Bama Llama

I refuse to spend the next four years watching news segments about the nature and extent of Trump’s daily verbal excrements, At least we can watch some good old movies on TCM, at least until that’s dissolved into nothingness by Zer Trumpgeist SS Shtuppenmeisters.

No sane adult can believe ANY other sane adult would vote for the Enemy of Enlightenment but they keep doing it. There’s the rub, Billy Shakespeare. Never give up, Joe. Why does Rice play Texas? Where’s my hash?

Indeed there was something in the air yesterday. In the fall of 1969 when I was a lowly freshman at the Institute on South Main, we had a football coach named Bo Hagan. You may view above the few tattered remains of a wallpapering job for the ages. One fine inky dark night in 1969, intrepid Rice fans and students most precisely and completely covered the schedule bill board on South Main with hundreds (thousands?) of bumper stickers bearing the legend “FIRE BO HAGAN.” Hagan was an alumnus and former football player at the University of South Carolina. He was OC under Jess Neely until Neely’s retirement in 1967. The Owls lost about three games for every one victory and the fan base, such as it was, had had enough. The administration called out the ganomies, who removed all but a few of the more stubborn stickers. If you embiggen the image a few stickers remain visible. Tis only just that South Carolina and Rice were victorious again. I searched in vaun for a good image of the fully stickered billboard, which I saw with my own two eyes. That fall we did manage to crush the warmongering VMI Keydets, 55-0, in one of Rice’s all time most lopsided wins. We also won at A&M. So, we had that going for us. There was a greatvlot of Led Zep II, Abbey Road and Quicksilver Messenger Service drifting across the yards at Rice that fall, along KLOL radio, weed smoke, hash smoke and way too much Judy Blue Eyes (hated that one).

Nothing was heard in the “Loveliest Village on the Plains” but the Mirthless Laughter of the Damned” and the mumblings of “Senator” Tommy Trump Ass Kiss (Wingnut) Tuberville.

That was the same crew that called our game vs Georgia- godawful officious intermeddlers. Main ref looked and talked and reasoned like Gomer Pyle before the Marines.

Survive and advance. If the players don’t tighten up, unfortunate things will follow. I only wish my Bama prima donnas had tightened up enough after failing to blow the UGA game to play well enough to beat Vandy. Lea, Kill, et al. are good coaches and Vandy plays like a well-coached team.

If Vandy runs a single successful shovel pass, assuming Sark & Co. saw the Alabama game tape, I shall be severely disappointed in all of you.

Here’s an excerpt. “Standing on the sideline with a red thermos cup that his manager constantly keeps filling with coffee, Pont has agonized while his Hoosiers have survived in the following manner: They began by edging Kentucky 12-10 when sophomore Quarterback Harry Gonso threw a fourth-down, 23-yard pass to End Al Gage that was deflected—yes—into his hands for a touchdown. Next they beat Kansas 18-15 on a 24-yard field goal by Dave Kornowa, who is not the regular place-kicker but who was asked to attempt it because Indiana's real kicker, Don Warner, had, at the time, an arthritic toe. The Hoosiers then topped Illinois 20-7 after Linebacker Brown Marks caused a first-down Illinois fumble on Indiana's 12-yard line late in the fourth quarter when Pont's team was clinging to a 13-7 lead. They had Iowa beaten the next Saturday until sophomore Halfback John Isenbarger decided it would be fun to try to run from punt formation on fourth down and failed, setting up the Hawkeyes for a go-ahead touchdown. Undaunted, Indiana came back to drive 60 yards for a score with 53 seconds left and win 21-17. Isenbarger, incredibly, did the same thing against Michigan the next week, and thereby made himself one of the Big Ten's most celebrated backs of the year. Instead of punting late in the game, he ran—from his own 13-yard line—and failed. Michigan tied the score, and Pont's team had to drive 85 yards to win 27-20 in the last two minutes. That was the third time during the season Isenbarger had decided on his own to run instead of punt and the second time he had failed.”

Google “Punt, John, Punt!” a fine 1967 SI article about John Pont, who led the Hoosiers to the Big Ten Championship. He was named National Coach of the Year.

Always liked Indiana. Back in the day when their head coach was a guy named John Pont, the punter was a very good athlete. Pont green lighted him to fake any punt at any time in any game. Don’t recall how many were successful, but it was more than few. Hope the Hoosiers go undefeated and win the playoff if SEC can’t get it done.

Apathy is the enemy moreso than Trump the Bloviator. In 2000, if only 10% more registered minority Democrats had made their way to the polls in this punkass backward state (according to SurlyWorld), Al Gore would have carried Alabama and made it to 270 and won the Presidency without carrying Florida, if we truly concede Florida, which I will never do.

1. No Country For Old Men. Llewellyn Moss, wounded in the obliques I guess, having jumped out a second floor hotel window in El Paso, is limping with his jumbo attache case full of cash down a dark street trying to get away from Anton Chigur, when an kind older man in a pickup truck gives him a ride. Moss gets in and is just settling in his seat when one of Chigur’s shotgun slugs blasts through the truck back window and takes off half the old man’s head, the truck stalls off to one side, and poor wounded Moss is back on the street. There is no fucking way Chigur could have been close enough to that truck to have so accurately placed that shot. 2. Fargo. Gaear Grimsrud (Buscemi’s character Carl Showalter’s chain smoking crime partner played by Peter Stormare) stone cold murdered the state trooper, the young innocent bypassing couple, Jerry Lundegaard’s wife, and Showalter, in a wood chipper, no less. It’s very Coenesque but still a moral plot hole for him to end up a ward of the state rather that shot between the eyes by Sheriff Margie (she’s such a great lady).

The Monster That Challenged the World (1957) My demented 9-year old girl cousin presented me with what I perceived as a fantastic gift on my fifth birthday: she treated me to a free double feature air conditioned matinee, with free orange soda over crushed movie ice! The only catch (or so my naive young brain thought at the time) was that we had to walk and the theater was ten blocks away and it was the middle of August in Tuscaloosa, Alabama. My mother had thoughtfully replaced last year’s rotten sneakers with snow white Keds still new in the box. I laced them up and off we went. I wouldn’t allow two little kids to walk anywhere in Tuscaloosa today, much less ten blocks to the movies. Before we had gone four blocks, I was sweating and my new shoes were cutting into my ankles. By the time we got there the blisters were serious and killing my sockless feet. Why no socks? Five-year old. Glorious frigid air, a rarity in the fifties, welcomed us into the Druid Theater. We loaded up on orange drinks, in big wax cups with crushed ice, buttered popcorn, Goobers and Milk Duds. Then we entered the cool, dark sanctuary and settled into our seats. That was when I discovered this wasn’t a feel good film about cowboys or pirates or Disney characters. Ohhh, but no, it was a post-bomb, atomic nightmare, scare the shit out of your cousin who yesterday was four fucking years old, giant centipede monster HORROR MOVIE! I watched at most 10% of that shit peeking through my fingers until st last it was over but not before I saw the monster pick a lab assistant up with his giant pincers, hold him ten feet up gyrating snd screaming in the air and pop his skull like a big pink grape and not before I saw the aftermath of the monster’s rampage through the lab, where all the innocent fuzzy rabbits and guinea pigs were slaughtered, guts threaded over broken beakers and busted microscopes, with monster glop and goo jizzed all over everything. I asked if we could wrap it up and head back home but my cousin scolded, “Nooooo! Thst was only the first movie! I paid for a double feature and you’re going to watch. Every. Minute of both movies!” I soon sensed something I wouldn’t know the name of for many years - sadism. Feature two was “The Vampire.” Only it wasn’t a Bela Lugosi Stoker vampire. It was a freindly neighborhood family doctor whose office looked exactly like the repurposed suburban home MY doctor practiced in and I had to visit from time to time. THIS doctor was bitten by a bat and before long his patients were being sucked dry and their drained husks chucked into the basement furnace. I don’t remember walking home. I only knoe I slept in my parents’ bedroom that night snd several nights thereafter. My father had a “talk” with his older sister, my cousin’s mother. Seems neither oc my parents had any idea where my cousin was taking me that day. i never trusted that bitch again. Years later she had to spend the afternoon of her wedding day mopping up the blood and guts of her mother’s pet spider monkey, which her and her husband’s white German shepherds had opened a door in her mother’s home to get. Served her right.

Read this when you have 15 minutes. It will make you sober, make you vomit or make you drive to a battleground state and go door to door for Harris and Walz. https://www.nytimes.com/2024/10/20/us/politics/trump-scandals.html?smid=nytcore-ios-share&referringSource=articleShare&tgrp=ctr&pvid=E65CE658-FDE0-4E8E-BD5F-7F72157E46BB This immoral, arrogant, dishonest stack of smegma must be deposited in the dustbin of history where he belongs.

Spy Pavia from down one and double his NMST buddy, that big ass tight end. And beware the shovel pass. Go gorth, sin no more, have a blast! Hook ‘em.

Man, are you some kind of screenwriter poet?! I’m an Alabama fan first and foremost and part of me dies when we lose but I’m fundamentally a college football fan. The only time I set foot in what is now DKR the man himself was pacing the sidelines and I was cheering on the mighty defeated Rice Owls. Reading your fine post I kept waiting for strings, brass and a full chorus to come in with The Eyes. A few weeks ago I was fretting over some of the same bullshit some posters above are throwing out there. We had UGA 21-0 before they knew what hit them. Justsit back or stand up or do whatever you do and fuckin LET THIS BEAUTIFUL GAME WASH OVER YOU, GUYS. Hook ‘em!

And enjoys his time in gen pop horsing around with El Diablo, Big Worm and the guys. Asshole.

There’s nothing wrong with the S-E-C chant if the time is right. I can’t claim to be one that started it but I believe I was there when it was born. It grew out of being force fed Miami’s bullshit hype for a few years and the whole Geno Torreta Heisman bandwagon in 1992. Seems like there were about seven or eight minutes left in the Sugar Bowl and Bama fans were starting to realize it was going to happen. Not only were we winning the title but we had pantsed the invincible Caines in the process. We received literally one (1) vote in the AP poll all year, up to and including that week. An Arizona writer in Tucson I think named Corky Frost started voting us #1 in October and continued it every week right through to the final poll, when it was unanimous. He was invited to be grand marshal of the parade. The chant started up in some remote psrt of the Superdome and it jusr caught on and kept building until it was a stomping, standing, yelling Victorygasm. It didn’t hurt that Miami and Ericson had whipped our asses three years before and we were reminded of it constantly in the runup to the 92 game. Sports Illustrated was the worst front runner Caines suck off douche. I believe the chant has a time and a place. That year, it fit. This year, assuming you don’t trip on your foreskins in Nashville or aggyland, when Texas deflowers some unlucky team in the Mercedes Dome in Atlanta, it would be apropos as well to haul out the chant. Year One SEC Champs - check✅

Sixties SEC Lore Follows. Oh, the hazardous hubris of being ranked #1. In early September of 1965, my parents and I went to the Bama-Georgia game in Athens. I was 14 so my father drove the Oldsmobile (apt name). On the road I devoured the new SI college football big preseason issue with “Bama’s #1” on the cover. I was in adolescent Alabama fan heaven feeling an invincible vibe like the ones above in this thread. Then this shit happened. My Surly comrades, you must beware the devious devil dogs! This Saturday late in fourth quarter when the Horns are ahead by seven, watch out for this shit, which I saw happen right in front of me. Motherfucking guy was DOWN! And once and for all the term is “hook and lateral” and not “hook and ladder.” Jesus. Guy was not called down. Pitch man scored. UGA went for 2 and made it. It was a long, sad trip back to Tuscaloosa. We didn’t lose sgsin in 1965, ended up playing Nebraska in the Orange Bowl, beat them, ended up #1 anyway. Never give up, Joe! Hook ‘em but put a good sure tackler on the defensive right to clock that pitch man.

40-24 Horns <400 total Georgia yards

And . . . there’s the tanned, lithe & freaky UF coed nubility local color Joey Freshwater lure factor. The Old South pouty but frisky Scarlett O’Hara gauntlet of Oxford Belles must be growing tiresome by now.

I am officially sick to fucking death of the locker room cheese wheel coach commercials. Never liked fuckin Cheez-Its anyway. I’m usually sweating out a game trying to conjure up a post Saban win for Bama and here cones coach Cheeze-Its is in my face yelling at fucking wheels of cheese in football helmets. What a waste of lit fiber optic lines. And I fuckin hate that shade of orange.

I’ll tell you what, Diego Pavia can play quarterback. The Vandy defense won’t stand up vs the Texasrunning game, much less Sark’s schemes and wizardry but Vandy is a better team, and a better coached team right now than several SEC teams and AP top 25 teams. I’ll be glad to eat this post after the Horns win in Nashville by 24 or more. First, neuter them Dawgs and their coach poaching coach. These are some Vegas line beating Horns! My guys are 85% out of it but have a prayer if there’s a rspid and major turnaround.

For you, sir, the oft imitated but never duplicated Verbiage Extraordinaire Surly Blue Max Octobre Croix du Guerre! ~~~##^*^##~~~ ====>xx☠️🎃☠️xx<==== ~~~##^*^##~~~

I guess his jibe didn’t jive with my gibe. Roll Tide anyway. Remember chicken wire and crepe paper? Lo, the gibbous moon doth rise. Thank for teaching me something new.