Sure, times are tough. The days are long, the nights are longer, and there's no college football to be found during either. But it could be worse. You could be interim commissioner of the Big East. Which is kind of like being the proprietor of a halfway house, except that Chris Petersen isn't likely to leave behind any good drugs when he rejoins college football society.
In the absence of college football we'll have to find something else to do with our time. Of course we could work, or volunteer in our communities. Or we could discuss the topics found below the fold in Free Form Friday, your weekend open comment thread of dubious organization, entirely unfettered by considerations of "theme" and "message."
Maestro, if you please:
It's like the Shroud of Turin, but covered in Golden Flake potato chip grease.
Our SB Nation brethren at Roll Bama Roll have a copy of a letter allegedly written by Paul "Bear" Bryant to an incoming football player at some point detailing what will be expected of him. I am particularly fond of the line "I want to love you, pat you, pet you, brag on you and see you hoot, run and shout and laugh, pray, hug, kiss and win with humility."
For starters, I'm not entirely certain the Bear's not writing this to his beloved boykin spaniel, "Chris." If he's talking to a college-aged boy then some of that is kind of vaguely creepy, but when you've won 5,929 SEC championships and your brain is clouded with the residue of half a million unfiltered Chesterfield cigarettes you get a slight pass I guess. The gentle reminder that those who don't get with the program should seek asylum in a foreign land, like Mississippi, is a nice touch, though.
Chris Petersen wants to move in with you, but he's keeping his place just, you know, in case.
As alluded to before the jump, it now appears that Boise State may be reconsidering its jump to the Big East for football competition. This is at least partially due to considerations which should have been undertaken before accepting an invitation. Namely, the Broncos need to figure out what to do with nonfootball sports if the WAC can't take them (you mean lacrosse matches at Temple aren't logistically convenient?) and they need to figure out whether they really want to book passage on a sinking ship (the Big Least is set to lose its automatic qualifier status in the BCS, which some Boise partisans seem to think they need to get a fair shot at a football championship).
It's safe to say that we've reached the point in conference realignment that empiricism reached in David Hume. At a certain point it all just turns in on itself and becomes a big, nonfunctional mess. And the rest of us are left trying to plan our travel schedules while wondering if we can really be sure that the sun will come up tomorrow.
Karma's a Hitch
I write for a living, as both an attorney and a blogger/freelance author. I've taken a few classes on how "how to write" and even read a book written about the subject by Stephen King, which I believe was defective because there were no scary sewer clowns or demon dogs in the thing. But from all that pedagogy I remember two lessons: 1) substance > form, and 2) writers have one of three purposes: to entertain, to inform or to persuade.
That second one is crap. As a sports blogger I know that there exists a fourth motivation: to shift the progress of the universe in such a way as to cause Steve Spurrier to suffer an incurable, uncomfortable, and hopefully malodorous rash. Put another way, I like to believe that what we right here has the ability to change events in a cosmic kinda way. Yea, though the Hindus speak of karma, give me a break, okay?. I just want an SEC title.
Thus I present the first installment of "Karma's a Hitch", wherein I admit something embarrassing in hopes that Gridskinivus, the Hindu god of American football, parallel parking, and Russell Brand movies will think "Look at that poor bastard", and take pity on my Bulldogs.
So here goes. My lame taste in movies is no secret in these parts. I've discussed it openly on several occasions, including last offseason. While many of the movies I enjoy aren't Oscar-worthy, there are a few which are downright embarrassing. If I had to name one in an effort to curry favor with the football gods, it would probably be . . . Mean Girls.
That's right. When I'm flipping TV channels and see that Mean Girls is on TBS, I'm stopping. I would submit that Tina Fey is rarely if ever not entertaining. And she both wrote and appeared in Mean Girls. Tim Meadows is great as a deadpan principal suffering from carpal tunnel syndrome and an uncomfortable crush. The movie also necessitated my wife's insistence that my business cards not include the title "Mathlete/Badass M.C." Lindsey Lohan's performance is a handy reminder to parents that if your teenager becomes a famous actor he or she will become a drug-addled trainwreck within 24 months. It's not optional. It's like The Ring, only with a better telephone connection and a tad more lead time.
If anyone wants to hold forth on conference expansion, Bear Bryant's impressive comma usage, and what you're willing to admit to win the SEC, the runway is wide open. Have a great weekend, and . . .