Friday Misery - the one where Agador Spartacus works the window at Walgreens

*Disclaimer: I should've put this on last week's Misery, but in case I picked up any new readers during the off season (ok, I'll wait for you to stop laughing....), the Friday Misery is usually rated PG-13 if not R. The intention is never to offend. It is to rant. And as a venue for the occasional hissy fit.

Prelude to a quaalude
I'm demented. You're maniacal. He's despondent. And she's just downright morose. Now that we all know each other, let's pop some pills and chill the eff out.

And then there were only eight. Only.

I sprained an ankle the other day running through scrimmage notes. Tyler got a case of the depressives from Kyle. Merritt Hall is in street clothes! Shit. I even hear the Water Girl caught a cold after taking the ALS Ice Bucket Challenge.

Dear God! We are no where near ready for college football y'all! The season hasn't even started and yet it's already over. Done! We've had roughly eleventy-hundred days to get ready. Ever since the last rain drop fell on our beleaguered secondary down in Jacksonville we've had nothing to do except get ready to play Clempson. Nothing! And here we are, a pathetic huddled mass of pathetic patheticness.

Pathetic. Really.

Forty-buhzillion days to figure out a secondary and we're still confused. There's been nothing on the calendar since January 1st at 4pm and I have no goddamn clue who will make up the offensive line. Holy hell, I don't even know who next year's quarterback will be! Did you hear that?!? We've got [TBD] to start the 2015 season and no one knows who'll be under center. That's right. [TBD] to start against [TBD]. Jesus. YGTBFKM!

This is the worst. No, this is the burnt crust around the entire edge of the worst. I haven't felt this bad since....KNOCK THE GODDDDAMMNN BALLL DOWNNN!!

[knocks back two Pirin tablets with a double shot of Old Crow Reserve...]

AND THEN THERE WERE ONLY EIGHT!! ONLY!!!!

However...Richt didn't refill his usual off season prescription in January. I guess he got sidetracked writing so many private Bookface thank you messages to Bobbie Petrino. Maybe the day he was supposed to swing that Ford F150 by the Walgreens was the same day he lifted a simple solitary finger and replaced a bag of shitbricks with Jeremy Ain't got time for no mother f---ing jokes Pruitt. Or maybe Richt just spent that entire day re-reading every post I've ever published. Probably. I don't know.

And I don't care. Because ever since that fourth and 99.9 third and 14 miracle heave ordinary completion in Jacksonville put an exclamation point on what was the 2013 Jekyll and Hyde season, it's been raining Scott Woerner tear away jerseys in Athens. It's been sunny with a chance of Shaq STFU pink slips in that secondary. It's been blue skies as far and wide as Gurley thighs. Marlo has a scowl. Because that's what Marlo Herreras do in August camps.

Practices have been completed with the purpose of getting better at tackle football, not stroking middle school-sized egos. The secondary is reacting more swiftly with their feet and hands instead of trying to figure out whether their defensive coordinator is speaking Farsi or Kurdish and then Oh shit! A wheel route! We almost have more running backs than Auburn has recidivist players. Almost.

I hear ya. The two-deep ain't set. There are kids just months removed from the senior prom roaming the secondary. The offensive line presents more questions than bona fide answers. I get it.

I do. But huddle up here y'all. (No, not you Erin Andrews.) Huddle up and hear me. Kublanow is gonna jackhammer DeShawn Williams until he begs for a Demon Deacon. Coach Ekeler will hurdle the Hedges when Vavlas drills a Tiger return man. Keith Marshall will still be gaining yards as Dabo eats his Fruity Pebbles the next morning before church. Morgan will have as many touchbacks as extra points. And after his "no name defense" completes its first public statement with an exclamation point, Jeremy Pruitt will finally smile as he cup of cheeses Chad Morris midfield.

I'm bringing my finger guns with a license to carry. I'm stepping forward in the same direction my team did in January, and then again in February, and then March, and then April, and then again in May, and then June, and then July. I'm calling the Dawg here in August, giddy and Grantham-free! We're here. It's eight days of opening prep work and then a race to our Sanford seats.

(shakes a pill bottle with no distinguishing label) Don't meet me there. Beat me there Dawg. A new season is upon us. And we didn't lose all that dead weight for nothing.