The Gump Loses a Good One, a Visit to Hank's Grave, a Tale From the Crypt, Hate for the NCAA, a Recipe for Nick Fairley and Other Useless Crap for the New Year

Hamburger King

A good friend of mine told me recently that his New Year’s resolution was to be unpredictable, to try new and exciting things in 2011. 

“So, you’re going to skydive, go bungee-jumping, that sort of thing?” I asked him.

“No, I was thinking along the lines of maybe trying a hot dog at Hamburger King,” he said, "maybe the pot roast at Martin's, a steak at Jubilee Seafood. You know, mix it up a bit." 

I thought that was real funny, until I read a few days later that Pat Harrison, longtime owner of Hamburger King, had passed away at 66.

I never knew Mr. Harrison. Never even introduced myself to him because every time I saw him he was running wide-open, constructing impossibly perfect hamburgers one after another for an endless stream of loyal and happy customers. No time to chit-chat with me.

Hamburger King is a wonderful place. It’s too crowded and noisy to discuss anything much more important than the weather, or maybe the asking price of Auburn’s new five-star recruit. But it’s a great place to belly up to the counter, visit with a nice cross-section of fellow hamburger connoisseurs and watch an American family do what American families do.

We will sure miss Mr. Harrison.

Here's a link to a Lunch in the Gump review of this magnificent slice of heaven: 

PUNCH HERE

Change Your Luck at Hank’s

Back in late 2009 another good friend of mine (not the hotdog-starved daredevil referenced above) told me he thought I needed a change of luck. Having tried collard greens and black-eyed peas year after year to no avail, and lacking the funds to cross the Atlantic and kiss the Blarney Stone, I decided to take his advice and pay homage at the grave of Hank Williams.

A year ago, on the frosty morning of January 1, 2010 (the 57^th anniversary of Hank’s death in 1953) I went and had a nip of whiskey at the legend’s final resting place. I even got caught up in the wreath-laying ceremony and met fans from all over the country. Damn, I thought. Tourism.

Anyway, 2010 had its ups and downs like all years but at least business was a lot better and I backed that slobbering-ass wolf a few steps away from the door. So on this New Year’s Day I braved the rain and led a small entourage over to Oakwood Cemetery and repeated the process for 2011. Hell, I figured it couldn’t hurt.

An Unrelated Hank Reference

A little research on Hank revealed that his nom de plume “Luke the Drifter” was an alias used for Christian music and readings Hank recorded against the advice of Nashville record execs. What a remarkable name, Luke the Drifter… like some mysterious character from a Clint Eastwood western, or a feared hit-man from over in Jersey.

I remember a neighbor who used to live across the street from my in-laws had a big, fine-looking chocolate Labrador retriever named Luke. The neighbors called him “Luke the Drifter” because he used to roam the neighborhood at all hours of the day and night, presumably in search of female companionship.

He was a quiet dog...

Luke was a pleasant, very social dog beloved by the neighborhood’s children and adults alike. But when Luke’s owners moved a few years later the new neighbors cleaned several years’ worth of leaves from Luke’s kennel and found a few dozen cat skeletons in there. Seems Luke the Drifter was a serial cat killer living right there amongst us. You just never know.


The NCAA is Dead

Well, the Sugar Bowl is mercifully over and maybe we won’t hear much more about the Ohio State Boy Scouts selling their jerseys and bowl bling in exchange for cash and great deals on tats.


Their punishment? An all-expenses-paid jet-out to the Quarter. Suspensions next year, unless the tattooed bling merchants are already in the NFL. Laissez les bons temps rouler! 


If you are an Alabama fan, like me, and have become used to the NCAA’s regulatory jackboot on your neck, like I have, then this recent turn of events should set your blood boiling. Seems like only yesterday a group of Bama football players were suspended for several games for getting textbooks for their friends. Not hookers and blow, mind you, not even free tattoos, but textbooks… little reservoirs of knowledge and wisdom. Sheesh.

BCS Prediction

I don’t really have much to add. Don’t see how Oregon can slow Cameron down, not even the least bit. Auburn’s defense will stop the Ducks two or three times. Auburn wins, 56-33.

A Recipe for Nick Fairley

First -- and this is the important part -- make sure the Duck is dead. Marinate the breasts overnight in some decent red wine and Dale’s sauce, stuff them with cream cheese and jalapeno peppers, wrap them in a couple of strips of bacon each and grill them real slow on a low charcoal fire. Serves one. Thank me later.

Big Thanks to the War Eagle Nation

Auburn fans apparently liked the last column, “Bama Fan Wakes from Three-Month Coma.” That blog post, see below, just went over 10,000 page views since December 8. Almost 4,000 people saw the column the first day alone (my previous record was a whopping 35!). We are working on the sequel now, but first have to see how many Bama fans take their own lives if Auburn wins. This Internet thing may catch on.

'Bama Fan Wakes From 3-Month Coma

Labor Day weekend I almost killed a man.

If only he had given it one more shake.

I was on the 11th tee at the local snobatorium when my good buddy, Bama Bing, stepped from behind a big old oak tree at the exact instant I hit my trademark “Bidgood Bob Scalded Dog Bullet Hook,” a shot referred to by some as a “Thurman Munson,” which is golfspeak for a “dead yank.”

Anyway, the Bullet Hook caught Bing between the eyes. He survived, thank God, but nobody in our foursome (not even the beer cart girl) volunteered for mouth-to-mouth, so he slipped into a coma.

I was at his side this morning when he woke up.

“What happened?” Bing asked, “I remember going behind that big oak because I had to, well, you know. What day is it?”

“December 8,” I replied. 

“Damn. What’s happened? Where is everybody? Why are you the only one here?”

I don’t do post-coma recaps every day. But I did the best I could. 

“Well, for starters, all your friends have been indicted,” I said, deciding the direct approach was best. “They can’t come to the hospital because their ankle bracelets interfere with the prepaid cell phones the doctors use to call their mistresses.” 

"Indicted?” he asked, then, “What about me? Was I indicted?”

“Not yet, but there are subpoenas all over town,” I replied. “I set your office on fire while you were unconscious, just to be safe.”

“Thanks,” said Bing, relieved. “Say, who won the Governor’s race? Byrne or James?”

“Bentley,” I replied.

“The hell you say.”

Who'd a thunk it?

“True. It was a helluva campaign. First Ron Sparks shaved off his porn ‘stache and smoked Artur Davis, then Byrne and James went at each other so hard that Bentley made it to the runoff and won, then Sparks got blown out along with just about every Democrat in the whole state.”

“No way.”

“Way. The Republicans rule now. The other day I saw an eighteen-wheeler backed up to the State Capitol unloading Grey Poupon.”

Bing scratched his head in wonderment. “So let me get this straight,” he said, “All my friends have been indicted, some doctor nobody ever heard of got elected Governor and the Republicans rule the state?”

“It gets worse,” I said. “Leslie Nielsen died the other day.”

“Leslie Nielsen? Surely that’s not true.”

“It is. And don’t call me Shirley.”

1926 - 2010

Bing contemplated all this, then perked up. “Hey. Who’s ‘Bama playing in the BCS?”

Uh-oh. I suddenly didn’t like where this was going. “Well, actually, the Tide won’t be playing in the Championship this year, Bing.”

“Got nosed out in the polls, huh? I knew it would happen someday. Who outpolled us? Texas? Those blue-field pussies? Who did we beat in the SEC Championship? Florida? Georgia? How bad did we beat Auburn? Spill it.”

At this point I didn’t really know what to do, so I told Bing to relax a minute, that I was going to hit the men’s room and I’d finish catching him up after. I eased down to the nurse’s station and told them Bing was awake but they needed to get the crash cart ready, stat. 

Maybe it was all just a dream.

“I’ve got some bad news for you,” I said on my return to Bing’s room with three nurses and a crash cart behind me. “We didn’t beat Auburn. They got us, 28-27.”

“No…”

“Hang in there, buddy. I don’t know how to tell you this, so I’m just going to lay it all out there for you and get it over with…”

A nurse took me by the arm. “Bob, do you think this is a good idea? Maybe we should wait for the doctor? Maybe give him a sedative first, before you tell him?”

“No,” I said. “Better he hears it from me, before the Aubs find out he’s awake and come in here throwing toilet paper all over the ICU.”

Bing had a puzzled look as I took him by the shoulder. “Be strong, friend,” I said, “This won’t be easy for either of us. 

“We finished fourth in the West.”

Bing blinked in disbelief. Then his eyes welled with tears, “But we were unbeatable. They said the Detroit Lions couldn’t carry our jock straps. The last two movies I went to both had Nick Saban in them.”

My friend began to heave with sobs, then the gizmos and whatchamacallits went off, beeping and flashing.

“Stop, you’re killing him,” cried the head nurse. “I’m calling a code!”

“He’s got to know the truth,” I said, pushing her aside.

“His heart can’t handle the truth,” she said, “this is too much for him to take.”

Mustering all of my courage, I said the words. “Bing, it’s Auburn. They’re 13-0 and ranked number one. They’re playing Oregon for the National Championship and they’re going to freight-train those poor Ducks.”

Bing gasped for breath. “How?” he said.

Your worst nightmare.

“It’s that new quarterback of theirs, the one they bought. Do you remember? Apparently he has superhuman powers and he’s a lock for the Heisman Trophy.”

“But, Bob… surely Oregon can… somehow they can stop…” his voice trailed off as he clutched at my sleeve.

“No, my friend, Auburn's offense is like the contents of your stomach at the Chi-O tequila swap our sophomore year. It can’t be stopped.”

He held my gaze for several seconds, and then a curious thing happened. Bing’s grand mal Crimson Tide grief seizure appeared to ebb and a look of calm emerged on his face. The beeping of the gizmos and whatchamacallits slowed, then stopped. The nurses relaxed.

“It’s okay,” Bing said. “It’s okay. I’m alive. I’m going to make it. College football doesn’t matter in the big picture… what’s important is family and friends, the people I love, the people who love me. Call my wife and tell her I’m back!”

As the nurses filed out, taking the crash cart with them, I thought of my lifelong friendship with Bing, and also pondered my three-month "friendship" with Bing's hot-as-a-blowed-coal wife.

“Not so fast with that crash cart,” I said.

Hang in there, Bama Bing. There is always next season.

OK, Thanks Already

OK, who forgot the beer?

Auburn won, but I'm still thankful.

Some of you may remember that I had to be talked down from a window ledge after the Crimson Tide’s loss to South Carolina earlier in the season. Admittedly, it was only a first-floor ledge, but still. At my age I could have slipped a disk or wound up with the dreaded broken hip.

Ah, losing to Auburn. The Rational 'Bama Fan (RBF) must learn how to cope, just as I have this season. The traumatic October beatdown from the Gamecocks set me on a path to serenity that has helped me through the last few days. After intense counseling, a beating from LSU, loss of all championship aspirations and copious amounts of pre-game alcohol, I was mentally prepared for the loss to Auburn. Not happy about it, mind you, but more or less ready for it.

'Bama fans in the 2nd half.

Now I’m feeling all philosophical. The long holiday weekend gave me time to reflect on the things I am truly thankful for. Here are a few:

Thankful I’m Not an Auburn Fan Right Now

Seems like only yesterday we ‘Bama fans had to sweat out a tough comeback win on the road, only to face another tough opponent in the SEC Championship, a Heisman vote and then the BCS Championship. That was rather tough on our nerves last year, even without the NCAA, SEC, FBI and ESPN shining flashlights up our butts. So I’m truly thankful I can just enjoy the holidays this year, and look forward to the Chizik movie.

West Coast Relatives

I am thankful for the Cypress Point golf shirt my California kinfolks brought me. I wore it to the course Sunday and everybody there briefly mistook me for some kind of fatcat, which is exactly why one wears golf shirts from fancy clubs in the first place.

Debutante Balls

Once your daughters get to college, they might have to come home for these debutante balls we have in Montgomery, either because they’re debutantes themselves, or their friends are debutantes, or both. In any event, the girls are actually home with their parents for these weekends. In some cases they have to come home from school twice -- once for the rehearsal and again for the ball itself. Ingenious.

Be thankful for debutante balls, because without them your daughter goes off to college and then, POOF, you never see her again until the wedding.

Capitol Book and News

We should be very thankful for this locally owned Cloverdale jewel. At Capitol Book and News you might pay a whole two dollars more for a bestseller this Christmas but at least you won’t have to risk your life getting out east.

I know, I know, they don’t offer all the extras you get at the mega-chain bookstores. For example, CB&N doesn’t have overpriced coffee, scones, bait-and-switch discount cards or slack-jawed stoners dispensing literary advice.

Scones. I feel smarter just typing the word.

And although I’ve never asked the question, I’m willing to bet that Cheryl, Tom or Eleanor will give you a free cup of coffee if you’ve got to have one while shopping for books in their store.

Me? I’m thankful for a staff that has a good idea what I like, what I don’t like and seldom misses on a recommendation. It is also comforting to know that my hard-earned dough doesn't get wired straight up north to a gang of Wall Street thieves.

My only gripe about the CB&N crew is that they turned me on to Michael Connelly novels over 20 years ago. I buy them the first day they come in, don't go to sleep until I'm done, then I go through cold turkey withdrawal sickness until the next one comes out. Thanks a lot for that.

And before anyone gets all indignant, please be aware that I was something of a slack-jawed stoner myself back in the day (sans the piercings).

Thankful I’m Not Cam Newton

Not that I wouldn’t like to have that stiff-armed trophy on my mantel, but can you imagine a post-Heisman press conference where the winner will have to answer “no comment” to just about every question?

That young man is about to have some bright lights on him, bless his heart. He has delivered in the clutch over and over and again this season but I fear the worst blitz he will ever face is yet to come as he faces the brute-force scrutiny of the national media.

Not a single one of the creeps who has allegedly tried to profit from #2 will be staring into that bank of cameras. I’m going to root for Cam.

It’s a Wonderful Life

“Here’s to George Bailey, the richest man in town.” My daughter once told me she would never marry a man who didn’t get at least one tear in his eye while watching this holiday classic. As good a litmus test as any, I’d say.

When George’s brother makes it home from the war, the pinch-faced bank examiner joins in the caroling, the D.A. rips up the arrest warrant, the townspeople empty their pockets for George, a wire transfer from Sam Wainwright (hee-haw!) arrives in time to stave off bankruptcy and an angel gets his wings… hell, I am about to tune up just sitting here typing.

Do yourself a favor and watch this movie with your family as you gather for Christmas (with your cell phones OFF).

You can thank me later.

Advice for your trip to Tuscaloosa

George Bernard Shaw, the great Irish dramatist and purported socialist, once said “England and America are two countries separated by a common language.” I always liked the quote, as much for its economy of words as its message. Being a fraction Irish myself, and 100% Southern, I fully understand being misunderstood and often ponder why people sharing the same language and lineage, who reside within common borders and even in the same neighborhoods, choose to turn against one another for no apparent reason. 

Take Auburn University and its fans, for example. Yes, we Alabama fans share a form of the same language. We grudgingly share a state with them. We went to high school with them, share zip codes, go to church together and sometimes, out of some sense of noblesse oblige, even let our children play with theirs. Outside.

But Friday they will be strangers in a strange land -- our land, not theirs. They will be outnumbered and outgunned, hoping to leave Friday evening victorious and elated, but injury-free and with fully inflated tires on their pickup trucks. We have to ask ourselves the question, like noted American social icon Rodney King did, “Can we all get along?” And since I’m quoting social icons and purported socialists today, the answer is a resounding, “Yes, we can!”

Here are some Bidgood Bob tips for Alabama fans that want to be good hosts. Following these suggestions will enhance your gameday experience and reduce the likelihood of unnecessary bloodshed:

1. Avoid the term “Cow College.” Auburn folks are sensitive about their agricultural heritage, for some reason. I never figured this one out, since every time you eat a truly great steak it’s probably the result of some smart people doing freaky crossbreeding experiments in the animal husbandry lab. And they gave us the McLean Deluxe. Don’t forget that.

2. Don’t ask about the basketball arena. Yes, they spent almost $100 million on a gym with fewer seats than their old one. This was so they won’t have to hang a curtain across half the place to hide the empty seats. Bama fans: just be quiet about this and let Auburn keep building shit they can't afford. This is how Ronald Reagan crushed the Soviet Union.

3. Don’t count your championships. They really hate it when we do this.

4. Don’t ask why their season ticket hotline number is 1-800-AUB-1957. Just don’t.

5. Bad topics of conversation: Here is a good rule of thumb: avoid bringing up anything that starts with the letter “C.” Topics like Cam, Cecil, Chizik, Colonial Bank, Chette, churches, computers, cheating, Committee on Infractions, etc. can get them pretty riled up. 

In summary, give Auburn fans praise where it’s due. Find common ground! Together these great universities have been on NCAA probation more times than anyone! Neither athletic program has ever gotten the death penalty!

Both institutions are consistently ranked in the mid-40s in U.S. News and World Report’s rankings of state-supported universities! And there are fifty states!

Survival tips for Auburn fans traveling to Tuscaloosa:

Many Auburn fans will be making their first trip to Tuscaloosa on Friday. To maximize your enjoyment on the road to the national championship, remember the following:

Know how to spot trouble. For example, if you’re approached by a tattooed 300-pound dude with a mullet haircut, a goatee and a beer gut out to here, and he’s wearing one of those authentic Wal-Mart ‘Bama jerseys (you know, the ones with the gray and white stripes on the sleeves), he is probably not coming to wish you good luck against the Gamecocks. Dude probably owns real gamecocks. Run.

Wolves in sheep's Brooks Brothers clothing. If you see a group of harmless-looking young men in sport coats, button-down shirts and ties, BEWARE. They are Bama fraternity pledges. They travel in packs and, like the famed Ghurka warriors trained by the British East India Company, newboys are fierce fighters who will blindly follow any order, however outrageous. They also drink too much. 

Blasphemy on hallowed ground is dealt with harshly. Should Auburn win the game you can get away with pretty much anything, but stay away from the statues, especially the Bryant Statue. Two Auburn students were apprehended Sunday night taping a Cam Newton #2 jersey to the Bryant Statue. Big mistake.

Infidels.

The vandals are presently in the hands of the diabolical Bryant Museum staff, where they are undergoing behavior modification therapy. Their indoctrination will teach them the ways of ancestor worship, self-congratulation for past glory and the inevitability of future domination. 

NO! Not the bloody fooking KICK again!!!

Like Alex from A Clockwork Orange, they are strapped down, eyelids taped open, in front of giant video screens showing images of Wade, Thomas, Bryant, Stallings and Saban, all with Sweet Home Alabama blasting over and over and over…

They will be ‘Bama fans by Friday.

Bidgood Bob Has to Eat

Since Alabama and Auburn are both off this weekend (Alabama’s “game” tonight doesn’t count), and next week is apt to get pretty testy, I decided this week’s column should be about something the Aubs and Bammers can all agree on… food. 

The internationally-recognized
Lunch in the Gump logo

As some of you may be aware, in my day job I am Chief Executive Officer of a multinational conglomerate known worldwide as Lunch in the Gump. At LITG, we are working on solutions to global warming, peace in the Middle East, stemming the foreclosure crisis and ending our country’s reliance on foreign oil. We are bigger than Colonial Bank.


And when we’re not solving the world’s problems, we like to have lunch. Oh, we do love our lunch. Sometimes we even write about the experiences, and you can find these “reviews” at www.lunchinthegump.com.  


Mind you, at LITG we are not food critics. We are just average folks from Montgomery, Alabama, AKA “The Gump.” We are Aubs and Bammers united in the pursuit of good eats and friendly conversation in locally-owned joints.  

Dreamland - A Gump-worthy
Alabama-based chain.

We like our vegetables fresh and our burgers greasy. And we do not suffer chains lightly. To qualify for our patronage, to be Gump-worthy, as we say, a chain restaurant must (a) be good, and (b) have its origins in Alabama. For example, we have no problem recommending Dreamland or Baumhower’s, but we’ve expelled members for eating at Moe’s.


Now, don’t misunderstand… there’s certainly nothing wrong with Moe’s. The place is just not Gump-worthy. When the employees holler “Welcome to Moe’s!”  on your arrival, they’re not doing it because they’re happy to see you. They’re doing it because the franchise manual says they have to. We hate stuff like that.


At Hamburger King, they are happy to see you too, but they don’t all yell “Welcome to Hamburger King!” when you walk in the door because they are too busy constructing the most impossibly perfect greasy burger you will ever put in your mouth. Yes, eating one will shorten your life span but what the hell; it will also cure a hangover. So have two.


Take a ride down to Dexter Avenue to Chris’ Hot Dogs if you want something truly extraordinary. Last April Fool’s Day we posted on the blog that Chris’ was calling it quits after 93 years in business. Our simple prank caused civil unrest, rioting and panic-buying of Chris’ Dogs. 


Only in Montgomery can you savor the excellence of the fully pimped-out hamburger steak at Sundown East. We call it the “Beast.”  There is a dish at the Green Papaya that I can neither spell nor pronounce but it’s unbelievably good and will take care of that congestion problem you’ve been having.


Want to see what happens when a Quizno’s goes out of business and the only thing they leave behind is that little roaster oven with the conveyor belt? Then go to Wishbone Café way out in East Gump. They are using that little conveyor roaster to churn out some of the best Cajun/Creole dishes this side of Canal Street. 


There are just too many good joints to list. El Cantaro over on Ann Street es muy, muy bueno.  If I were judging a cornbread contest between the Davis Café and Martin’s, it would end in a tie, probably after several overtimes. 

If you like fried chicken (and who doesn’t?) you ought to try the pulleybones at Eastbrook Café. Just don’t use the “pulleybone method” to decide who is paying the check. Governor Riley might decide that you’re gambling and next thing you know you’ll have troopers all over your ass. I saw the Guv in there once. “Well, well, well,” he said, “Looks like we got ourselves some illegal gamblin’ chicken here.”

Actual photo of the Guv making the deal
with Chief Pascagoula from Mississippi.

Sometimes when LITG is in the midst of disentangling a particularly thorny international crisis we send one of our junior executives over to the Scott Street Grocery & Deli for takeout. The subs there are really good and they are also approximately the size of Nerf footballs.  


Now, if you don’t read anything else in this column here are two words: Stockyard Café. It’s up in the North Gump somewhere but whatever you do, find it. Here is an excerpt from the LITG review that sums it up nicely:


“A hoity-toity, mamby-pamby restaurant reviewer might note sarcastically that nothing says ambiance like the lack of ventilation, second-hand cafeteria trays and misspelled, handwritten signage. Not so fast, my friend. This place oozes grease and confidence like their patrons. They even give away raw onions and peppers to those who don't care how they smell from either end.”


Derk’s Filet & Vine, Down the Street, Sinclair’s, El Rey, Lek’s Railroad Thai, Lunde’s, Farmer’s Market, the Wagon Wheel, Corsino’s, Cook Ma’s, Shashy’s… there are simply too many good lunch places to list them all. If your favorite got left out, let me know.


It’s almost incomprehensible that you can buy this stuff right here in your very own Gump. You don’t have to go to Paris or Rome, or even Atlanta. Just hop in the car and chow! 


LITG would also like your opinion. Through the end of the month we are soliciting readers’ input on their favorite lunch places. Go to www.lunchinthegump.com to participate.


Like we say at Lunch in the Gump World Headquarters, “Think global, but eat local.”

Humility and Sportsmanship? Read On.

I Googled "dejected bama fan" and
this is what I got. Fitting.

We are Alabama fans lost in the wilderness. Here we sit, out of the picture, languishing with a 31-2 regular season record over the last three years, yet irrelevant, unloved and threatened.


Just what am I supposed to do with the non-refundable airline tickets to Phoenix I bought after the Florida game?  What about the deposit I sent to hold a reservation at the Scottsdale Princess? What about my dignity? Will they give that back?


Oh, Lord, to be an Ole Miss fan.


They have miles and miles of ancient, moss-draped oak trees surrounding a town square unblemished by the crudity of chain stores and fast food, where you can get an honest drink in one joint and a real milk shake in the next. Where you can browse a great bookstore that sits in unassuming testament to a century of impossibly bountiful literary heritage. To stroll a picturesque old campus with diamond-dazzling debutantes who swarm the Grove like fine-looking doves to a baited field. 

Colonel Reb didn't care who won...
he was only there for the hot chicks and booze.

Oxford, Mississippi would be the embodiment of Sir Thomas More’s Utopia, if only they had a decent football program. But here’s the thing – Ole Miss people don’t care.  They don’t have to win the national championship every year to be happy. I want to be like them.


They have two Mannings and nothing more, unless you count some guy named Frank “Bruiser” Kinard, who played tackle at Ole Miss in the 1930s, I guess before the place was referred to as “Ole.” Bruiser played professional football for the New York Yankees and the Brooklyn Dodgers. Nope, that’s not a typo.


I googled the Ole Miss 1890-1992 “Team of the Century” and I had only heard of two players on there – Archie Manning, of course, and Billy Brewer, who, as Rebels coach, was best known for his loose interpretation of NCAA rules.


Ole Miss fans are perfectly happy with all of this, so I want to be like them.  In fact, I am hereby losing this unhealthy obsession with winning all the time. I dream of the day when my beloved Crimson Tide can fight hard, keep the score respectable and then all of us Bama fans can be good sports about it.


Then I can stand at my tailgate, with a welcoming smile on my face, and tell the opposing fans, as they pass, “Hey, great game. Y’all played great. Good luck the rest of the season. How about a beer?”


Who am I Kidding?


Only halfway through this column and I am about to puke my guts up. Become like an Ole Miss fan? Be gracious in defeat and magnanimous in the occasional victory? Not Bidgood Bob. Not on your life. Strike me dead and take away my lucky houndstooth boxer shorts before that happens.


It’s Thursday and I’m getting my mojo back.


LSU fans, you drunken swamp trash, see you all in Tuscaloosa next year. And as for that “Tigah Bait” cheer, how about learning to pronounce your “r’s” okay? 


And what about you Tennessee types? Listen up, hillbillies... that thing you dry off with after your weekly shower is called a “towel.” It’s not a “towl.” It's a two-syllable word with an “e” in it. Got that? Now go back to feuding with the McCoys.


You julep drinkers from Ole Miss and Kentucky are also-rans we keep on the schedule to keep us bowl-eligible, rest our starters and pad our stats. Thanks for that, although every time I’ve been to Lexington or Oxford you have all been so nice. You make me puke.


And you Gamecocks, with your banty rooster mascot that glorifies illegal hick brutality, enjoy this while you can, losers (but beat Auburn).


Razorbacks? Not-so-sharp yokels, I say. 


Georgia? I hope UGA VIII gets the mange this weekend over in Auburn.
And it seems the wishy-washy Urban Meyer down at Florida isn’t such a genius any more without the squalling brat Tebow. Chomp this. Wish you’d stayed retired now, don’t you Urb?


Mississippi State, you’re next. Bring your stupid cowbells, see if we care.
Auburn? They’ll keep for another column. Let’s see how this whole Newton thing goes.


Oh, you Vanderbilt poindexters can kiss my crimson ass, too.


Thanks, I feel better now. If I offended anybody with this, I DON'T CARE!!

BCS Poker on ESPN - A Rigged Game

ESPN, the self-proclaimed “Worldwide Leader in Sports,” is playing college football like a game of Texas Hold ‘Em.

Huh? College football media coverage is like poker? Have I lost my mind and gone to drinking on deadline? Again?

A good player knows the winning hand is not always the best hand at the table... you drag a pot because everybody thinks you have the best hand. Sometimes you have to make the guy with the best cards throw his hand away. 

Other times you get dealt unbeatable cards, the “Nuts” as they’re called. Anybody can win with the Nuts, but a good player doesn't just win the hand. A good one lures you in, making you think you’ve got the best cards right up to the moment the trap is sprung and your chips are gone.

Because there’s no playoff system, ESPN can play poker with college football, and they are playing it very well. They say when you look around the table and can’t spot the sucker – you’re it. Well, college football fans, ESPN has made us the suckers. If the BCS can’t get the two best teams into the championship game, then ESPN will make you think the two best teams are there.

Case in point, FOX Sports chose to play a mindless game of roulette by spending untold millions for broadcast rights to the World Series, without any idea who would be playing or if anybody would tune in to watch. Because there is a playoff system, the wheel was spun and it came up Giants vs. Rangers -- horror of horrors if you're FOX. Saturday night’s Game 3 had the second-lowest TV ratings in history. Sunday night’s Game 4 was beaten by a regular season NFL game. And there wasn’t a damn thing FOX could do about it. FOX gambled and lost, just like brainless saps who play roulette (or electronic bingo).

No way ESPN lets this happen in college football. Their talking heads remain in lockstep, telling pollsters how to vote, telling us which teams are good and which are overrated, who to watch, hyping this team and poo-pooing the other, all to maximize ratings for their games, including the big one January 10 in Glendale, Arizona, live on ESPN. 

Everybody hopes for the Clash of the Titans. But what if it turns out to be a dud? What if the SEC teams beat each other up? What if Michigan and Penn State stink? What if USC is on probation? Well, ESPN already figured out a strategy for playing this crappy hand. They call this strategy “BCS Busters.”

Boise is good because Herbstreit says they are.

The more Kirk Herbstreit told us how really good Boise State was, the more people believed him. Boise and the other BCS Busters were played as ESPN’s hedge against the possibility that the big boys might all have a loss or two. The network has created its own fallback position, a guaranteed unbeaten team worthy of respect and high ratings. Why? Because Herbstreit told us so – certainly not because of anything these lightweights have done on a ridiculous blue field. 

ESPN expertly built Boise and the Busters, running the Respect Machine wide open in case any of the big boys stumbled. When Alabama fell, followed by Ohio State and then Oklahoma, it didn’t matter because ESPN had the Busters as hole cards, just in case.

But as the season moved on, more cards were revealed. ESPN is now eyeing the Nuts – a matchup unbeatable in the ratings – the mother of all shootouts pitting the explosive Oregon Ducks vs. the equally explosive Auburn Tigers, led by Heisman winner Cameron Newton and his Wheaties-box smile. 

There is this one tiny problem for ESPN, though. The BCS Busters won’t lose. What is to be done with the faux monsters they’ve created? Kenny Rogers says you’ve got to know when to fold ‘em. So ESPN is dumping the Busters like a medium-high pair against a flop full of suited overcards.

Sorry about the gratuitous use of poker jargon.

The first move occurred last Tuesday night when Boise played fellow WAC powerhouse Louisiana Tech on the aforementioned ridiculous blue field. Here is the #2 or #3 team in the polls, hyped for years by ESPN as deserving of “respect,” playing the only football game in the country during prime time. Where does ESPN air the game? Surely on ESPN! 

Nope, Boise played on ESPN2 (known to most as The Deuce but known to my readers as the Skateboarding and Texas Hold ‘Em Channel). What was aired on ESPN, the Mothership? Why, a poker tournament, of course. Check it yourself. For once I didn’t make this up. Respect, my ass.

Alabama vs. Auburn... ESPN is all in.

Having folded the BCS Busters, ESPN is now playing its final hole card – the Alabama Crimson Tide. Faced with the prospect of an Oregon - Boise BCS Championship (the horror) ESPN is now making the case that the road to Glendale, Arizona goes straight through Tuscaloosa, Alabama. 

Listen to them. “If Oregon and Auburn win out, they’re definitely playing for the championship, but if Alabama beats Auburn, the Tide is in.” What they are really saying is, “You need to stop voting for Boise and the Busters! We can’t let Boise in because nobody will watch the game, much less the month of hype preceding it.” 

Of course, ESPN isn’t holding the Nuts just yet and there are still cards in the deck. What if Oregon St. beats Oregon, Georgia beats Auburn, Auburn beats Alabama, then South Carolina gets revenge on Auburn?

Boise vs. TCU for the Crystal Football? I'd rather watch poker.