house down. You know the look, constantly scanning the area for cops, pacing and chain smoking like Humphrey Bogart on Casablanca. Once, I was coming home from Athens with one of my friends and I passed by the store around 1 AM. There was an 80's model Mustang 5.0, a girl smoking a cigarette on the hood and a guy with a cutoff Def Leppard t-shirt, talking on the phone. "Nothing good happens after 1 AM," my parents always used to say. Well, all I know is that being on a pay phone at 1 AM in Cassville means that somebody is about to get high, die or get sold on the black market.

Values. Irreplaceable ideas and beliefs that are unique to a culture. Every community has them and this is why I say that "deep down," none of us are alike. It's like Billy used to say, "Every time I go to Fairmount, the music stops when I walk in a store." People know you are an outsider, it's obvious from the get-go. It's like the difference between a customer scratching lottery tickets when they are sober and when they are high on meth. Sober customers scan the tickets, buy them 1-2 at a time, and casually scratch them off in their car. People cranked up on meth buy 20 tickets at a time, scratch them at the counter furiously, taking breaks to pace and/or scratch their necks, contemplating whether they can afford 23 Snickers bars. That's the amount of difference between a Cassville native and people from elsewhere.

Oh.....and never, ever say that "sugar makes grits better" in Cassville (aka the 30123). You'll get taken out back, get "whupped"with Re-Bar and will likely end up in the emergency room.

Signing Day Disgustingness and Miller Lite Showers...I miss football already

Well, another Signing Day has come and gone. It was a typical Signing Day for me: no work was accomplished, I hit F5 on my computer about 4,584 times, texted at least that many times to my friends, and spent the evening scouring our rival's rosters to see who will be trotting out of the tunnel when we face them in 2012. Laura asked at one point if I was going to actually speak to her before bedtime. I think I did, but I don't remember. In any event, I was happy with the recruits the Dawgs signed. Our second opponent  in 2012, the vaunted Missouri Tigers, signed the #1 recruit in the nation. Florida has the #3 class in the nation. Auburn was in the top 15, South Carolina and Tennessee were in the top 25. Luckily, our schedule rotation worked out where we don't have to play Bama, who signed the #1 class in the nation. The rich definitely got richer on this February 1st. The SEC looks to be the premier conference in the nation for years to come.

Then....there's Tech. I don't know who they signed. As a matter of fact, nobody does. No one actually knows who plays for Tech until you line up across from them. I know Paul Johnson pulled the scholarship of a recruit from Lanier County, Georgia, who ultimately signed with North Carolina. His first question was, "when do we play Georgia Tech?" Good for you, young man. You are realizing a very important fact of life....Georgia Tech sucks. They suck in all forms and fashions. They lie, cheat, steal, inhale, kill kittens and know the identity of the second gunman on the Grassy Knoll. (+1 for Ace Ventura reference) If Tech was real estate, it wouldn't perk. If Tech was cheese, it would be fat free Velveeta. If Tech was a car, it would be a Honda Element riding on a donut. You get the picture.

Quite frankly though, this year's recruiting cycle was one of the most disheartening I've ever seen. Maybe it's been going on like this for years, I don't know. Maybe we are all too "plugged in" to what is going on now and we are shocked at how dirty, underhanded and disconcerting the entire process has become. Honestly, the NCAA, the conferences, coaches and ultimately, the fans are to blame for this debacle. We facilitate this "fifteen minutes of fame" gone awry by subscribing to websites, reading Twitter feeds, and calling in to talk shows. We pay the money to see the games. The coaches want to keep their jobs, so they will do anything short of murder to sign the best recruits. (there is no proof of this, maybe somebody has been whacked in Alabama, I wouldn't be shocked) The NCAA and the conferences rely on the money made by these guys, so they don't monitor anything in the present, they wait 3-4 years after they're gone and then investigate. The most egregious offenders get a "don't do that anymore" speech, a huge fine, a few schollys pulled and it's over.

Think about it. Alabama was on double secret probation for a good chunk of the 2000's, mostly for recruiting violations. They experienced a couple of bad seasons. They still sold out their games, then signed a top notch coach in 2007 and have won two national titles since. USC is currently on double secret probation (recruiting violations) yet they signed a top ten class (with Lane Kiffin, who left Tennessee in shambles, and on probation) and look to be in the Top 5 when the 2012 season starts. They are still on TV. They are still in Los Angeles. More importantly, they still have money. Same with Ohio State. Top Ten class, top notch new coach.....the future is so bright, they gotta wear shades. Lesson learned, right? Yeah, they seem real concerned. It's like a bug getting smashed on the windshield of a Bentley, it's annoying to look at the guts smeared all over the place, but it's still a Bentley and the guts will wash off eventually. Nothing will change the machine that is college football unless the money runs out. The same people stay on top. When was the last time ANYBODY came out of nowhere in major college football? (Boise State does not count. Sorry. If 10 of your 11 games are over by halftime, you are not major college football.)

Then you have the players, the families, street agents and the giant pool of hangers-on that make this circus complete. They all know the score and play the part of the innocent, wide-eyed recruit who wasn't aware that getting a brand new Navigator was a NCAA violation. However, if somebody gave me a free car, cash, and gifts, you better believe I'd rip their arm off taking every last bit of it. They know this is their one shot in the spotlight as a college recruit, that tomorrow is not promised and every single one of them is an ACL injury away from reality. I guess this may justify the constant "I'm committed, but I'm still looking, so I guess you can say I'm 90% but I guess I'll just leave it up to God" routine that permeates the recruiting machine. I don't remember a Signing Day with more de-commitments and last minute mind changes. If I was a coach, it would be so maddening to spend all the time and effort on a kid who blows you off at the 11th hour, thereby ruining your chances of getting another player to take his place. At the same time, the disgusting way that Nick Saban dropped Justin Taylor illustrates that this mentality swings both ways. Ugh. I'm getting annoyed just typing this sentence.

Then, I think about all the good times that college football has produced. Not just my times in Athens, but my entire college football watching life. I saw the greatest team in history (2001 Miami) play an unforgettable season.  I was able to see Reggie Bush dominate Pac-10 defenses, running around like Bo Jackson on Tecmo Bowl. (Seriously, Bo was MONEY on that game). I saw the greatest single game performance on live television (Vince Young singlehandedly defeating Southern Cal in the National Championship in 2006). I've seen guys come back from impossible injuries, people cry over victories and destroy property in defeat. All the amazing upsets.....I will NEVER forget when Appalachian State beat Michigan in 2007. I got emotional over it, I won't lie. A small school from the South with a quarter of the budget and a tenth of the facilities vs. a symbol of Northern blue-bloodedness. For anyone who was tailgating with me at that moment, I am so sorry for the Miller Lite shower, but that celebration was about more than football.

So, I will press on as a fan, regardless of the nonsensical quagmire that Signing Day has become. I will hang on until August....six long, agonizing months, until they tee it up again. In the meantime, I will watch the Hawks squander their early Southeast Division lead, Linsanity continue to overtake New York, early PGA events named after yet another corporation I've never heard of, and listen to another excuse as to why the Pacquiao-Mayweather fight will not take place. (They haven't used a tropical disease as an excuse yet...maybe Manny will get beriberi or scurvy this spring.) The Braves have already launched a "this may be the year" campaign, so we shall see. I'm betting Chipper will be out the entire month of March with a nagging ear lobe injury.

Cassville Tour Guide: Abridged Version

When you think of touring the state of Georgia, for sightseeing, historical or vacation purposes, you always think of the obvious: Savannah and the barrier islands, Atlanta, Ellijay and the mountains, a rafting trip down a river in north or south Georgia, Warm Springs, Andersonville...you know, the classics. Get a t-shirt from Six Flags, take a picture at Stone Mountain, buy a green Masters visor (the alpha and omega of originality), get a caramel apple from a man in overalls at the Apple Festival and break your arm rafting down the Ogeechee River.....and you are golden. You've done Georgia in a nutshell.

Unfortunately, Cassville was not part of that nutshell. Other than a few Civil War monuments and a cemetery, we don't have a ton to offer. In fact, we were not on a state map for years until somebody designated us a "historical area" and boom....we're back on there, with such illustrious places as Pine Log, Kingston, and Acworth. I remember Billy saying, "Aw, hell, now Atlanter is gonna swallow us whole...here we go." Nope. We did get an influx of visitors after we appeared on the map again. Whether it be a weary I-75 traveler, a wayward biker, sightseers or just curiosity...all of them ended up at Cass Grocery at some point. It was always entertaining to watch them approach us, as if any minute we would snap and Ned Beatty one of them behind the store. (+1 for Deliverance reference) That dang movie damaged the reputation of small town Southerners everywhere, especially those of us at Cass Grocery. The gas station in Deliverance was full service, like us. We often had someone with a physical deformity hanging around (usually missing fingers from chainsaws, or in the case of one man, a bull that sawed his fingers off with a tight rope during a rodeo). We had old men with funny hats standing around scowling at them. Matt played a banjo. (just playin'....or am I?) In any event, looking back, maybe they were justified.

When they realized we were not into such things, and we had encountered modern humanity before, they would relax. Most wanted to know the age of the store, how long we owned it, who caught the giant bass over the beer cooler (my Granddad) and whether my Dad would be interested in selling any of his Coke signs (H-E-double hockey sticks, no). Of course, they would get a God-forsaken ice cream during this line of questioning. The women would remark at how "cute" the store was. After laboring over the frozen spawn of Lucifer himself, I would be asked the inevitable question: "so, what else is there to do around here?" Answering them honestly, I would tell them about the cemetery, the old post office and the hill where the old colleges were located before Sherman burned them. Not very riveting if you ask me, maybe a fifteen minute total tour. Cassville has so much more to offer than fifteen minutes of monument reading and silent reverence over 150 year old gravestones.

So, in the interest of promoting the endless possibilities that exist in Cassville, I have devised a driving tour for the novice Cassville visitor. The tour would start and end at the store, be conducted in a caravan of 1986 T-Top Camaros (primer gray, of course and no mufflers) and before it would begin, the following recording would be played:

"Greetings and welcome to Cassville, Georgia: home of laying drag, toothless hags, limp dishrags and illegally purchased deer tags. We are proud to call this home and we ask you not to litter or otherwise sully the pristine condition of our pot-holed roads, trailer parks, and especially, our beloved store. There are a few things you need to remember along the way. Number One: You must not interact with the natives, especially those beyond the Cedar Creek dumpsters. If they choose to interact with you, ask them for a cigarette and then run. Number Two: Please keep your hands in the vehicle at all times. Feet are optional, as most female residents prop their bare right foot on the sideview mirror anyway. Number Three: Do not, under any circumstances, mention the following names: Jeff Gordon, Honda, Toyo, Komatsu, or Barack Obama. You will bring possible harm to the entire group. If you can remember those rules, and deal with massive exhaust inhalation, you will enjoy our tour. Now, take your respective "Dale Earnhardt 1951-2001" t-shirts, your John Deere hat, your Justin Ropers and light up that complimentary Marlboro. Thank You and Get On it!!!"

With that, the drivers (only those of Cassville birth are allowed) will lay a serious drag and take off down Cassville Road into this...

1) On your right....you will see the vacant house with plywood windows. That house was the site of many a Cassville legend. It holds the record for the most times raided by SWAT teams and the only recorded instance that someone was awakened by a wharf rat biting their lower lip. A bastion for meth use, it was responsible for more Fudge Round/Yoohoo purchases than little league baseball. To top it all off, two of its former residents fought off twelve would-be attackers with baseball bats after refusing to allow one of the attackers to date his sister, who was pregnant with another man's child.

2) Another legendary household stands on the right. If you will look past the red Chevy on blocks, you will see on outbuilding where one resident tried to kill his son with a hatchet. The son holds a Cassville record for most cigarettes smoked before the age of ten and is the only person who has had  a .38 Special pointed at his head in the store parking lot. Currently serving a prison sentence for burglary, sadly, he is unavailable for pictures.

3) As we make our way south, you will see the first of many trailer parks. It's been renamed several times over the years, but I like the name bestowed upon it by a sheriff's deputy in the early 90's......"the cess pool of Cassville." This illustrious neighborhood requires a felony conviction, an illegitimate child, a drug problem and unemployment to live here. Upwardly mobile citizens need not apply.

4) The trip back up Highway 41 would be highlighted by a stop by the old middle/high school (where we had a dirt track, not a paved one), a stop by the house of one of my old classmates who punched a teacher in the face on a field trip, ran into the woods and wasn't found for six hours, and the Cedar Creek dumpsters. Everyone needs to get a picture next to the "No Dumpster Diving" sign and witness the trash compactor break down after yet another person threw a car battery in it. This is where it can get a little rough. Some of the biggest characters and morally casual people that I have ever known inhabit this area. You know, the kind of people who still smoke with an iron lung, may have spent time in prison, have nicknames that nobody can explain, and tattooes they don't remember getting. (For those of you who remember....Yoda lived down this road)

5) Moving onward, we stop by the Eternal Light Baptist Holiness Temple of Judah Mount Zion Antioch Ebenezer Bread of Life Messianic Church. (12 members strong, plus 3 water moccasins) An abandoned house that once had $425,000 worth of marijuana growing behind it. (Big day in Cassville, two helicopters landed in a pasture and 30 GBI agents swarmed this place like a TI-83 calculator giveaway at Georgia Tech.) Go down the road where I grew up. (Everyone must pay homage to the old homeplace. Nowhere in the world means more to me.) Take pictures of the porch where the Cassville Skateboard Club began. (2 members: Matt and yours truly) And another picture of the field where my Dad shot a Chow running full speed, after it killed one of my grandmother's ducks. (with an AR-15 no less)

6) No visit to Cassville is complete without a stop by the most notorious of trailer parks, which was behind my grandmother's house. The Sheriff's Office might as well have had a precinct in there. If the other place is a cess pool, then this one is the trash ring out in the South Pacific. This place provided us with such characters as Junior (never knew his last name), who once peed his pants at the counter because he was so hammered. One family that seemed to always have a money jar on the counter with a sick child's name/picture on it, although we had never actually seen this child. Of course, somebody would end up "stealing" the jar after it got full. Another family, who apparently must have at least one member housed in the Georgia Department of Corrections at all times. You also had the man who shot his wife in the head with a .25 pistol, but she survived and they stay married for several more years. Another man, whose entire tricep was torn off when he punched out the window of his wife's boyfriend's car. Of course, the boyfriend caught his arm and drove about half a mile with him hanging out of the window.

7) Coming back toward the store, I'll show you were my good friend got drunk and chainsawed a giant oak tree down across Cassville Road, knocking our power out for hours and resulting in his arrest. Another guy who sells beer out of his house on Sundays, the spot where my brother chased BRAG (Bike Ride Across Georgia) members with a garden hoe (barefoot of course), and the house of the man who did ten years in prison for cutting another man's throat during a card game. The same man also had the words "sweet" and "sour" tattooed over his nipples (he never wore a shirt) and his ex-wife's name "x'ed" out and his girlfriend's name tattooed under it.

See? Much more interesting than Union troop movements, empty home foundations and a quiet graveyard. Of course, airbrushed T-shirts would be sold at the end of the tour. Your options:

1) A Chow barking over a canyon with Dale Earnhardt's car driving through it; or

2) A John Deere Gator laying drag with "I Got On it in Cassville!" in cursive beneath it.

Disclaimer: This was only meant for laughter. I am in no way condemning my neighbors or trying to cast a negative light on them. They were and still are good people (for the most part) and never failed to make me laugh or teach me a life lesson, most importantly, never get a woman's name tattooed on your body and move out of your house if a wharf rat bites you on the face.

Auld Lang Syne Your Name Across My Heart....

(+3 for a Terence Trent D'Arby reference, and welding two classic songs together..that's huge in my book)

I love those songs. One ushers in a New Year, the other ushers in reminscence of tightrolled Jordache jeans, British Knights high tops and Bugle Boy (or maybe even Ocean Pacific). I wish Bugle Boy would make a comeback, along with acid washed jeans. I would "Zack Morris" this town quicker than you can say "B-b-b-b-beat....Go Bayside!" (90's kids....search your heart, you know I'm right.) I am not afraid to jam out to "Wishing Well" while sporting a slap bracelet, and you should not be either.

Anyhow, I spent another New Year in the hustle and bustle of New York City. Once again, the City that Never Sleeps (or eats Paleo) did not let me down. This time, the family came along and I was able to show my folks how it's done in NYC. Laura and I are seasoned veterans of the subways, cabs, avenues and streets, so as a pseudo tour guide, I think I did a pretty good job. The weather was great, except for high wind from the South (for which I blame the Dawgs, they "sucked" in every possible way...more on that later). The food was beyond excellent and the nightlife was livelier than a free Dale Earnardt t-shirt giveaway at Cass Grocery in 1987. (which is consequently the same year "Sign Your Name" and "Wishing Well" debuted...see? A comeback is needed.)

This recap is brought to you by Milk Stout beer, the intersection of Broome Street and Watts Street in Soho, Joe Bonamassa, Kangol hats and the 7 Train. (Hey, John Rocker, I'm still alive...amazing, huh?)

So, we get up at the crack of dawn and head to Hartsfield. My Dad elects to drive, so we are as sure to be on time as Mike Bobo will call a sprint draw on a 3rd and long. That GMC Sierra melted the 85 South sign as we merged off the connector, or as the great Charlie Daniels put it, "Mario Andretti would have sure been proud." We get to the airport and board with no consequence, which is a first for me. We usually fly Delta, which means numerous delays, cancellations, gate changes and unfriendly service. All capped off with the ever-so-maddening "I'm sorry, sir, we are doing all we can." That statement has about as much usefulness as pay phones, the SciFi channel, border grass, the continued toll at Georgia 400 and water towers not used for graffiti. It means nothing.  They have no competition in Atlanta to speak of, so they can treat people like yesterday's trash. We used AirTran this time and I have to say that the staff was nicer, the plane was cleaner and the boarding process was faster. However, once the plane left the jetway, we circled the runway twelve times before we took off. It was like NASCAR, only we turned right every time and nobody asked me if I needed any wedge taken out. (+1 for Days of Thunder reference) I got to see College Park, a dead opossum, and a graffiti covered wall that said "Big Diddy" twelve times each. However, I did finish four levels on Angry Birds before we took off, so I got that going for me, which is nice. (+1 for Caddyshack reference)

When we finally landed at LaGuardia, we cabbed it into Manhattan. I was all ready to say "Take us to Queens at once" but I didn't figure Rahjeesh would get the joke, so I kept my mouth shut. (+1 for Coming to America reference) I always notice the cab driver's name for some reason, I guess to make sure I didn't see him on Unsolved Mysteries or worse, "The Real Housewives of New Jersey." Since we had circled the runway in Atlanta so many times, we were going to be late to lunch, so I told Rahjeesh to step on it. That was like telling a Cassville native that Greg "The Hammer" Valentine was signing autographs with Jake "The Snake" Roberts at the Waffle House on Highway 411. We blew through Queens faster than Charlie Weis blows through a Krispy Kreme when the "Hot n Now" sign comes on. After hitting 88 miles per hour, going back to 1955 and back to 2011 again, we arrived at Park Avenue (+1 for Back to the Future reference).

Our first stop was a French restaurant called Artisanal. To merely say I was hungry is like saying the Red Sox pitching staff likes to drink alcohol occasionally. Four bottles of wine, a seafood tower, fondue and a steak with fries later and the owner wants to rename the restaurant after us. They also sold gourmet cheese with mile-long names that nobody can pronounce. With the French language, I've learned to just say the first syllable and then make a noise like you are gagging yourself after drinking too much hunch punch at a party during freshman year and it seems to work. The manager was a peculiarly dressed Frenchman, but that man absolutely would not let your wine glass go empty. Seriously, he saw my glass go down to one sip and he wedge-busted three waiters to get to my table. It was an awesome lunch to say the least, and I was full for at least two hours.

After showing my folks a few sights and walking around Midtown, we got ready for dinner, or as I called it "Experiment #1." The place we picked is called "Sushi Samba." It is a Peruvian-Japanese fusion restaurant that mixes sushi rolls with traditional Peruvian food/spices. Unique does not do justice to this menu, since Japan and Peru go together like Vandy and winning, skinny jeans and Kirstie Alley or Kenny Chesney and anything resembling manhood. I had been there before but I was worried my folks would not like the food. Lucky for me, this experiment went as well as the introduction of Natural Light to the beer cooler at Cass Grocery. They annihilated the jalapeno/sea bass sashimi. They even tried sake. They served us a lobster taco dish that made me get up and slap the couple at the table next to us. Our waiter was from Mobile, Alabama originally and was more than happy to accomodate some fellow Southerners. It was an excellent dinner and if anybody gets a chance to eat Japanese/Peruvian fusion, do it. I would lobby for such a restaurant in Cassville, however, it would probably go over like Jeff Gordon Appreciation Day. Not gonna happen and it would probably just lead to a few fistfights.

We meandered to the Upper West Side the next day. The Beacon Theater was the destination, where so many great artists have darkened the doors, including an annual month long tour by the Allman Brothers. This was the site of one of the most boneheaded moves of my life back in 2009, where I was being cheap and did not buy tickets online and tried to scalp. I waited until the show started and went to the nearest scalper and he said "$750 a piece." Dumbfounded, I said, "you gotta be kidding." The man looked me in the eye and said, "Eric Clapton just walked on stage, he's playing with them all night." I could have had them for $200 a piece on Ticketmaster. A Clapton/ABB collaboration has not happened before or since. Now, excuse me while I slam my forehead through this plate glass window. For a true rock fan, it does not get any better, unless Duane suddenly rose from the dead along with Jimi and Jim Morrison and they played a 47 minute combination of "Riders on the Storm/Hey Joe/Whipping Post." If that happened, the Dawgs could lose every game from now until the end of time and I would still die happy.

One of the best times ever was had on this night. By recommendation, we went to a bar called "Beauty and Essex." Strange name and even stranger facade, however, it was one of the classiest and most fun bars I've ever seen. First and foremost, to enter the bar, you walk into a pawn shop first. My first thought was, "oh damn, the cab driver drove us to Acworth." Nope. It was still New York. Still, I thought any minute now a gaggle of Glade Road citizens would come in and rob the place. You tell the cashier that you are there to eat and drink and she opens this huge door behind the desk. It's two stories of tables, chandeliers, bartenders and one of the best DJ's in NYC. I impressed my mom with my verbatim (almost) rap of "Electric Relaxation" as it blared over the speakers, mixed with "Off the Wall" by Michael Jackson and "Girls and Boys" by Prince. He even played some jams by De La Soul. You would've thought some Cassville people would stick out like a sore thumb but we didn't. Nobody does in New York. That's the beauty of it, nobody is concerned with what you look like, where you are from or who your daddy is. We left the bar, had dinner (Inoteca - an Italian place that is awesome, serves Nutella toast as a dessert....needless to say, I slapped my second couple of the trip there), got a second wind and went back to Beauty and Essex.

The Brooklyn Bridge is usually a fun sightseeing tour but not on New Year's Eve. European tourists are right above hicks on Nextels and the fat lady who walks slow on the moving sidewalk in the airport as being the most annoying people ever. They literally stop in the middle of everything and take group pictures, without regard for anybody or anything around them. I'm not sure of the origin of any of them, but they weren't Spanish, English, Scottish, Irish or Italian. Needless to say, if you want to bump into 3,478 people and listen to incessant blabbering in a foreign language, the Brooklyn Bridge is your place.

It was still a great day though. The Broome Street Bar and Grill is a dive bar that had an internet jukebox to end all internet jukeboxes. My parents and I livened the place up with Marshall Tucker, the Outlaws, Little Feat, Earth, Wind & Fire, Lynyrd Skynyrd and I just had to play "Flirtin With Disaster" by Molly Hatchet. Every time I hear that song, I want to jump into an orange 1986 Camaro T-top, light a Marlboro Red and lay drag until the fire alarm goes off. Unfortunately, Camaros are not plentiful in Manhattan (go figure), I can't smoke and I would probably crash the car into a pole anyway. In any event, we spent the evening at the 21 Club, sitting next to the table where Humphrey Bogart proposed to Lauren Bacall and another where the Rat Pack used to party back in the 40's. All the old New York Yankees, Giants, the Brooklyn Dodgers, you name it, they used to hang at the 21. Very nostalgic and it made for an awesome ending to the trip. I love New York.

Oh yeah......Terence Trent D'Arby...born and raised in Manhattan. Booyah. I'm bushhogging his comeback trail as we speak.

Highlights/Lowlights of the rest of the holiday:

1) The Dawgs absolutely freaking blew it. I have no words. We were like Billy Madison in high school and MSU came by our table, poured soup on our head and said "O'Doyle rules." Other than Brandon Boykin and Alec Ogletree/most of the defense, the team should be forced to walk the Brooklyn Bridge in full pads for 48 straight hours and take every European group picture standing on their head. I saw guys laughing on the sideline at the 7:30 mark in the 3rd quarter. We lost a clean sweep for the SEC, lost to a Big Ten team and looked like hell on national TV....at least Tech lost.

2) Florida pulverized THE Ohio State Urban Meyers. If there is a team I could pick as my "most disliked beside Tech," then Ohio State is it. Nothing against their fans, it's ESPN and their lovefest with them. Since Notre Dame is less relevant than a Walkman now, I guess they needed a Northern school to pick up their slack. One thing of note, Deonte Thompson played his last game as a Gator. I swear Deonte Thompson has been on Florida's team since 1976. Every team has one of those guys....Wes Byrum played at Auburn for 30 years, I'm sure of it. Shaun Chapas was our fullback when Herschel ran over Bill Bates, just ask Casey Clausen, because he was holding a clipboard on Tennessee's sideline that day. (with one arm tied behind his back, of course)

3) I saw the movie War Horse, with all hopes and aspirations that it would be a good one. Wrong. Other than the camera work, this movie was so Disney that I wanted to vomit. It made the Lion King look like "Requiem for a Dream" or "Apocalypse Now." It made the "Blind Side" look like "Boyz in the Hood." Sometimes, a movie can take inspirational scenes to the extreme and cross over to the dreaded "jumping the shark" zone. Well, this War Horse movie jumped the shark, rode the refrigerator (+1 for Indiana Jones and the Kingdon of the Crystal Skull reference) and Ripleyed me (sorry, the Alien franchise died after the second one) into sarcastic laughter and a sprint to the door when the credits rolled. Laura lost movie selection privileges for a month over this one and will be forced to watch Predator, Platoon, Rocky and Rambo to make up for it.

The Hap-Hap-Happiest Christmas since Bing Crosby...

You know the rest. (+1 for Christmas Vacation reference)

Another Christmas, come and gone. Another full frontal assault of family, food, fun, and tacky decorations in the books. I have to say that this was a most excellent (and I mean it, not in the Juan Antonio Samaranch diss of the Atlanta Olympics way) Christmas. Although I did not need any presents, I got some and they were all great. I ate all kinds of sugar filled, carb infested foods while I watched the Bulls, Knicks, Clippers and Thunder win their games. I drank my aunt's egg nog until I wanted to puke, then powered through and drank some more. I watched Christmas Vacation and laughed like I had never seen it before. If anyone sees me for the next two weeks, don't get annoyed if I say, "You serious, Clark?" every three sentences. It's going to happen.

It was a very Merry Christmas for Yu Darvish, the half-Iranian, half-Japanese pitcher, who is likely to be a Texas Ranger in the near future. The Rangers paid $51.7 million dollars just to have the right to negotiate with him. That's more dollars than people in Texas. That's more dollars that the populations of South Africa and South Korea, combined. That's more dollars than national championships claimed by Alabama.

$51.7 million dollars just to talk. 51.7 big ones just to say, "hey, you been picked up yet?" I get that for free at Laurel Park in Marietta when I go down there to play ball. Preposterous. I am worth at least five bucks....I'm a helluva rebounder, I have a nice jump hook, I dive for loose balls, I'm not that slow.....and I'm white. Anomalies like me deserve compensation.

Darvish identifies with his Japanese heritage, so I ask.......what is it about Japanese pitchers? Do they throw differently? I remember the fascination with Hideo Nomo (who had a nondescript career, considering his popularity) and the unbelievable price paid by the Boston Red Sox for Dice-K, who now sits the bench collecting a fat paycheck. He threw some sort of screwball he called a "Gyro Ball." This guy had teams bidding on him left and right until Boston ponied up enough cash where even the Yankees said, "Nah, we good." In a couple of seasons, our stupid American/Latino batters figured him out and have renderered him......normal. Arms are arms, regardless of what continent they were conceived upon. What happened to guys like Bob Gibson, Don Drysdale, Nolan Ryan, and Randy Johnson? No gimmicks, no weird glasses, no Gyro balls....they just threw really hard. They were also some of the meanest guys in the game. Bob Gibson once threw at Bobby Bonds while he was in the on-deck circle trying to catch a glimpse of Bob's windup. "You'll get your turn, Bobby!" he said. Drysdale would throw at your head and dare you to come to the mound and settle it. I'd pay $51.7 million for a guy like that....eccentricity and ethnicity be damned.

It was also a Merry Christmas for the NBA, who finally kicked off the season and had monster ratings. Strangely, the defending champion Mavericks were slaughtered at home by the Miami Heat. They were more lethargic than the staff of a Georgia DMV station at 4:59 PM. I actually stopped watching it in the 3rd quarter and watched "How the Grinch Stole Christmas." World Champion Shawn Marion and Dirk were bottled up all night by the more athletic Heat, who were grabbing boards and running with the ball before the Mavs could say "Roy Tarpley." (FYI, Tarpley was a first round choice of the Mavs in the late 80's, they leveraged their entire future on him, but instead of being a star, he was banned for life from the NBA for violating the drug policy. Boom! Fifteen years of futility. Tarpley is secretly from Acworth, Georgia.) Now, they will play a 66-game condensed schedule that will have some teams playing in five cities in less than two weeks. No wonder Shaq retired. If Shawn Kemp was still playing with this schedule, he would have 20 more kids.

It was not a Merry Christmas for the Cartersville Wal-Mart, who apparently has more used syringes littering their landscape than darkest dark alley in Atlanta. I told y'all, this place is a black hole of filth. My personal hell consists of being trapped in the Cartersville Wal-Mart with the song "Bleeding Love" on replay (since 95.5 The Beat played it every three minutes in 2008) with a gaggle of Georgia Tech fans scraping forks across plates and another gaggle of hicks chattering about lawn care on Nextel phones. No culprits have been apprehended, no leads have produced any information....it's just a prickly problem that is permeating that protruding pit of pathetic-ness over on Highway 20. Wal-Mart always causes the use of alliteration for yours truly. Horrible Hangar of Human Hopelessness. Foul Freak Show of Failure. Scornful Sour Skunk Smelling Stream of Cess in the South. Here's a short poem for you:

Wal Mart, your sliding doors are the gateway to insanity,
The lowest level of Southern humanity
Your syringes are many, I hope your shoppers have been few
Oh, Wal Mart, if you were a Facebook status....I would not like you.

It was not a Merry Christmas for Michael Gilliard, a junior linebacker for the University of Georgia. He is currently practicing light this week due to a sprained ankle...a sprain he obtained while running from an angry bull as he was cow tipping back in his hometown of Valdosta. On a scale of 1-10 of awesomeness, this is about a 73. I don't care about the time off. This event springboards Mike to one of my top five favorites on the team and has engrained the song "Maniac" in my head for the next 24 hours (+1 for Tommy Boy reference) I could see another player washing his shoes off, angrily saying to Mike, "these are the new Air Jordans, they are worth more than your life." (+1 for another Tommy Boy reference) Good luck Michigan State, our boys are ready for anything.

It was not a Merry Christmas for recently divorced Kris Humphries, who was voted the "most disliked" NBA player in a recent poll and was booed in his first game since his domestic disturbance drama unfolded (there's alliteration again. Maybe Kris will work at Wal-Mart after he gets cut after this season.) Hell, his wife's name was Kim Kardashian, he's from Minneapolis, Minnesota, he was a Golden Gopher and he went to Hopkins High. His sister's names are Krystal and Kaela. Look at all that alliteration. Kris.... you are finished, bro. Just retire now and learn how to repaint the blue handicap parking spots, since Wal-Mart has 2,354 of them in every parking lot.

So, it's on to a New Year.  I hope it's a year filled with happiness, laughter, changes for the better and lower stress levels. I hope it's a year of more time with Laura and my family, more personal time, more trips to New York, less drama and less complaining. I hope it's a year of more Dawg victories, less Georgia Tech...everything, more Tim Tebow skits, and less Cam Newton, Ohio State, Jerry Sandusky, Joe Paterno and Nevin Shapiro. Here's to another year that Cassville is not swallowed up by the urban sprawl, Wal-Mart actually closes a store, donuts and milkshakes are proven to be a health food (along with pizza), and the FCC decides to shut down Fox, CNN and MSNBC until they can report good news. I hope all of you enjoy your holidays and be safe....remember, a cab ride only costs $5.00....the reputation you get from being in a "Just Busted" paper lasts forever.

The Bowl Game, Recruiting and What the Dawgs Need in 2012

When the last second ticked off the clock in the SEC Championship, the 2012 season started for me. I'm really disappointed in bowl selection, the opponent and the date of the game. The Outback Bowl with Michigan State will be a good matchup based on records (both 10-3), but it has less intrigue than a Dodge Neon. That is to say, there is nothing to it. We beat them in the Capital One Bowl two years ago in a snoozefest that I watched in NYC, hurting from New Year's Eve and re-evaluating my choice to voluntary consume Goldschlager. They played the "three yards and a cloud of dust" Big Ten style and we played our style....and simply outran them. I missed the 3rd quarter because somebody ran into the bar and said "hey! there's some paint drying on the sidewalk!" I know nothing of Michigan State, I don't know who they recruit, I have never been to Lansing (nor do I plan to ever go) and frankly, I don't care to know anything about them. I would rather play Northwestern, at least they are in Chicago (which is a freakin' awesome city) and somehow mix black and purple to make a uniform (I thought only Prince could pull this off) Not to mention, the damn game is being played on Monday, January 2nd. A workday. The day AFTER New Year's Day. Irrelevance, thy name is Outback Bowl. Seriously, that is like winning second place at church softball. Snore.
Anyhow, being the diehard I am, I will watch it. We should win this game. If not for anything, just to put another Big Ten notch in our belt.

So, I turn my eye to recruiting. Signing day is rapidly approaching. This is a HUGE deal for me and always has been. I literally shut down on this day, I am unapproachable and accomplish nothing all day. I remember 2002 Signing Day, when I skipped my Public Relations class because I heard that we had two surprise commitments coming our way. I got home just in time to see Fred Gibson and Gerald Anderson's names come across the UGASports screen. Or in 2005, when Matthew Stafford committed, I fist pumped in the middle of the law library. Some girl said, "shhhhhh!" I said, "hey, we just got a big commitment, Matthew Stafford." Three guys from Alabama stood up from their computers and congratulated me, then discussed their recruiting class with me. It's a religion, it really is.

Here is the progression for me: I wake up and check the UGASports website for early rumors. I call my Dad, Vinny, Jeremy, and a few Alabama friends. I pray to the Man Upstairs for a good day, that our commitments be plenty, that Auburn, Florida, Tennessee and Tech's classes all fall apart and they have to drop football altogether, and that my internet does not go down. If it did, I would probably re-enact the scene from Terminator 2 when Arnold hoses the entire LAPD with a Gatling gun from Cyberdyne's office window. Nobody would die, but the condition of my office equipment would deteriorate rapidly. I fly to work, not because I'm a dedicated employee, it is because I cannot check updates in the car. I tear into the front door, yell "not now!" before anyone can ask me to do anything and shut my office door. The phone rings....my internal Terminator computer zeroes in on the phone, registers the phone as an "imminent threat" and destroys it. When people actually enter my office, they get a series of "uh-huhs" and half-hearted "oh yeahs" and are shuffled out the door. Unless you are 6'4, 300 or run the 40 in 4.3....get the hell out. Then the signings start rolling in. Texts from friends abound, "Yes! Ray Drew is a Dawg!" or "Dang, Florida just got Easley, that DL from New York." When one of our main rivals get a good player, I watch his film instantly. I  have a "I must kill Frank Drebin" moment and then it subsides. (+1 for Naked Gun reference) The entire day is filled with continuous F5's on my keyboard, coffee, and cussing like a stockbroker until the last ink dries.

Some people have remarked, "I cannot understand caring about where some 18 year old kid wants to play football." I then give them the evil eye, make a voodoo doll of them and begin to stab it with my plastic lunch fork from O'Charley's. I do not apologize for caring about the future of UGA football and the future of our closest rivals. Not one bit.  It matters that we just replaced three offensive linemen or picked up another speedster to catch Aaron Murray's passes. It matters to me that Florida just signed a five star running back, or that half of Auburn's class will not qualify. I'm really excited about seeing how this year's class will shape up. So far, I'm very pleased with our commitments. Here are some highlights:

1) Keith Marshall: A running back from Raleigh, North Carolina who grew up loving the Dawgs. This guy can flat fly (there's "flat" again) and he is a bellcow for others to follow to UGA. Plus, his dad's name is Woodrow. I've just always liked that name, it takes a special man to pull off the name "Woodrow."

2) Faton Bauta: this guy is a beast. He is a QB, but he is built like a linebacker (6'3, 225) and is one of those high motor guys that would rather die than lose. He attends high school in Florida but he is actually from Brooklyn, NY. So, I'm already a huge fan and have already nicknamed him "Fuggitaboutit."

3) Jonathan Taylor: another beast for the D-Line (6'4 315) that plays as mean as he looks. Seriously, I showed his picture to one of my paralegals and she quit the firm. He is a south Georgia boy too, grew up in a pro-UGA county, committed early and has no intentions of going anywhere else.

4) John Theus: a mammoth O-Lineman from the Bolles School in Jacksonville, Florida. This will be our left tackle of the future. He's just like Michael Oher, except he's white, has red hair, and grew up on the beach, but other than that, pretty much identical.

5) Chester Brown: a giant Samoan kid from Brunswick for the O-line (6'5, 340). We have never had a Samoan player as far as I know. Forget the Soulja Boy, we got us the Haka dance now! I cannot wait to see this guy in pads, he is one of those "first off the bus" types that probably eats a walkon before practice every day.

So, what do the Dawgs need to be successful in 2012 and beyond? Well, the East is going to be....interesting. Florida and Tennessee are reeling from bad seasons, internal turmoil and coaching changes. Will Muschamp is the greatest thing to happen to Florida since Ponce De Leon. It's like watching a Civil War re-enactment, where everybody just stands there in a line and gets murdered by volley after volley. Nobody ducks. Nobody hides behind a tree. Everytime he opens his mouth, it's Pickett's Charge all over again. I hope he is there for 20 years. Poor Derek Dooley really stepped into a disaster in Knoxville. Lane Kiffin did more damage to that team than Charlie Weis could with a gift certificate to Baskin Robbins. South Carolina is losing most of their defense and Lattimore may miss the first couple of games of 2012. Vandy and Kentucky will be....Vandy and Kentucky. Missouri is the X-Factor and I haven't the slightest idea what to expect. In any event, we are predicted to win the East in 2012. We MUST take advantage of the down years of our rivals, get some high end talent and stop scheduling stupid games like Boise State and Oklahoma State.

We also need some other teams to step up and improve, thus weakening our rivals further. Here are a couple of teams that can really help us:

1) University of Miami Hurricanes: Seriously, if Miami is doing well, south Florida is closed off. If Al Golden starts winning in Coral Gables, you can forget anybody from West Palm, anywhere around Lake Okeechobee and southward. This hurts Florida and Auburn, who seems to get south Florida talent despite having nothing to offer except cow pastures and some almost dead trees.

2) University of North Carolina: Some of you are probably asking....UNC? Really? Yes. A strong North Carolina hurts Tennessee. The state of Tennessee has terrible high school football, and for years, they made their living from border states, just peep their past rosters. Since Richt has been at Georgia, the state has been mostly closed off to the Volunteers, except Da'Rick Rogers (and y'all can have him too). Saban has closed Bama off. Tennessee has been suffering and sliding more and more every year since 2005...coincidence? I think not. If they lose access to North Carolina, good night.

Other Important Football Stuff....

1) After only one season, Charlie Weis is leaving Florida to be the head coach of Kansas. Amazingly enough, he will be the second fattest coach in Kansas history. Mark Mangino pushed maximum density like a football sled across a frozen pond. He looked like Jabba the Hut with a mustache. Weis is not far behind, however. I just can't wait to see him in a Kansas sweatshirt, that Jayhawk will look like a damn Pterodactyl flying over the Pacific Ocean.

2) South Carolina people continue to whine about the Dawgs playing for the SEC Championship. Their logic: they did not lose to an East opponent, so they should be East Champs. I guess that 1969 ACC Championship banner is going to fly solo for at least another year, maybe you could call Alabama and borrow one of their banners? Just sayin....

3) Penn State continues to be a finger-pointing, political, CYA public relations nightmare. Now, Paterno has cancer and more victims are popping up across the Northeast. Maybe if they try hard enough, they'll get Sandusky charged with the Kennedy assassination. (+1 for A Few Good Men reference)

4) Georgia Tech is playing Utah in the Sun Bowl. Sister-Wives vs. TI-83 Calculators. Rick Majerus vs. Bobby Cremins. Salt Lake City vs. North Avenue. A respected Native American tribe vs. a tiny insect that forges nests in the ground and stings you while you cut grass. It's a no-brainer. Go you Hairy Utes!

5) While I typed this article, Gene Chizik sold his soul to the Devil, who then pawned it so he could buy Cam Newton's rookie card. Strangely enough, Auburn lost their #1 running back commitment to Alabama today. The circle of life (+1 for Lion King reference)....from the jungles of Africa to the Plains of Alabama...nobody escapes it....unless your Tim Tebow.

Country Comes to Town....or impromptu visits to NYC make my year

This has been a long year, to say the least. Considering what I do for a living, what I have to hear day in and day out, and the constant flow of negativity that courses through every courtroom I find myself in...it's a wonder I stay sane and sober. When I was in law school, we had a representative from the State Bar come and speak to us about how our lives would change once we passed the Bar. He proceeded to describe the stress, the long hours, the emotional tolls and the financial burdens of student loan payments. Then he showed us an overhead projector presentation that basically illustrated how attorneys lead all professionals in everything bad: drug abuse, alcohol abuse, domestic problems, criminal activity, heart diseases, strokes.....scurvy, polio, and Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever. You name it...we do it, get it, hit it or drink it. It was quite depressing honestly. Being a bankruptcy attorney in 2011 was not for the faint of heart, let me tell you. I've definitely looked in the mirror a few times and said to myself, "You'd be an awesome basketball coach."

This past weekend helped me realize that I will make it, no matter what. There is always a better time and a better place. Bad days come and go, bad people come and go....there's nothing you can do to stop it.  You just have to plow through bad days to get to the light at the end of the tunnel. Trust me y'all, there are so many lights out there, they drown out the darkness real fast. My light at the end of the tunnel this weekend was yet another trip to New York City...my 9th in the last two years. I have never hidden my love for New York. It is the greatest city in the world and I can say that with all certainty. As certain as Jarvis Jones admitting to actually being the Predator at some point, as certain as Kevin Costner admitting The Postman is the worst movie ever, as certain as Chris Bosh admitting that he was E.T.'s stunt double. It's absolute, y'all.

This New York recap is brought to you by three high gravity Belgian beers (the names of which are impossible to pronounce), the southbound 6 train to the East Village (hey, John Rocker, I survived this one too, weird huh?) and the five minutes I actually spent in my hotel room.

So, we land at LaGuardia and I'm starved beyond belief. A Seattle's Best bagel ain't gonna do it. Laura sees the look of death in my eyes. Hunger does many things to people, but to yours truly, it's anger. I'm talking vitriolic hatred of all animate and inanimate objects. The anger I have when I'm hungry can only be rivaled by few things: 1) A loss to Tech; 2) Loud hand dryers in small bathrooms; 3) Slow elevators and 4) cold grits. She looks to the cabbie and says, "Step on it, buddy." I look to see his name on his permit....Deepak. Bless Deepak's heart. He cleared Queens and blew into Manhattan like his head was on fire. I actually like driving through Queens. The Ramones came from Queens, as did 50 Cent, Run DMC, and Onyx (90's kids...remember Slam?) So did Ron Artest, Kenny Anderson and Sundiata Gaines (one of my favorite Dawgs ever). Coming to America was based and filmed there, I swear I can almost see My-T-Sharp barbershop off the Van Wyck Expressway. In any event, I barely looked at Queens. All I could see was steak, cannelloni, lasagna or whatever else I was about to destroy on 55th Street.

I ran into my hotel room and hip tossed my luggage in the corner. Laura just attached herself to my belt loop and ran alongside the anger tornado, cutting a path through the lobby toward Rockefeller Center. Seriously, it was like Twister, except there were no cows,Philip Seymour Hoffman in an RV cranking Deep Purple's "Child in Time" or uncomfortably bad lines by Bill Paxton. Doormen and bellhops flew aside as if weightless. The revolving door spun off the hinge and crushed a rickshaw. Morrell's was the choice (not the crappy chain, a local place). It was a wine bar and served steak sandwiches and other great food that could be prepared in the blink of an eye. I looked at the waiter and said "nothing can prepare you for the unbridled carnage you are about to witness." (+1 for Trading Places reference) Soup, salad, sandwiches, tacos, lobster, and the waiter's hand were all promptly engulfed, along with two glasses of Italian wine that were almost as good as Franzia box wine. Almost. (tongue planted firmly in my cheek, of course) They had so many wines, you had to order by number. We should have done that with cigarettes at Cass Grocery, how formal would that have been?

Me: "Hey, Dwayne, how y'all?

Dwayne: "We good. Momma's doin' better. Lemme get this Co-Cola (Coca-Cola) and hmmmmm....a 138."

Me: "Aaaah, Kool Mild 100's....an excellent choice."

Then the group looked at one another and agreed, it was time to party. But first, they wanted to ice skate. Simply, I don't ice skate. My knees and ankles have been killed by pounding pavement and hardwood courts, but nothing hurts them worse than skating. Seriously, imagine fence staples being jammed into your joints and tendons every four seconds, that's how ice skating feels. (for you non-rural types, fence staples are insanely sharp) So, I go to the NBA Store and immerse myself in the wonderful-ness of it all. I walked in, pulled an Archie Graham and said, "Is this Heaven?" The employee, puzzled, said, "Naw, dawg, it's Fif Avenue." (+1.5 for Field of Dreams reference and subreference to Chappelle's Show). I meander through throwback jerseys (I especially liked the old school Chris Jackson Nuggets jersey) and then retreat back to the chaos of the New York streets. There is nothing on Earth like the streets of New York. It is a whirlwind of humanity, automobiles, skyscrapers, street vendors and construction crews. If we were measuring it on the tornado scale...Atlanta would be an F2, New York would be an F5. (cue the worst part of Twister, when everyone drops their silverware when Jamie Gertz says, "has anyone ever seen an F5?" I wanted to dig a hole and bury all of them in it, except Philip Seymour Hoffman. I knew he'd be great. It was the Deep Purple scene, I swear.)

We meet at a Thai restaurant near the eastern border of Midtown. I enjoyed the Thai food, but wow, my face almost melted. My chopsticks actually caught on fire at one point. My waitress came to me and said, "You like?" After I dried my tears, put out my tongue fire and revised my will, I said "Hayul yeah!" in the most Southern voice I could muster. Sue me, I gotta represent wherever I go! Plus, I had a few Stella Artois pints to assist my growing "happy" feeling and I was really jacked about heading to Broadway. There is something so awesome about Broadway. The history coupled with the ambience absolutely seduces me.

We are slated to see "Rock of Ages," a homage to 80's hair ballads. The show instantly grabs me and I am awash in a sea of Journey, Warrant, Night Ranger and Def Leppard. They even did a montage scene, like any cheesy 80's flick, complete with "I Don't Want to Live Without You" by Foreigner. When they dove into "High Enough" by the Damn Yankees, I swear I almost cried. I love that song. Patrons were dancing in the rows and the cast was loving it. It was one of the most entertaining shows I have ever seen. It was not thought provoking, it was just a story about rock n' roll with typical 80's movie storylines. I highly encourage anyone to see it, but don't bother if you don't like innuendo about every vice and sin of the flesh known to man. Like bankruptcy law, it's not for the faint of heart.

Then it's on to a karaoke bar on 35th Street. This place has private rooms where they serve you food and drinks while you blaze away at just about any song that has ever been recorded. In the two hours I was there, I soloed "Theme from New York, New York" by Frank Sinatra, "Tracks of my Tears" by Smokey Robinson and the Miracles and since I just heard it, "High Enough." Laura's co-worker, Matt and I also provided a riveting duet on "Groove is in the Heart" by Dee-Lite. (90's kids, where you at? Everybody loves this song.) The girls tried "Sweet Home Alabama" but it just does not sound right in a female voice. Some songs are just not meant to be female soprano or falsetto, just like some others cannot be male tenor or bass. (i.e., "18 Wheels and a Dozen Roses" by Kathy Mattea or "Try Again" by Aaliyah....just not meant for a man's voice). Nonetheless, it was a fantastic night. I ordered room service pizza when we got back, but Laura was history before it was delivered, so I had to eat it all. (Darn.)

The next day was a great day to be alive as well. First, the temperature was a balmy 34 with a wind from the east. I almost wore my "Gatlinburg 1984" t-shirt, but I thought better of it. They aren't ready for wolves howling over canyons in Manhattan. I sacrificed breakfast to the hunger gods and then met everyone at an hour later at an Irish pub called Blaggard's, where I killed a guacamole and hot sauce covered burger. Never have I had such a concoction, but I'm telling you, it was phenomenal. It was as good as a steak covered in grits, Hershey's syrup, pistachio ice cream, and Waffle House hash browns. (That's food Heaven, y'all, seriously.) Laura went to get pampered at a salon and I went to meet my old friend Brian in The Village. I get on the 6 train going south and am surrounded by about 30 drunken people dressed in Santa Claus outfits. One of them pulls an airplane bottle of Jack Daniel's out of his suit and kills it. A mariachi band gets on the train with them and somebody says, "I think it's about f***** time for a Christmas song!" They annihilate Feliz Navidad from 51st Street all the way down to 14th Street. Apparently, this is a New York tradition. There were literally thousands of hammered Santas roaming Manhattan. On 2nd Avenue, I saw one Santa punt kick a football on top of a tweny story building while holding a bottle of Zinfandel. The kick impressed the hell out of me, but then I realized he was drinking Zinfandel, so I moved on.

Two Bartow natives in the Village = trouble. Three Belgian high gravity beers, childhood memory discussions, and authentic Japanese food later and we're doing awesome (in the Barney Stinson sense). We meet up with Laura and go to a dive bar called Johnny's on 43. Some of the best beers ever here. Stuff you've never heard of....with mile long names like Mike's Ethos Grainy Water Pale Stout Pacific Wheat Ale. Seriously, why do they do that? I just pointed to the menu and said "this.". It would be like watching my Dad order at Planet Smoothie. If my Dad was forced to say "Mediterranean Monster," he would probably burn all his Black Sabbath and Mountain records and start listening to Cyndi Lauper. (who is also from Queens, by the way)

Anyhow, I had my Southern chivalry moment here. I was waiting to be seated when a drunken customer bumped into the hostess, almost flooring her. Yours truly caught her in mid air and restored her vertically. She looked at me with astonishment and said, "can you believe that guy?" He was already walking away when I grabbed his arm. I'm talking like the arm grab that you got when you were bad in church. I pinched his arm fat and dragged him back, "Apologize. Now." He was in no shape or stature to do anything other than obey, like a good little dog. Needless to say, our service improved after that.

The rest of the trip was laden with great food, friends and laughs. My waitress at this Italian place accidentally brought me a salad when I did not order one. She had called the order wrong, so I got a free salad along with my real appetizer and some excellent tagliolini. Then, to make up for it, we got a free tiramisu. I was so offended by the free food, that I tipped her 30%. This was one of those family owned places and their reputation means everything to them. Much like Cass Grocery was for us. I freakin' love New York.

So, it's back to the real world, refreshed and ready to hit the ground running. My light at the end of the tunnel never fails me. I'm missing football but glad that Christmas is here and most people are in a good mood. I know it won't last and a lot of people will return to their misery, but I honestly pay them no mind. I can think about belting out "Lights" by Journey in a karaoke bar, having the best prosciutto sandwich ever or enjoying a nice cocktail off Central Park West with family and friends quicker than a Kenny Anderson crossover. Have a great week!

Recap of the Weekend....or Honey Badger Doesn't Care About Goal Lines

After scrambling last week's game around in my head, reading the stats and making heads or tails of the final result, I have only come to one conclusion.....we got our rearends kicked on Saturday, plain and simple. Scrap the first half....it was an aberration, a blip on the radar, a tiny gnat smashed on the windshield of a Gold and Purple Peterbilt dragging 500,000 pounds of dynamite. I've never seen such a performance, save the 2008 Alabama game when they obliterated an unmotivated, entitled squad of Dawgs, which caused the 2009-2010 downward spiral, if you ask me. It was sad to see our guys take it on the chin and even sadder to see SOME of the players accepting it and going through the motions, just trying to get the game over with.

I'm not being a sore loser, or fairweathered. I'm a Dawg for life. LSU is without question the most talented team we've seen since Alabama in 2008 or Florida in 2009. It was just unsettling to see such a game, with our recent surge and ever-growing hope. This recap is brought to you by Wild Turkey, Carlotta wine (thank you Dave Grega) and Al Pacino. Why Al? Because nobody can punctuate anger, frustration, and all-out "I'm gonna cut your Achilles with a butter knife" fury like Al can.

Honestly, I expected LSU to win. Even with the halftime lead, I just felt as if a tidal wave was about to hit us. The drops by the receivers, the punt return by Honey Badger, the blown opportunities....mistakes that would matter little against Kentucky and Vandy...they made all the difference against this group of Swamp Kitties. I will not retiterate those plays, I simply cannot. My sanity will not allow it. If I recanted those events here, I am liable to take a flamethrower to this place (+1 for Scent of a Woman reference) I will not describe my utter disgust when Aaron Murray's perfect pass was completely missed by Tavarres King. I simply refuse to spell out my "kick a hole in the wall" disbelief when Malcolm Mitchell dropped a sure touchdown on the five yard line. I will not do it. Never will I paint the picture of yours truly on his knees, aghast, watching Honey Badger weave his way to a "score" on the first punt return of the game. Les Miles grinned, ate a clump of grass and said, "say hello to my little friend." (+1 for Scarface reference) Why we kicked to that man, I have no idea. It's one of those inexplicable phenomena, like voluntary non-alumni Georgia Tech fans, decaf coffee, sugar free pecan pie, the 55 MPH speed limit on I-285 and the Honda Element.

If football is a game of inches, it has never been more true than on that particular play. In case you were wondering, Honey Badger flipped the ball to the referee before he crossed the goal line. It was evident from all angles. Unfortunately, said referee was too busy signaling a touchdown on the five yard line to notice. The upstairs guys were too busy cashing their checks from the BCS to review it. Verne and Gary replayed it 73 times, complete with unabashed adoration for all things LSU, and then conceded that he did not score. I bet that hurt. I'm sure that Les Miles called up there at halftime and said, "Verne, Gary, you're the second best announcing team on CBS and I love you, but don't take sides against the family with anyone, ever again." (+1 for Godfather 2 reference) And our coaches, well, I guess they were too busy coddling Crowell to see it. Isaiah has really let the entire Dawgnation  down lately and nothing was worse than watching him milk his ankle/leg/foot injury all game long. He came out of the first series with such a pronounced limp, I thought he was done for sure. Then, as if the healing power of God graced his tibia, fibula and metatarsals, he would make a cut and dash for 10 yards, then disappear for another 10 minutes. It was another inexplicable phenomena, like tanning salons in Florida, Larry the Cable Guy's popularity with anyone over age 14 and the 2011 Indianapolis Colts.

It's not like the entire game was bad. Our defense was stellar in the first half. LSU had zero first downs, Jordan Jefferson looked like George Jefferson throwing the ball, and their running game was nonexistent. We made them one-dimensional. Unfortunately, so were we. Our special teams and offense (except Orson Charles, Ben Jones and Aron White) decided to play their worst games since Vanderbilt and Kentucky, respectively. We won those games, because neither of those teams even compare to LSU. The only things that LSU has in common with Vandy/Kentucky: 1) They are in the SEC; 2) They have a football team; 3) They are universities in the United States. That's it. Not one player on Vandy/Kentucky would be on the two-deep at LSU, with the exception of Danny Trevathan (UK's linebacker). 

The second half was.....abhorrent. Wild Turkey flowed. I looked at my Dad at one point and said, "This is like a bad Twilight Zone. I think I'm growing a tumor." (+1 for Tommy Boy reference) I cannot think of one positive thing that occurred in the second half, with the exception of the clock hitting 0:00. Aaron Murray had the worst game of this season, not entirely his fault, as he was flushed from the pocket repeatedly. Carlton Thomas was eaten like crawfish etoufee by Barkevious Mingo. Crowell was AWOL. "Has anyone seen Scanners?" I remarked. (+1 for another Tommy Boy reference) I saw Crowell angrily walking away from Coach Richt while Coach was trying to speak to him, another low moment of the evening. It was then, I looked toward Athens and said "I do renounce him." (+1 for Godfather reference) The defense, after being called upon to defend our goal constantly, finally wore out. The glad tidings of the first half disappeared quickly, doing us no better than eating large quantities of chocolate. (+1 for Devil's Advocate reference) Not to mention, we punt out of our own end zone in the 3rd quarter, right to Honey Badger. He bobs and weaves his way to our 17 yard line. Call us "X-Files" because..... you guessed it, more inexplicable phenomena...like the purpose of the IRS, pillowed outdoor furniture, convertible PT Cruisers and the relevance of the SAT.

Omens abounded this week. I should have known not to get my hopes up. First, my tickets for the game fell through. The guy I bought them from mailed them from Alabama via US Mail and they never arrived. My dog pooped in her crate for the first time in weeks. I had a bad cup of coffee at Starbucks. The Dawgvent was completely negative with news about Crowell's apparent temper tantrum at practice. I didn't eat Waffle House (a gameday tradition) early Saturday morning. My work week was terrible, proving that the human race can indeed find new ways to suck the life right out of me. Seriously, has anyone seen Scanners? When Claiborne pick-sixed Murray to make it 42-10, I swallowed a glass of Wild Turkey and went outside. I could not watch the SEC championship go down in flames, so I decided to look at the pasture instead. I could not watch the LSU players laugh and cut up at our expense. In a metaphoric moment, I realized that this loss would be forgotten, wiped away as clean as this empty field, and guys like Jarvis Jones, Garrison Smith, John Jenkins, Richard Samuel, Alec Ogletree, Kenarious Gates, Aaron Murray, and Shawn Williams would grow from this loss. We will likely be highly ranked next season, guys who are hurt will be healthy again, and our schedule is favorable. You truly can't win 'em all.....unless you are LSU.

So, now we head to the Outback Bowl against Michigan State. I speak for the majority of the Dawgnation when I say, "Ugh." Been there, done that. This is like getting a great bottle of wine and then while opening it, the damn cork falls in. We have only ourselves to blame for this lackluster bowl, but we still need to win it. We need to win 11 games, we need to finish on a high note and we need to represent our conference well. I think we will do so. Losing to a Big Ten school is like getting sucker punched by a midget, you get knocked out and it goes viral on Youtube. It simply cannot happen. Although I was severely depressed by this recent loss, I am still so proud of the football team. Jarvis and Orson made 1st Team All-America. Recruiting is picking up. It's looking like contract extensions for Richt and Grantham. We defeated Auburn, Tennessee, Florida and Tech all in one season. I guess I'll let Al sum it all up for me.....

"Just when I thought I was out, they pull me right back in." (+1 for Godfather 3 reference) Go Dawgs.

Other Highlights:

1) LSU vs. Alabama for the National Title. Regardless of how they arrived at this conclusion, it's the right one. Still, there should be a playoff and based on what I've seen, these two would seal club everyone else in said playoff. I predict another bloodletting and this time, I think the Tide comes out on top, 12-10. (unless Cade Foster and Shelley screw it up again. Fellas, if that happens, don't crank your pickups for at least a week. Quietly leave Tuscaloosa, enroll at Tennessee under the names of "Da'Rick Rogers" and "Tyler Bray" and hope for the best.)

2) The remainder of the bowl season is a huge snoozefest. I mean, honestly....35 bowls? Florida (6-6) vs. Ohio State (6-6)? Rutgers vs. Iowa State in the New Era Pinstripe Bowl? Earlier this year, when Iowa State beat Oklahoma State, I saw something I just knew I'd never see. On Facebook, it said "15 of your friends have mentioned Iowa State University." There is a first time for everthang (everything), I guess. (thank you, Little Texas, underrated band if you ask me)

3) There is a bowl called the San Diego County Credit Union Poinsettia Bowl. No, really, TCU and Louisiana Tech are playing in it. Does the MVP win a repossessed Dodge Caravan? Hell, if they wanna go that far, I got one for you: The Bartow County Sudafed Copper Tubing Meth Bowl. Let's get Auburn and Tennessee to play it, let's say in Adairsville.....that's about halfway for both and their fans would just love it. We'll get Kenny Chesney to perform at halftime and 30 smacked out chicks from the trailer park to just walk around as "dancers." Cha-ching.

4) Florida, Florida State, and Miami all finished outside of the BCS Top 25 for the year. Only FSU cracked the AP Top 25 (at #25, no less). I can only think of three things that are more surprising than this: 1) Pollo Loco restaurants that stay open longer than 6 months; 2) It took the media more than 6 months to destroy Herman Cain and 3) The Atlanta Hawks are not entertaining offering Dwight Howard (to which I face plant into a hot plate of lasagna......ugghhhhhh. We need a freakin' center.)

5) The Green Bay Packers have a date with destiny. Watch out 1972 Dolphins, the champagne may remain on ice this year. Their schedule is favorable. The comeback last Sunday was a thing of beauty, thanks to Aaron Rodgers and their very own inexplicable phenomena....Jordy Nelson.

**Sidenote: Congratulations to me for doing a football segment with Al Pacino quotes, using all 3 Godfathers and NOT referring to "Any Given Sunday" once.