Blogjammin': Gallows Humor Abounds With mgoblog

In the unlikely experiment that has been my last few years of blogging, I've got to do some pretty cool things, like hug a man in a singlet, break Orson Swindle's clavicle in a game of touch football, and survive the rain-drenched miracle that was the 2006 Michigan State game. But one of my favorite days of the year is when I go toe to toe with the other Brian at mgoblog and duke it out over the upcoming Michigan game.

Verily, we've come a long way since our first blogjam in 2006, when our beloved football teams both had championship aspirations. Each year since our inaugural chat, our teams have circled further and further down the toilet of college football, and it's quite possible we're responsible for it. Nevertheless, we must storm on, even though this upcoming tilt is reaching the paramount of absurd irrelevance. By God, the world needs laughter, or at least that kind of hysterical laughter that squeezes its way out of you between body-wracking sobs and unnecessarily large bites of Ben & Jerry's Chunky Monkey ice cream.

In 2006, we donned Mexican wrestling uniforms. In 2007, we opted for tapioca wrestling. This year, to commemorate this upcoming game, we put on powdered wigs and breeches and just slapped the ever-loving Christ out of each other. I'm in bold, Brian's in blue. Part two is available over at mgoblog. Spoiler alert, we talk about jamming footballs in people's butts. I've said too much.

fightinamish:Shall we tussle?

mgoblog: Okay, as per usual Proper Grammar and Punctuation will help.

The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain.

Sounds good to me.

Allright, (cracks knuckles)....

First things first. During the Utah game, they showed a sign in the Michigan weight room that said, "In a time of crisis you will not rise to the occasion, you will default to your level of preparation". Question: did Rich Rodriguez find that in a fortune cookie? Follow up: isn't it funnier if you add "in bed" to the end?

The answer to the second half of the question provides the answer to the second: "in bed" doesn't really go at the end of this sentence humorously, so it couldn't have come from a fortune cookie. My vote goes to "real estate seminar pamphlet."

Respect the cock!

Possibly... although I think it was originally written in Japanese and hastily translated.

But that's not even the best sign in the weight room. There's one that has a subject-verb agreement error that I'm sure someone pointed out to Barwis once.

Parts of that unfortunate soul's brain are still landing in former Soviet republics.

Times must be hard at the Athletic Department... with all the money they're spending on the stadium and practice facilities, it seems like they're outsourcing everything else.

Did you know you can hire Indian or Eastern European coders for like 10 bucks an hour? I'm looking into this. I plan on introducing MGoStatisticsWhatACountry! next year.

Document the offensive and defensive formations faster! Do you want to see your family again?

Gotta love child labor

It'll be an online version of "Coming to America" except with True Punting Rate and stuff.

I don't even know what that is. I just made it up. BUT UKRANIANS WILL MAKE IT FOR ME.

But I digress.

Indeed you do. So, to gradually guide this to vaguely relevant discussion, what's the quarterback situation going to be this week? It's been a mix and match job so far... will Rodriguez outsource that, too? Are we looking at Sareep Neheedamajet's first start at QB? Or perhaps, dare I say, an adorable golden retriever?

Given the way things have been going they should see if Carlos Brown can throw a bubble screen, but it will be Threet. Threet actually made a ton of good decisions against Miami (Not That Miami) and would have moved the team down the field consistently if he hadn't overthrown every downfield route by 10 yards. Dude needs to relax. Nick Sherdian will probably see time after Threet overthrows Tacopants on third and seven.

As a side note, I'm rooting for the big guy to win the job, as I thought of a really cool nickname for him... "Picabo Threet"

I like "Dual Threet," but that threatens to be *really* sarcastic against teams outside of the MAC.

Yeah... one of the commentators during the Miami game actually used the phrase "Pat White" on that first touchdown. Flabbergasting.

For whatever reason Miami (Not That Miami) was leaving those zone read keepers wide open. You or I could have scored on that play. Steven Threet could have scored on it.

So what, do you suppose, will be the offensive gameplan for Michigan. I can't imagine the Threet keeper is going to be a permanent staple... are you going to try to establish the short passing from the spread that SDSU showed some relative success at doing against the Irish last week?

I really doubt it, actually. Michigan has two types of passes in the arsenal so far: screens and downfield bombs. Throwing across the middle when your quarterback tends to overthrow guys by five yards is asking for a safety to go "look what I found" and intercept your wildly inaccurate pass. I assume the gameplan will be similar to what it was in the first couple games just because that's about all Michigan can do right now. That does include the keeper if Notre Dame chooses to disrespect it like Miami(NTM) did. Michigan is big on respect, capo.

Respect the... aw, dammit. I already used this joke.

I wasn't aware there was an offensive strategy in the last two games... although I didn't see all of the Miami game. My Tivo switched over to that "Hole in the Wall" gameshow about halfway through and I didn't even notice it for 25 minutes.

Actually, in the UFR's I've discovered I really, really like the offensive strategy. There's a half-dozen core plays that all play off each other and create a simple framework in which it's really easy to gash the defense for big chunks of yards. Michigan just sucks at executing it. Really, really sucks.

Really.

I only realized it wasn't the Michigan game when I noticed the pants weren't shiny enough.

Really. So, do you think it can take advantage of a Tenuta "Blitz By God Blitz Everybody" defense?

There are opportunities to do so. When that OLB nominally tasked with covering the little bastard in the slot blitzes and Michigan goes to the bubble screen they're one good block and one missed tackle away from a big chunk of yards. Same with the little flare route that shoots a really fast guy out to the backside of a play that looks like the standard zone read. The opportunites are horizontal, not vertical, and I think the spread sort of limits how exotic your blitzes can get unless you've got the opponent in an unfavorable down and distance. Michigan DC Scott Shafer is a tweed jacket version of Tenuta and he hasn't done much unleashing of the dogs except in obvious passing situations.

Copy that. Allright, serious question. What's the biggest thing you've ever seen Sam McGuffie jump over?

Charlie Weis's....

...ego!

ba DUM ching!

Hi-yo!

No, seriously: Canada.

I saw him jump over Knowshon Moreno while he was jumping over that CMU safety.

I loled.

Allright, you're officially off the Budweiser Hot Seat. Pepper me with your dastardliest questions.

---

Like I said, part two is available at mgoblog. It's a doozy.

Sliding Doors

Just outside of Battle Creek, MI, my friend in the passenger seat turned to me and asked if I wanted a cookie. I mulled the decision for a few seconds, quickly calculating the positives and negatives of the decision. I froze for a second, as I found myself exactly 50/50 on whether or not to accept said cookie. I did a mental coinflip and elected to decline the cookie.

Five hours later, I yelled "fuck" at Michigan Stadium.

---

It's strange how one decision, which seemed so inconsequential at the time, can set into motion a chain of events that could in no way be anticipated. It's only in the harsh hindsight that I realized that my embarassing outburst was not in any way under my control, but rather the final domino in a long, bizarre Rube Goldberg-esque mousetrap machine that I was a small, completely unwitting participant in. Let me unfurl this contraption for your amusement:



First of all, it's important to realize this wasn't just any cookie I was offered. It was a fancy individually-wrapped cookie sent to my friend by a law firm he interviewed with in a care package to bribe him into taking the job. The winner of the 2007 World Cookie Championship award (according to the sticker on the label), this cookie was a 500-calorie chocolate-chippety bastard oozing with caramel, oatmeal, and chunks of delicious lard, which I found out as I wolfed it down the next morning to chase away my blazing hangover from my post-game efforts to drink away the afternoon. Now, I don't know about you, but a 500 calorie cookie is a hearty meal for a person like myself, and would have most assuredly slaked my hunger well into the evening, had I elected to consume it. Instead, I went into Ann Arbor with an empty stomach.

A few hours after the offer on the road in Battle Creek, I landed in Ann Arbor, prepared for a very sarcastic and certainlly unfulfilling afternoon of football. I availed myself of some Sangria at a tailgate, tracked down my tickets, and then worked my way over to the remote stage for WAAM to do an interview with Brian Cook and Jim Walsh about Here Come the Irish and Hail to the Victors. After a lighthearted chat with the local radio, I found myself in possession of a VIP pass for WAAM's tailgate. With kickoff quickly approaching and one more ticket to pick up, I found myself in a bit of a time crunch. I again was confronted with a choice: hit up the hospitality tent and grab a bratwurst or head over to the portable toilet and expel some urine. Seeing that there was a line about six or eight people long at the toilet, I decided I only had time to do one, and, due to my refusal of the cookie, hunger was rapidly becoming a top priority. Having no other choice, I loaded up a brat with sauerkraut and spicy mustard and decided to wait until I was inside the stadium to address my other need. I finished half the weiner before I got to the gate and pitched the rest in the trash.

Flash forward to the early third quarter. The going was rough (but I don't need to tell you that), but I was handling it like a trooper. Any sense of animosity in the section had dissipated once it became clear that this game wasn't going to be competitive, and I spent the game cracking jokes with the Michigan fans around me. My biggest cheer came late in the second quarter, where a somewhat promising drive had the Irish's total yardage rapicly closing in on 0. When our yardage hit negative-9 yards, I stood up and cheered wildly, shouting "Single digit negative, baby! Oh, yeah!" The fans around me laughed along and gave me high-fives. They also patted me on the back and reassured me when we gave up a sack on the next play and promptly droped back to double-digit negative yardage. The point is, I was handling the de-pantsing with class, grace, and a very robust sense of humor. However, at that point, my bladder had reached critical mass, and I realized I had to address the urge immediately. Not being too let down by missing some gametime, I headed down to the toilets to take care of business and save myself a few minutes of watching the atrocity on the field.

As I reached the concourse, I was stunned whan I saw the restroom. There wasn't a line for the men's room, per se, but an amorphous blob of antsy dudes tap-dancing with bladder fatigue about 25 deep and 10 broad. I walked to the other end of the stadium and saw an even larger line at the other restroom, so I dubiously returned to the line of something like 250 people and waited patiently to do my duty. I somehow survived the ordeal without making a mess of myself and strolled out of the men's room about 20 minutes after I had left my seat. No worries, since I hadn't missed anything eventful on the field, but still an aggravating hassle. Nevertheless, my spirits were still high and I was resolved to make it to the end without losing my cool. I went back to my section and saw a line of about 20 people waiting to get into the aisle to work their way toward the seats. At this point, the last thing I wanted to do was wait in another line, particularly for something that... you know, it doesn't make any sense for there to be a line for. It was at that moment that I spotted some fans walking by with a Domino's pizza box. Having only a half a bratwurst (and no cookie) in my system and very low morale, I realized that some pizza would do wonders in lifting my spirits, and worked my way down the hill (I had to jump a fence to bypass the crowd, but it was a short, managable hop) and grab some 'za.

"Two slices of pepperoni," I said, carefully extracting $4 from my wallet.

"Sorry, sir," replied the person at the counter. "We just sold our last slice."

You know the vertigo effect? You know, in Hitchcock movies where the camera pans in and zooms out on a person's face really rapidly, usually accompanied by shrieking horror music?



Yeah, so that happened. The world went black, my pupils dilated, my fists clenched, and I suddenly became bathed in a frigid sweat. I blacked out, but when I came to a few seconds later, I could hear words reverberating in my ears in my voice:

"Man, FUCK this place!"


Ohhhhh.... ffffffffuuuuuuuudddge!

---

I feel bad that I did it, and I feel bad because there were probably some impressionable young kids in earshot of my outburst. And while I'll take full responsibility for what I did, I think it's important for everyone to know that I had no control over it. The entire, unavoidable, fatalistic machine had been set into motion six hours ago and 100 miles away when I decided not to take the cookie.

Let this be a warning to all of you. In the future, whenever you're offered a cookie, think of the children and take it. We're all in this together, I'm pulling for you.

Lord Gamblor Giveth, and Lord Gamblor Taketh Away

Those of you keeping score at home are probably wondering if the House Rock Built is still alive, after a disastrous gambling incident resulting in not one, not two, but six fucking slaps being dealt upon your beloved fightinamish. Fire Mark May has the blow-by-blow, and the official video of the street justice that ensued. Everybody under 17 years old, please leave the room. This video is not for innocent eyes.

What did the five fingers say to the face?

Round and Round Goes the Wheel of Pain

The recruiting game is a swampy quagmire full of false promises, carnivorous smile-façades, backstabbing, treachery, and Tom Lemming. It's not for children, and it's not for the faint of heart or weak of stomach. Also, four out of five doctors agree that you should wait at least 30 minutes after eating a meal before reading a recruiting website. That being said, it's a hilarious pageant of the absurd that, taken with enough detachment and acceptance of how much of a sicko you really are, proves to be endlessly entertaining.

Take the drama in the last week that involved a linear chain of backstabbing that starts at the defending national champs and ends with a toddler from suburban Muncie, Indiana:

Behold, the Wheel of Pain!
	Urban Meyer poaches prized defensive end recruit Justin Trattou from Notre Dame commitment.
	Charlie Weis, in turn, extends scholarship to Iowa commit Brian Smith. Kirk Ferentz becomes enraged and pulls Smith's scholarship offer. Smith commits to Notre Dame.
	Kirk Ferentz turns around and offers Ball State linebacker commit Bruce Davis, who decommits from the Cardinals to join Iowa.
	Ball State head coach Brady Hoke tracks down Suzy Kohlmiller, a six year old Muncie native, and steals her tricycle, leaving her in tears on the side of the road.
To Be Continued...

Nobody Owns the Cooter like Charlie Weis Owns the Cooter

North Carolina has a secret weapon. Tucked down on the depth chart is the ultimate surprise that could spell victory for the Tarheels this weekend. Its name is Cooter Arnold.

Strangely enough, Cooter was actually high school teammates with Irish cornerback Raeshon McNeil, and word is they are pretty chummy. Alas, keep in mind that Charlie Weis has never lost to a man named Cooter before. The last one who tried and failed? Jim Bob Cooter and the Tennessee Volunteers, 2005.

Blogpoll Preliminary Ballot: How Am I Supposed to Know When You're High? Edition

Rank	Team	Delta
1	Ohio State	--
2	Florida	2
3	Michigan	1
4	Southern Cal	1
5	Tennessee	3
6	Louisville	--
7	Notre Dame	2
8	Auburn	5
9	California	4
10	Georgia Tech	2
11	Oregon	4
12	Texas	8
13	Arkansas	13
14	Boise State	4
15	West Virginia	4
16	Georgia	5
17	Missouri	4
18	Iowa	--
19	LSU	5
20	Nebraska	6
21	Clemson	4
22	Rutgers	--
23	Navy	--
24	UCLA	2
25	Virginia Tech	1
Dropped Out: Oklahoma (#15), Boston College (#16), Washington (#24), Wake Forest (#25).

Blogpoll week 6 is up, for entertainment purposes only.

Lots of moving and shaking. God help me, I might just not win Mr. Bold this week, since a lot of my rankings have come to terms with the commonly accepted wisdom after an important day of football games that helped a lot of teams prove where they belong. The highlights and apologism:

• Welcome to number 2, Gators. An impressive sequence of wins catapults the Gators to the penultimate spot. This is a reward for their performance so far, but the conventional wisdom at the House Rock Built suggests that it's a temporary honor. Looking ahead to the Gators' schedule, I would be stunned as hell if they can live through the crux of their SEC schedule unscathed, particularly when it's back-to-back-to-back. Granted, I'll be the first to bow down and praise the great Robot Genius Urban Bowden Meyer and his infinitely wise slap-on-the-wrist suspensions for substance abuse should they run the gamut undefeated, but I'm guessing I'll be availed of that duty sometime in the next few weeks.
  
  Seriously, though. Talk about coaching acumen. To observe a situation where a it's useful to have a star defensive tackle back in your lineup and to have the gumption to revoke his marijuana suspension is a moment of profound coaching clarity up there with Knute Rockne's invention of the forward pass and the "Win One for the Gipper" speech. Kudos to Coach Fulmer Meyer for shattering coaching conventions in the name of the success on the field.
  
  
  Big game tomorrow? Then allow me to roll that big-assed blunt!



• Texas joins the relatively elite! Stop the presses, everyone! Texas beat a Division 1A football team! I know it's a stunning twist of fate... and after a few rounds with the defibrulator, I elected to bump them up several spots in the rankings.
  
  
  Now that Oklahoma has been dispatched, you're up next, Mid City Pee Wee. Prepare to meet your death at the hands of the Longhorn killing machine.



• All hail Arkansas! A staggering leap in the polls after knocking around Auburn. Am I sweating my ass off about my preseason wager about Arkansas' performance? Yes. A little bit so, yes. I still have faith, but seeing them actually play like a football team made me think about going on a crash diet before the end of the season. For your sake and all.
  
  
  Please make it not so.

So there it is. Again, I have until Wednesday to finalize my ballot. See any egregious errors? Make yourself heard in the comments. I actually made several serious adjustments last week after my wise readers pointed out my drunken idiocy on some of my picks. Let me reiterate: your opinion counts. I'm here to serve.

Somewhat Belated Happy Birthday to the House Rock Built

Sometime on Saturday afternoon, the House Rock Built turned one year old. This project more or less started out because I had something urgently important about mustaches to talk about, and sort of took off from there. So here I am one year and 300,000 visitors later, and it's been a really great ride. Not to wax too poetic, but interacting with the readers, meeting up with my fellow bloggers, and generally doing my thing to the college football world has been a completely unique and awesome experience. Anyway, help yourself to same cake and some punch, because it's almost time for my n-a-p.