Yeah, life goes on, but returning to normal - normal, without Coop - takes some time

 

          There hasn't been much lately I've been prepared for, and naturally, the before-lunchtime call came a couple days earlier than expected.

          "We have completed the cremation for Coop."

          Daaaaaaaaammit. *Pow*

          Later that afternoon, I went down to Pet Plantation in Warner Robins - very nice people - and picked him up, in a white wrapped container, with some paperwork, and a certificate. He sat next to where he'd be, a big round metal dog container with a paw on the lid as a handle, for the ride home.

          Actually putting him in there, and adding a picture collage sheet around the container, that would have to wait a day or two. Yeah, kinda of putting off some finality, and nope, it won't add closure.

          Hell, I still don't have closure from my dad dying on Sept. 15, 1987, or my mom on Feb. 7, 1988 - and I had moved from home years earlier - or Grandma more than a decade earlier, or, well, some of us don't actually ever get closure from death, I guess.

          There have been kleenexes in about every room in the house, but a few less each day. I walk by his room and look in, and there's a deep breath, and the nose crinkles and all, and it's an adjustment to not hear the tail thumping or see him laying on the bed on the floor - sooo goofy - with his head underneath the couch, sound asleep.

          Couple folks have checked in, and the basic reality is that while the whole thing will suck forever and yes, normalcy returns a little more each day.

The short-term lingering chest-punch is just in those final three weeks where he wasn't himself at all, that he couldn't have had a good stretch a time or two the final week - even though we didn't fathom it was the final week - and more than just for a minute or two. Just the "What'rewedoin what'rewedoin what'rewedoin?" face - he was just so impish in being up for anything - and the active tail that showed his happiness and brought me happiness.

          Cancer in this case was apparently impatient. At least it wasn't vindictive in bringing serious pain to my puppydawg.

          A few weeks before this started, Vander had a good tuneup, with a solid ear cleaning, and some meds for ears and skin and a cough of some weeks. He emerged with a twinkle in his eye and more wag in his tail, and more affectionate. A week later, Coop started going the other way.

          One week of perfect pooches.

          At some point, I'll start another round of organizing of the staggering number of pictures and videos, and every so often, I'll make sure to have a full glass and go through 'em. So Coop will always be Coop, and those last three weeks will all but fade away. All but.

          I read one time that sometimes with two dogs, when one dies, it's somewhat advisable for the surviving dog to see the deceased dog, for understanding and closure. Vander and Coop weren't that tight, more from Vander's side, because Coop was a tail-waggin face-lickin pal for everybody. Until their second altercation, Coop would daily lick Vander's face, and ears, while Vander was on the couch, and he'd give him that big brother "would you pleeeease go away, brat?" look, and Coop would bounce on to whatever.

          But there was something good there, if not a Hallmark video. Alas, a few times a day, Vander will walk into the living room and look around, or go down the hallway and look in Coop's room, and then my room, and stand there for a second. They weren't best buds, but it was good that they shared a house, and some good times, and some face and ear licks, and just the life.

          It'll just be Vander and me until it's not Vander and me, and we might re-visit the dog park (when it's quiet) and maybe socialize a little more, and our walks will last longer, and he'll no doubt enjoy being the sole focus of rubs, snuggles, talk, and treats - even though he never went without any of any - again.

          There's something to that, Vander having been a bait dog, and being found by a team of phenomenal people and so fixed up and ending up with me- our adoption anniversary is Aug. 15 - and then going through those two damn January nights, and emerging again as such a special pooch who deserves nothing but tailwaggin and a rubbed belly the rest of his days.

          Man oh man, these puppydawgs. For the hound humans, the puppy people, the dog dudes and dudettes, they got us. There will be tears, but man, the smiles and laughs and astounding joy are forever.

And just like that, a part of your heart is gone

 

          A from-deep-in-a-bruised-heart thank you to all who empathized yesterday and this morning. Both of us were a little floored and a lot appreciative.  A loved one with cancer taken - quickly and young - is unfortunately too shared an experience. And ohhhh dear Lord, our puppydawgs.

          Save for a period after their altercations when they crushed me for a couple months, Coop and Vander made me laugh a couple dozen times every single day. Every day.

          You don't get that uncomplicated joy like that from people.

          Coop took a chunk of my heart with him at 10:55 today, and by now, he's met my dad and brother, both big dog people. Mom was a dog tolerater.

It was supposed to be something different for this awesome dog. Not Fin cancer

 

          Unbelievable.

          For three weeks, Coop hasn't been Coop. Went from Oprahness energy to Ritalin, like that. No smiles, no tailwagging, no eating, no sniffing, turned down cheese. For a day a half, he just laid around.

          A night earlier, Vander made a very slight 'No, I'm on his lap now' pump fake, and I started worrying if it was from that, maybe feeling unsettled or something. But they interacted fine the next day, only for the funk to start.

          He finally got off his couch, but wasn't Coop. Vet No. 1 checked him out two days later, couldn't find anything. Heartworm, fecal tests, fine. Heart and lungs, fine. Said wait a few days, try bloodwork.

          Few days later, Vet 2 did bloodwork, all normal. But still, lethargy in different forms, and a face that said “When you gonna make me feel better?”, then a paw issue emerged on occasion. Well, shit.

My awesome dogs had another altercation. One's overnight at the vet, and the other ... never thought we'd get to this point

Day 5 of 2020:

          Around 1130ish, the dogs are outside and the tone of bark is of concern, so, in my ‘jammies’ and robe, I go right out. Neighbor’s puppy has been barking, so maybe it’s a dog outside the fence.

          It’s a possum or raccoon or whatever just sitting there, and Vander and Coop are very worked up about it. I had a squirt bottle for them to get them away and back toward the house, but they were hyped.

 

From Jan. 1, eyeing a toy.

         Just like that, as I’m squirting the critter, they run into each other and get tangled up and are into a severe altercation. *Snap*

          Which happened on Day 21 of 2018. After which I said I couldn’t go through that again, and if it happened ...

  

The body operates on its own terms. So did my brother, whose battle after a stroke, and more, ended today

            Every so often, you go through spells of pondering mortality, a little more than you should, and it is then attached to insomnia, which doesn’t need any help.

            And regularly,  everybody needs a reminder of other people’s mortality. The human body, I’ve been saying for years, will do what it wants, which is often not what doctors say, predict, or expect. We all know of medical miracles still bouncing around, and poster children for proper health gone in a second.

            The body operates on its own terms.

            That’s what my brother’s body went and did. A few years ago, he had a stroke, and was living in an assisted-care facility back home in Pa. As per usual, he went forward and backward. Couldn’t really speak, but still could express himself. Things were where they were.

            Then my sister called a couple weeks. Uh oh. A form of cancer had emerged on his bladder, I think. No, he wasn’t in perfect shape when he had the stroke, but he wasn’t a big drinker by any stretch, and had gone back and forth as a smoker. There was chemo, and something else, and initially, it looked like the plan was to go with ‘something else,’ but all that would do was give him about six months or so.

            As it turns out, he had decided against that. He was still normal, despite the inevitability. My sister said to plan a Christmas trip, because it looked like he’d still be pretty good and have a few months left. When the phone rang this afternoon …

Update: Vander and Coop, 11 weeks After Disagreement, more of Life Before Disagreement appears

          Life is not like it was before Jan. 22, 2018.

          The dogs aren’t deciding when they’ll sleep on the bed, or if they’ll just stay in the living room. They’re not falling asleep on the couch a foot or two apart, occasionally one’s head up against the other’s butt or back.

          They’re not doing their own things in the backyard all afternoon, one chilling on the porch and the other relaxing but keeping an eye out for them there varmints: squirrels and birds, or a rabbit in another yard.

Just like that, two brothers are fighting 

 Dogs and Roomie a month after The Altercation:

          They’re not sitting still, proper posture and serious faces, in the dining room watching my every move upon crossing the threshold of the kitchen, because apparently I must depart every kitchen visit with something for them other than loving words.

          It’s been nearly 11 weeks – and overall, about $1,200 – since Vander and Coop went at it (and that’s all I’ll say about that here).

Dogs and Roomie a month after The Altercation: good, but not normal, and normal was awesome

            A month after The Altercation – God, a month? - it’s mostly good, and became mostly good after about a week.

            Not me. On the inside. Better, yes, but not necessarily all that good.

            It was Jan. 22 when the two dogs who had never growled at each other suddenly were beating the crap out of each other, and of me, in the middle trying to break it up.

In seconds: two dogs, mellow 'brothers', are fighting; an altercation becomes a nightmare, and a week of pain - more for the human than the hounds

            One minute, I'm on the edge of the bed changing into my "we're gonna go for a walk" clothes and sneakers.

            Vander and Coop are on the bed, a pile of pillows and comforters, going through their little wrestling dance, which I let go for about 10 or 15 seconds on average just to keep things cool at all times.

This is them.

            Didn't get that chance.

            Within seconds, I had two dogs - within the previous hour, one was laying on the couch having his face licked by the other one - at each other like a bad dogfighting evidence tape.

            I screamed. Did exactly what you're not supposed to do, and dove into what couldn't - could not, no way, not this nightmare - between two dogs who are different, but so silly in how well they've always gotten along. Always. One was the annoying little brother, the other the chilled older brother. They'd wrestle, and then when I yelled to stop - it was normal dog stuff - they'd look at me, panting, and tails wagging, with this, "Oh, come oooonnnn, Grampaaaa, we just playin."

            And I'd laugh. All these two did all day everyday was make me laugh, individually or together.

            Just like that, I'm yelling and wrestling and pulling and trying to cover one up with a blanket so they can't see other - one of the things you're actually supposed to do - and break up the momentum. Didn't work. They were both so unbelievably pissed at each other. They'd get a grip and shake their head back and forth - a vision that won't be leaving my head soon - and snarled and just everything.

            I'm trying to get in the middle, screaming "noooo" because this is simply a scenario I never, ever, ever expected with these two, and am literally putting my hands in there to pry a mouth from whatever the mouth is on. There's my left index fingernail bleeding and not looking good.

            We roll off the bed, my britches actually come down, and there go my glasses, while they roll from one bedroom to the next. I was dazed for a few seconds, and dove back in. Grabbed a pair of jeans to cover one up, and they were so active, there was no way for one person to slow them down.

            The snarling and gripping continued, the bait-dog pitbull mix who I would clone a thousand times if I could and the remarkably affectionate hound, these two life-improving glorious dogs.

            My brain was frying.

Who's actually seen Jake Fromm play live a lot? This guy

            Not long after Jacob Eason’s clumsy post-push stumble out of bounds, the analysis started.

            The Jake Fromm experts got busy, moreso as he came off the Georgia bench and looked like somebody who probably shouldn’t be on the bench.

            And it’s continued, daily and hourly proclamations and speculations and discussions and confident postulation of a player few actually saw in a game situation at all or more than a little.

            Games are a wee bit different than a highlight or video or offseason camp, yes?

            Hmmm.

            As it goes, pretty much everything said is still on point.

What do I have in common with Mark Richt, James Comey, a bunch of ESPN folks recently, among others?

            Those people were, in simple terms, fired.

            Other variations for other situations: laid off, involuntary separation, downsizing, restructuring.

            And another one.

            "... As a result, I need to tell you your position is being eliminated."

            It started here on Aug. 10, 1998, and the announced end came at 3:04 p.m. on Thursday, June 22, 2017.

            Yessir. Indeedy. Alllllllrightythen. Wish I'd have worn a cup to that meeting.

            Thus ending a stint that included some Super Bowls, some NCAA Final Fours, scores of state high school championship games and events, my first trip to Starkville, Mercer beating Duke in the NCAA Tournament, and probably around 4,500 game stories, features, notebooks and columns.

Coaching searches=dogs chasing tails, heads banging against walls, and helium flying through brains

10:15 p.m. Tuesday update:

               All accounts are Kirby Smart has the job. Not that this is a moot topic, because a hire is a forever topic.

               Warning: have full beverage or plate in front. This will take awhile.

               Having dealt with coaching searches on the high school and college level for decades, and watching what tends to work and not work for decades, and having a grip on reality and objectivity, the AD in me has certain things I just about have to have to consider somebody.

Early November draft: Richt's time is running out, and perhaps should

(Note: This was written earlier this fall, and is presented untouched - and I think, maybe unfinished - in light of Sunday's announcement.)

 

 

 

The friend in California, who was pretty connected back in the day in the land of Bulldogs, would reguarly call after certain games and demand that I get on my meds before we talked.

Well, I had no meds, and I recited the Mark Richt resume: around a 75-percent winning mark, wasn't Ray Goff, program was cleaner than under Jim Donnan, national reputation was good, the world is much different and college football much tougher than in the early 1980s.

No, Richt is a farce and Georgia's a joke and this has to be his last year, because this is embarrassing.

And then I'd suggest the he had, in fact, missed his meds.

The calls were regular, about once a month, and ever so slowly, I started to budge.

Couldn't tell him that, though.

Until this year.

The ceiling has been reached.

Listening to knee-jerk yammering - emphasis on "jerk" - from corners of the state and hidden behind keyboards, I'd hoped for a certain scenario, that Richt would win a national championship and walk off the field waving with one hand and flipping the bird with the other.

He would, of course, never do that. ... But he'd sneak one in from the tunnel.

The reality that it wasn't going to happen hit awhile back. The examples are many.

And they got no shaft back in WHAT,. They deserved to be close to No. 1 at the end, and was No. 2. But I sure didn't see them worthy of No. 1 going into the next season.

And they just never did it for me on that  level. A nice team, flashes of greatness often matched by bouts of South Carolinaness.

There remain defenses of Richt, and deservedly so.

One thing lost in the debate is the regular correlation between salary and outright wins, and what Richt's job is.

The CEO of GM is to run a successful and profitable car company. The CEO of a football program - and a program is so much more than just a team, the duties so much more than just on Saturdays - is to run a successful and profitable program.

No, cars and football aren't the same, but the jist of the job is.

 

Parents hand over their teenagers to the head coach, athletics director, assistants, staff, trainers, dorm managers and other athletics department personnel. They're in college, where the instruction is to be vast and broad.

 

I've had the longstanding belief that I'd much rather my kid play for Richt and never get the big ring than play for assorted other head coaches and get one.

A head coach is, as we're told by 93 percent of the players, a father figure, an adviser, a career counselor (for careers that may or may not include the NFL), disciplinarian and teacher.

Period.

Amazingly, thousands of parents and otherwise narrowminded folks who lose their fractured minds on game day never, ever realize that. As Jim Mora and Peyton Manning say, they don't get it and they never will. And they'll be the loudest in showing it. But that's part of his job, being in charge of other people's kids. There's more to that than the playbook.

Wish folks would realize that just a little bit.

Alas, growing the company/program is part of the job. And that's where, finally, I see the need for a change.

It truly grumbles people that I really have no team, and that leads to some blood-pressure-raising debates, where objectivity and facts aren't part of the conversation.

But yeah, at this point, if I woke up tomorrow in another profession or finally won my lottery and was a Georgia fan, I'd be ready for a change.

I've always liked Richt, even if he wasn't flashy or chatty or a quote machine.

For several years, there were regular dealings with him, from Athens to the Macon Touchdown Club to the visits to the local Bulldog Club, and he was measured and friendly, and consistent.

Another view I've always had regarding people in the spotlight is if you saw them in a store or somewhere and didn't know who they were, you wouldn't know who they were. They weren't 'on.,' they were humans.

Richt is that way.

Nevertheless, I've always had issues with his offensive philosophy, from the start. A very finite selection of plays used in predictable situations, and there was always a reason not to do something. Coaches are an annoyingly stubborn species when it comes to logic and wide-open eyes, and Richt is right there.

A staggeringly large faction was misguided in overall complaints about Mike Bobo. Situations? Yeah, all coaches have iffy calls. But the subordinate had to call what was in the boss-authored playbook, and I always thought that if Richt completely washed his hands of the offensive game plan, other than to peek in every so often with an idea, the offense and Bobo would be better.

As it was, the numbers  under Bobo were pretty fantastic, but there seemed to be the Richt influence in situations that were sometimes maddening. (And don't bring up the pass-instead-of-Gurley against South Carolina because there was plenty of logic behind that).

Fan criticism can often be baseless and reek of entitlement and a lack of information, and I thought Richt caught more harsh grief than he deserved. Parts of all fan bases don't have much substance, indications whch have increased with the anonymity of social blathering.

As for who's next: For the love of God, stop talking about Kirby Smart and Jon Gruden. Holy cow, just stop. Stop, stop, stop, and for scores of logical reasons, not enough room to list here.

Big-name coaches rarely make lateral moves, so stop with other names. There are dozens of jobs that are pretty much the same - TV long ago more than leveled the playing field - contrary to the "analysts" and those who love their school.

And Georgia will have better legitimate candidates than Smart - what can he do without Nick Saban? - and Gruden - he's done what as a head coach that's so inspiring and fantastic? - that many folks won't know because knowledge-seeking isn't a major hobby.

No matter the results of this season, Richt deserves more praise, respect and thanks than many in the stands and at the baseman computer will give him.

But Georgia will lose something when Richt leaves, something a little more special than those who have the hardware and jewelry.

 

 

Richt's time had come, but this is still a monster day

It was inevitable.

It was probably time.

            Still, to see the phrase "Georgia has fired Mark Richt" is an absolute hammer.

            We should all execute at a 74 percent success rate at our jobs - and better in our lives - with all sorts of hindrances and impediments to deal with.

            I've always said that I'd rather my kid - who, like Barney Fife's often-discussed boy, is nonexistent - play for Richt and never get a ring than play for assorted other coaches and get a ring.

            That will always be the case.

            But the bottom line is that Georgia reached its ceiling under Richt. And it hasn't really been that low a ceiling. Nevertheless, with the tools in place, Georgia should be in the national title conversation more.

Gurley, Bobo, Gobo, Burley and Mr. Allen

(Posting delayed by technical difficulties)

            The venom-filled and embarrassing reaction – folks are allowed to say all that and vote and reproduce? – of Todd Gurley’s screwup – and that’s all it was, a screwup in the scheme of relevant life – aside, Georgia folks needn’t sprint to the ledges again, jump on the panic button.

            The pick here was Georgia early in the week, and it’s stayed at Georgia. Frankly, hardly thought about changing. Maybe I still don’t take Missouri serious enough yet.

            But there are scores of reasons to stick with Georgia.

            A) There is little reason to tweak the game plan a whole bunch. Tailback has been, even with injuries, a position of strength for Georgia, and people have already started easing Gurley out the door for Chubb, as people are wont to do.

            There will be adjustments, of course, but not drastic. Fine tuning here, ‘let’s not do this as much’ over there, and a “Hey you receivers, catch the damn ball and block the damn man.”

            B) Missouri is decent at most things, not particularly great at any.

            The Tigers are in the top 25 percent of the FBS in sacks and tackles for loss

            They’re in the bottom 30 percent in completion percentage and time of possession.

            C) This is the right time to be on the road, considering the distractions.

            Coaches really like road games because of the bunker mentality, fewer distractions and chance for team-building. The “us against the world” thinking develops more on the road, and coaches have more time with players. It’s unifying.

            Expect Georgia to be unified, and sharper.

            D) Huston Mason is due, and sometimes there’s stepping up in dire circumstances.

            We see it all the time in sports. When it comes down to nut-cutting time and odds have fallen the other way, somebody comes up big. Georgia also tends to turn in a "why can't they do that all the time?" kind of game when backed up to the wall.

            He has to put it on his shoulders, and he’s a confident guy who now has a pretty full complement of receivers, which is a huge difference as far as his gameday confidence and the during-game playcalling adjustments.

            Missouri loses one thing to worry about, adds a few more.

            The bigger key is, again, Georgia’s defense, not quite revolutionary under The Next Erk (Yeah, I keep pounding on that because of the frothing at the hire for no legitimate reason other than delusional wishful thinking).

            Georgia’s not-really-the-problem offense won’t be able to throw up a bunch of points almost automatically and save the defense. This is the game the defense has to bow up and maybe save the offense.

            Note that Missouri is 93^rd in completion percentage. Georgia is 12^th.

            Are there differences in the game today than as of Tuesday? Yeah. Is it the mammoth difference people want to say? No.

            But folks overreact and prepare for the worst, so exaggeration is convenient.
          
            E) Georgia's season isn't done. The Bulldogs should become more diverse on offense, will get healthier at RB and have a new  underdog mentality that will help. Nothing is out of the picture.

            As for the other aspect of Gurley’s absence:

            1) This happened in the spring. Months ago. And Gurley knew.

            The rule is the rule, teams and coaches hammer about five key ones home to players on a regular basis, and this is one of them.

            And Gurley’s no idiot.

            2) Differences in violation and punishment aside, Gurley just saw this situation with Mr. Manziel only months earlier. Not years earlier.

            It was a fairly well-covered topic. And Gurley ignored it.

            3) The rule may not be perfect, but in theory, it’s needed, and the “ah, screw it, let’s cheat” reaction of so many backs up that it’s needed.

            Same people bitch about “regulations” on one hand want to break them on the other.

            The deal: money corrupts and college football has plenty of money. Obsession corrupts, and ditto.

            Take it out, and you’ll have boosters and others setting up big-money autograph sessions or dropping 5Gs on an autograph.

            In reality – sorry, I throw that word out every so often – that’s a bit much for a 20-year-old, yes?

            Many rules are imperfect, but fairly fitting an imperfect and very-hard-to-govern institution.

            It can’t just be about money, and the rule helps with that.

            4) I’m pretty sure Mr. Allen was just about money, and isn’t so wise to plan a massive scheme – last spring, away from football, before Gurleymania took full effect – to sabotage Georgia before it played Florida.

            Come on, man. Guy is what he is, looking to make money – hey, where’s our talk about capitalism? – and not giving a crap about how he does it. Manipulation – as in recruiting – is part of the game.

            You seen Florida the past few years? That’s a lotta sabotaging to work on. Gurley was just a name on his money-making list, not THE name.

            5) Folks need drastically to get a grip and grow up. It’s become almost psychopathic.

            Like most every other reaction the past decade, hypocrisy teams with a closed mind and suddenly non-existent memory.

            It happens to somebody else: haaaa haha ha. What a douchebag/idiot/moron. They get what they deserve. So typical of (fill in school).

            It happens to us: Maaaan, everybody’s against us. NCAA must love this. Why is that rule in there in the first place? That’s just wrong.

            Fan base goes flat apeshit with paranoia, threats, and wails of persecution: Jeez, they’re nuts. Glad our fans aren’t anything like that.

            And then: Bryan Allen better move out of state and change his looks. Dead man walkin. Better have the cops ride by his house for awhile. I’ll kill him.

            Really? And people need to get over themselves and this arrogance of importance and feeling of entitlement, as if Gurley wanted to make you feel bad.

You volunteer to watch and pay, and that’s all. You own the ticket and your souvenirs. Nothing else, and certainly no body.

            More need to invest in Prozac. Maybe we can start putting logos on it.

            There is a vast difference between passion and obsession.

            Passion: “a strong feeling of enthusiasm or excitement for something or about doing something.”

            Obsession: “a state in which someone thinks about someone or something constantly or frequently especially in a way that is not normal.”

            Obsession isn’t healthy, and no, it’s not funny. It’s almost medical.

            We are a nation of the obsessed.

Sky? Falling. Dreams? Shattered. Reality? * Crickets* Nope, it wasn't Bobo.

            Georgia lost – and Georgia is never supposed to lose – and the ledges filled up.

            Listen for the wailing on the horizon.

            And yet again, people are all over Mike Bobo.

            It’s almost gauche to not jump on Bobo when Georgia loses, no matter the circumstances, because people think they grasp offense from what some windbag on TV says or anonymously behind a keyboard.

            They don’t.

            Sports and politics go together: tell me what I agree with, and without considering anything else, I will further the argument no matter how illogical or knee-jerk. Where’s the door to the in-one-direction blinders bandwagon?

            Thinking and exploring take too much effort.

On Grantham and Kirby and Franklin, oh my

            Who knew that Bobby Petrino had a Santa outfit in his well-traveled closet?

            Turns out Petrino had a present for Georgia fans: the snagging of defensive coordinator Todd Grantham.

            There may not have been dancing in the streets, but there was a little dancing in Dawg Nation.

Auburn-Florida State: who wins?

            I like Jameis Winston.

            The hammering of Clemson was impressive.

            The offensive line is money. Nick O’Leary is one of those pesky playmakers that nobody looks at until they’re chasing him.

            Florida State has often looked like a video game, dominant on both sides and choking the football life out of most opponents with nary a hiccup.

Analysis with Mettenberger a waste of time: it's about football

            The night in the bar in Valdosta in 2010?

            Irrelevant.

            Mom working in the football office?

            Meaningless.

            Growing up as a fan and now on the opposite sideline?

            Trivial.

            All the yapping the past week about Zach Mettenberger playing at Georgia has been exhausting because it offers absolutely nothing important about the Georgia-LSU game. TVcompoops yammer about it, and fans follow, wasting time and energy and precious - reeeeeally precious for most - brain cells on a topic that can't be less relevant than which shoe he'll tie first.

            Mettenberger will be more nervous before the game than usual, but good players are always nervous.

            It's a road game. He'll be harassed.

            This is the SEC. This is not new. He's played at Auburn, at Florida, at College Station. You know, on the road in the SEC. It's mostly interchangeable.

            And there's more pressure starting at home - especially with some baggage - and getting home fans behind you than playing on the road after having established yourself and gotten those home fans behind you.

            Players do what TVcompoops and fans never do: move on. Mettenberger is a Tiger, and a pretty good quarterback. Living in Baton Rouge as a good LSU quarterback ain't a bad life.

            He's thinking more about winning a game so LSU can stay alive for a national championship. Period. Before the game and after the game, he'll think some about the opponent, the colors, the stadium, and the greenery, and that'll be about it.

            The stuff people think players and coaches worry about is hysterical.

            Mettenberger is worried about football. Reads. Not getting picked off.

            If he struggles, it will have nothing to do with the other stuff, it'll be because A) he's human; B) Georgia made adjustments. Period.

            The winner does so because of fewer mistakes, and not compounding mistakes. Anybody gets a decent lead, can't let up for a second.

            This is like the UGA-Clemson game: two top-10 teams that are pretty even overall, with strengths and weaknesses. Georgia miiiight be better, but LSU can win by more.

            But whatever happens has nothing to do with a bar in Valdosta, a mom in the football office and growing up in Watkinsville.

 

LOUGHDMOUTHINGS

 

            Folks wouldn't hurt themselves to be less, oh, whiny and juvenile and offended and whatever by the accomplishments of a team that they've never been on.

            Good gawd, people, grow up. It's not the sign of a small one to offer or admit respect.

            You don't have to go crazy, but, hell, grow up a little bit.

            It's like the simpletons who spaz out because David Pollack is, ya know, an adult and professional and takes his job seriously and says things that aren't ignorantly glowing about where he went to college.

            He, you know, got older and all.

            Calling him a traitor is about as immature as a hissy fit because you can't watch cartoons. Actually, it's more  immature, because we expect hissy fits from 4 year olds. ...

            Today's picks, version 1: What the hell has happened to West Virginia in the past 11.5 months? Oklahoma State 54, WVU 30. (Update: pick was at kickoff, WVU is playing big).

            What the hell happened to South Florida? The Bulls are 0-1 against the Southland Conference. Miami 47, South Florida 24.

            Oklahoma is 1-9 against Notre Dame, which is really an odd record among national powers. It'll get a little better. Oklahoma 27, Notre Dame 20. ...

            ESPN sure does love them some Urban Meyer, who's really good at, um, what it is that he does when ESPN loves him. I kinda think a few hunnert people in Gainesville laugh/smirk/regurge when they watch some of this.

            Of course, then they get misty-eyed for the old days of, uh, four years ago. ...

            As of 12:30, ESPN's schedule shows 563 tickets remain for Troy at Duke. In football. Only 563? Are they playing in Cameron? ...

            Duck Dynasty and a golfer on the Gameday set for predictions. This November: Miley Cyrus and The Three Tenors. ...

            Am still waiting for actual evidence of Mark May's obsession with Georgia, which has one national championship and one Heisman winner in the modern era.

            Taking ESPN so seriously is pretty idiotic. ...

            The best shots of Saturday's are the aerial views of a campus, especially when it's sunny and blue-skied, like today. Couple shots of Athens are mighty nice. ...

            It's likely to be ugly at Mercer in the Pioneer Football League debut.

            The weather's nice, so no Southern advantage there. And finally, the Bears play somebody above NCAA Division III.

            Now that Mercer is playing on its level, the physicality will start making a difference the rest of the year. Instead of being just nicked up and a little sore after playing other startup programs - most of whom will be fairly regular opponents - the Bears will be sore throughout the week and players will miss practice.

            Then depth - an issue for century-old teams - comes into play, and Mercer doesn't have much.

            The Sagarin spread is about 30 points, and that's pretty reasonable.

            Mercer is the lowest-ranked PFL team, and next-to-last in Division I. The PFL has six of the bottom 10 teams. ...

            Today's picks, version II:

            I'm smelling the same thing that leads people to believe Ole Miss will give Alabama some trouble. The Tide aren't as good this year, but still No. 1. Let's not be surprised when they're humanized. Still, Alabama 27-21.

            The PFL gets its first automatic playoff bid this year. Drake is a contender. It won't take it easy on Mercer. Drake 47, Mercer 21.

            Again, Mettenberger's connections and history don't matter in the least. He's played in front of large crowds on the road. Players don't hear crap from fans or see signs. A fundamental play or two is the difference and there will be some ugly play.

            Georgia 38, LSU 35. ...

            High on the list after winning a lottery:

            Buying Chris Berman's contract out, and instilling a no-blathering-on-air clause for 800 months. Lou Holtz's contract is right after that. ...

            And the grief continues for Jacksonville's NFL entry, as per Mike Bianchi of the Orlando Sentinel:

            Texas Senator Ted Cruz spoke nonstop for 21 hours and 19 minutes in an effort to block Obamacare. This is believed to be the biggest waste of time since the last Jaguars game.

I shall return

            Absurdly so, this hasn't been touched since early January.

            That will change. And there's a chance that this will become a general offering, not just sports, and maybe with a schedule, like twice a week automatically.

            Sometimes, things happen that hammer one's desire to write, and sometimes, one must just ignore that and move on and write. Maybe it's time, for the venting to grow past just sports.

            As it is, right now, there's way too much logic missing in discussions about the NSA, Paula Deen, Dept of Transportation, George Zimmerman, IRS, Macon politics, all sorts of -isms, college football, the idiocy of people in charge (oh dear God, that's the problem), hypocrites that God laughs at,  commerce, and so many things.

            We'll see about coming up with a re-introduction within a day or two. The venting can only help my health.