Friday Misery - "You'll see."

Touring the post-Civil War South, Abraham Lincoln reaches the Tennessee-North Carolina border heading east and leans over to his wife, "Time has not been kind to those f--king idiots, has it Mary? Perhaps one day they'll realize they can get their corn from both a jar and a stalk."

Wrong.

Jim Bob Cooter's theory of de-evolution gives rise to half bear, half cat

The head bUTchugger bout to fly his freak flag y'all. (via @mckelsey19)

Ancient Mesopotamians invented writing as a form of communication and the wheel as a form of transportation. Medieval Europe saw the rise of mechanical clocks, water mills and gunpowder. On Rocky Top they discovered wet dreams about mutant animals and family trees with no branches.

Tennesseans' offering to civilization? Alcohol enemas and "advanced" animal husbandry. Of course, it is possible that the former begat the latter. But this we'll never know for sure because in order to reach the top of one's social strata in Knoxville one only has to be able to script the letter "X". So you see, no records exist. At least until a few years ago when court documents show a group of University of Tennessee fraternity brothers cracked opened a box of Franzia and got extra giggly one night.

Broughton insisted his alcohol poisoning was the result of a drinking game called "Tour de Franzia," but police said he "showed signs of physical and possible sexual assault" and had a blood-alcohol content of .40.

Sad. Truly sad. I mean, it's goddamn hilarious. Don't get me wrong. But mostly it's just sad. Anyway, most anthropologists with experience in this region agree that it all started something like this: "Hey Earl, stick this here tube up my butthole, pour some corn likkur in thar and let's get to wrastlin' with Ol' Man Deckle's goats."

It's a real blessing that Charles Darwin aimed for the Galapagos instead of the "smoggy smoke" on old Rocky Top. Otherwise, the term "smoggy smoke" would actually, somehow make sense to the rest of us because we'd be dumbed down so much from our own monosyllabic grunts and dim-witted gestures over the years that we'd all be wearing squirrel caps, cream orange checker board pants and trimming toenails with our teeth tooth.

In Athens, we tote the rock. Not bricks
This Tenersee program is hungry y'all. It is as rich in tradition as it is triglycerides. Accustomed to competing at the highest level, but in the last several years they have become largely irrelevant. The Vols are like that one mule with the gimpy leg, or an outhouse situated precariously on a steep slope. They're a pathetic, incompetent mess grasping at pathetic, incompetent straws.

I meant bricks.

Seen here, a Univ. of Tennessee Resident Assistant
steers a dormitory towards campus. #VolNavy

Historically speaking, after enjoying a thirty-one year run with two highly celebrated coaches, they've had four in the last six years. Lane Kiffin promised to rebuild. But after an encouraging season that even included a pantsing of Mark Richt in Knoxville, he left the campus in flames. Figuratively. And literally. In came Derek Dools and he promised to improve shower routines to a Tuscaloosian level. Wuh? Errybody knows they don't shower in Alabama. Dumbass. Fired before season's end, a dude named Jim Cheney kept the Vol Navy afloat for the rest of the 2012 slate. And so here we are with Butch Jones and his pile of shitbricks.

So, to sum up, they've gone from a lawless class of Pahokee raiding, Prius driving, pellet-gun wielding, barroom brawlin', orange jumpsuit wearing thugs...to...a soaking wet group of dumbass hillbillys holding a bar of Zest wondering what the hell it's used for...to...a team of hungry bricklayers holding boxes of cheap fermented grape juice. Of course, Jones has them believing they can build a wall, now! Not tomorrow, not next season. Now. But no one's bothered to ask why build a brick wall? And when they finish it they'll just be a bunch of creamsickle hicks with their thumb up their ass wondering where the endzone disappeared to.

Brick by brick. Seriously, that's nearly as dumb as Anchor Down. Nearly.

This ain't about laying bricks. No, not for Georgia. This is about manhood. This is about keeping an assbackwards, down-trodden, half bear, half cat, all inbred tackle football team down where it belongs. This is about gettin' right. This is about making a statement. In Athens GA we don't have intimate relations with domesticated or semi-domesticated animals. We don't need a signature victory, because we already know how to spell our name. We don't use our toes as an abacus and we sure as shit don't climb up a mountain just to turn a stranger into a friend.

"You'll see." - Todd Gurley. You got that right B3AST. You got that right.

Let's bow our heads in prayer...Lord, hand the ball to Gurley. And please let us somehow and in some way smack some more ugly off these knuckle-dragging, mouth-breathing inbreds. And then let them find a way out of Athens, hastily, with their poo smelling funnels carefully packed away. Amen.

I dropped the Sunday Thoughts and then kicked them wide right

There's really nothing at all good to say about this game. It was bullshit. It was really, really bad. It was proof that Kirby doesn't have omniscient power to stave off these major duds where we just don't even get off the bus. It was Hugh Freeze lifting up a rock and exposing all of our insecurities. 

All of them.

Goddamn remember when we were so sexy put together elegant last week.

Okay, put everything aside. I know a lot of you jumped off the Kirbs' bandwagon yesterday after dropping a lit Bic on it and chunkin' deuces, but let's just hug some perspective real, real tight.

"It's not how many times you fall, it's how many times you get up."

A wise well endowed woman once said that after trying to impress YouTube viewers as she rode a grocery cart on it's awkwardly slim handle.

The coaches have to get this team off the mat this week. Because they are down. And I mean DOWN! They're whatever a turtle looks like if it doesn't have its shell. I mean, they have no pants. Hugh Freeze bought all of their pants, lit them on fire, and then prayed for us.

What an asshole.

The only thing that matters now is beating Tennessee. If we know now that we're not a great team, we also know that those hillbillies aren't either. And they're coming to our house.

So let's tidy up the foyer Coach Chaney. Fold your laundry up Coach Rocker. Stop pissing on the tile around the toilet Coach Tucker.

And Hey Kirbs, don't wait until the end of the first quarter to read my blog. Why you like to kick so much bro?

Enough of all that. Look, the message is clear: don't give up on this team and let's all come together to beat these inbred, prius driving, boxed franzia in the anus dumbasses in Athens this next weekend.

Say it with me...HEY YOU, WITH THE PITCHFORK!...put it down and let's say it all together...

Go Dawgs!!

the Friday Misery doesn't wear chaps

Hey Beevo, keep your dadgum ivoryish bovine protrusions away from our doggy!

steered clear

Seriously, why is that thing on the field? I've heard many raise the question, but have yet to hear a true answer. When Ralphie visited Sanford he was on his best behavior. I don't think his handlers even had to sedate him. I mean he ran on the field without trampling Joe Cox. Thank God!

But if this is the same Texas mascot that was at the Sugar Bowl a few years ago, give him a horse tranq for God's sake!

And I don't even know if Uga is travelling. I sure wouldn't if I were Boom and knew what that ornery two-ton sumbitch tried against Que. Give that good boy a tummy rub and let him just nap through the pre-game from the comforts of the Seiler sofa.

(UPDATE: Charles says Boom will indeed be safe in Savannah this weekend.)

when the secondary is a primary concern

Deeeeep.

Breath.....

Okay, it was uneasy then uncomfortable then unfathomable to watch our secondary get torched time and time again Saturday night. I get it, that was not fun at all. Offense was eating up yards and putting up points, but the defense just couldn't make ol' Missy State quit!

It starts, in my humble never been a tackle football coach's opinion, with the pass rush. I was a little, just a little, too hard on the secondary on Tuesday. Upon further reflection, every time we sent a blitz they had the correct call. And it went for a lot of yards if not a touchdown.

We just couldn't get our hands on the kid. And that starts in the trenches. Tomorrow we have to be able to generate a push and at least get some hands in Ewers' face. We made Miss State one-dimensional early. They wanted to run the ball, but we wouldn't let them.

Here's a dude that can GATA!

And while that eventually turned on us when they started to pass, we need to do the same tomorrow night. Yes, it's hard when Mykel isn't 100%. It's hard with Mondon sidelined. But these kind of games are won up front.

Now everybody...yes, even you pea brains in the back still whining about Kirby's forearm shiver. Let's all get into a three point stance...that's it...get your ass down Poindexter! Okay, now. Right arm up ready to chop wood, and...GET AFTER THEIR ASS!!

egos are especially bigger in texas

Gather around longhorns, and put your 10 gallon learning caps on. You are officially in the SEC now, so you have to act right. Yes, even though you were named after a steakhouse chain. And no, most of us don't want you around here anyway. And it's not because we're afraid of you. No, the decisions were and are made above our paygrade.

So listen here, stop whining every time an opposing fan gives you the horns down. Yes, we know it hurts your feelings and we saw when the Big12 front office enabled you like a green-faced toddler that doesn't wanna eat strained peas.

Grow a pair. Instead of putting a replica of a bull's scrotum on your trailer hitch, try loosening your girly chaps and find your own set. This is the SEC son! We can joke about Vandy "blowing the Admiral", and Carolina's choking chicken, and still have some modicum of respect for each other. Yes, we bark at perfect strangers. Yes, Florida claps like the graduating class for the directionally challenged. Missouri goes on the road...to play UMass! And don't get me started on Tennessee's Tour de Franzia or their depressing locker room mantra:

Narrator voice: "It was true. It could not be found."

Taunting, trash talk, turning Parliament Funkadelic's P-Funk hand signal upside down...it's all part of the fan experience. It's expected. It's understood. (And yes, I understand Auburn is more of an exception. But trust me, they're worse than a toddler with strained peas in his ears.)

Now, proudly pat that SEC patch on your jersey and understand you are now playing in the ELITE playground. No more plastic primary colored fake shit. I'm talking solid wood foundation with steel bars. I guess what I'm saying is, if the slide in our playground doesn't chap your ass, then an inverted set of fingers shouldn't either.

Let's all circle up and pray...take off your cap and let's see your pretty-boy haircut Arch! There we go...Lord, please protect these men tomorrow night as we continue to pray and look for ways to support hurricane victims across the southeast. And please, pleeeeaase! Let us get Ewers jersey dirty. Even after 8:50pm. Because we know it's ALWAYS 10 TO 9 IN TEXAS!! AMEN and Go Dawgs!

Bonus - this week's 4th & 3 Dudes episode

Friday Misery - A Prius, a goat and a box of whine

Before we begin, RIP "Poppa N". Always enjoyed tailgating with you, even though when it came down to cards you had a way of making me the "asshole". We will always hold your seat in Sanford with pride! And I'm sure around 3:30 tomorrow Munson will be in your ear once again. Hunker Down and Go Dawgs!

They just suck. So hard.

Good gracious we fell down hard from that win. Took a few days as we patted ourselves on the back and inflated our egos...to where they should be anyway. But when it happened we fell hard. And all of a sudden we're selling ourselves short again.

I get it, the 2009 loss to the Vols was one of the worst events in Knoxville. Ever. That includes the time Milli Vanilli opened for Nickelback at Neyland Stadium on 2 for 1 Possum on a Stick Night. And the 2007 game was a textbook case of how to fail epically. Hard.

I could go on for another few lines, but you get the point. Trips up yonder, many times, haven't been pleasant. But don't lose out on this opportunity to stomp a hobnail boot on those backwood bastards while they're down. For those of you who seem to have forgotten that footwear reference, aim your mouse here.

This is the worst Tennessee team we might ever see.  Ever. EVER. They were a really bad team last year. Then they lost Tyler Bray and Justin Hunter and replaced them with guys that wouldn't make the two deep for Kentucky. (Well...ok, Georgia Tech's two-deep.) They're awful. So stop mincing words and call a spade a spade. Dawg up and stop resembling that scrawny ass coon hound. WE ARE GEORGIA! AND WE'RE COMING TO KICK THEIR ASS.

Nothing sucks like a big orange. And Lord have mercy, this is one mother of a BIG ORANGE!!

And then Cooter said to Jimmy Bob...
"You hold its legs and I'll go first."

I'm not saying Tennessee fans are stupid...well, yes I am. They took to rejoicing early this week when our old friend KiffyBaby got hisself canned. On one hand I understand their exuberance as that bastard really did them over good. Laid em down for a season of sexy time, then threw a wadded up ten on the bed and left them in the dead of night with nothing but a confused look and a bag of secondary violations.

"But coach, wuh...wuh...who gon' pump gas for us n all?"

And this picture they made of themselves next to their Molestation Mountain is cute.

This is what knuckle-draggers do. They miss the whole point. You Tennessee fans, Mr. and Mrs. Junior and Lulu, you're the butt of the joke. You ran off a good coach who'd had a couple bad seasons just so you could turn the program into a dumpster fire. Mike Hamilton lit the match and then it's all "Oooooh, look how pretty!!"

You're too busy wiggling that thumb up your ass to realize you're at rock bottom. Karma ain't a "Butch" so much as it is a herd of frat boys after the box of Franzia is empty. It's a BB gun in the floorboard of a Prius. It's a pair of orange britches covering up Lil Dools' diaper his momma strapped on him good and tight. It's the end of a funnel that smells like poo. It's Rocky Top being played when you get ONE GOTDAMN FIRST DOWN. It's Jabari's finger lickin greasy fingers. It's having to steal water from a friendly neighbor just so you can fight the fire that you created years ago..."Ooooh...sooo pretty!!...uh-oh...too hot! TOO HOT!!"

We'll see tomorrow just how much more ugly we can smack off of these inbred mouth breathers. We'll see tomorrow just how rock hard is the bottom on which they've fallen. We'll see if they're anymore interested in tackling than they were last year, or if it's still all about jamming a funnel up your ass while your best friends forever clap and cheer you on merrily!

As Poppa N once said to me, "Bernie, you might be the permanent asshole." True words, as I suck at cards once the seal on the bourbon is cracked. But it's never been home to any foreign objects.

Go Dawgs!

Layla's gon' be pissed!

HillBillys getting so jacked up for Third Saturday in October you can almost smell the Franzia.

When anxiety gives way to Eagerness

You're having a nice meal in a very nice restaurant. It hasn't been perfect, but the company at the table is fun and engaging. Sure, you've had better meals. But it's a great evening and you won't have to do the dishes. The bar has a terrific array of bourbons. The wife is happy with her wine selection. Then...

CRACK! You bite down on something, a tooth crumbles and you just scream.

Life is pain. Mileage may vary.

Our Dawgs are out of sync, and almost out of time as well.

Yep. I think Saturday night was the first game in a while I didn't enjoy. Well, beyond the opening moments. After that it was a nightmare.

Sure, Tuscaloosa sucked. But we showed fight. Even a weird story like Jekyll & Hyde has some thrilling moments weaved into the insanity.

But Oxford man...no answers. No clue. No way. It was mistake after mistake where you just wanted to be able to take a knee the entire 4th stanza and get the hell out of there.

Jan.1st, 1993     Zeier > Herbstreit

Yet, once they had their second chance to storm the field and it was finally over, I could breathe easier. I still believe these are the best of times. I matriculated during an era when our best season (by far) was a Citrus Bowl trip. I remember leaving the stadium in Donnan's first game, an 11-7 loss to Southern Mississippi, we saw a kid holding up his free t-shirt for attending the game and setting it on fire!

I can take this and roll with it. Yes, it's your individual prerogative to call for a new quarterback, a new head coach (!!), a new coordinator. We got pantsed by Kiffin and you can be butthurt about it. But would you rather be a Seminole fan about now?

Didn't think so. Part of me was anxious about what we might see when the hypefulled up volunteers come rolling into town tomorrow. But I'm now eager, not anxious.

The whole team looked out of sync Saturday night in Oxford. Tanner mentioned on yesterday's podcast, it felt like the coaches had no confidence. The line can't block, the quarterback can't throw, the receivers can't catch. Jesus Christ on a bicycle! You may be sick of screen passes, but what is Bobo to do?

Punt. Okay, now let's do the defense....

Nope, that's enough. Let's move forward. Because whether you hate this team or you're sticking by them, we should all be able to agree that there's one team in the nation no one wants to play when their backs are against the wall - Kirby Smart's Georgia GotDamn Bulldogs!

They comin'!

Let them bring their boxes of Franzia, sing their strangely semi-fictional fight song, and talk about the days when Bill Clinton was misusing cigars and Tom Hanks was desperately trying to save Private Ryan from Nazi controlled Europe. I'm eager to see how we handle another strong defense. I'm eager to see how well the crowd affects their ability race the play clock. I'm eager to see Coach Strickland grab and struggle to hold Kirby's belt. I'm eager to see how the team responds. And by God, I'd love to see Thorson use another gap wedge right leg to paint their offense into a super tight coffin corner!!

I've mentioned how this team appears to lack a leadership that we've grown accustomed to seeing the last few years. Well, it's time to step up. It's getting late and the committee is seeing longer shadows. Let's tee it up 'tween the hedges and give them something to think about!

Go Dawgs!

Tennessee to use alternate uniforms against Dawgs

Smells a lot like Tour de Franzia fake juice, IYAM.

In case you missed the Adidas announcement back in August, here's what they will look like.

Friday Misery - Lulu and Junior and Catherine the Average

Had this Misery circled on the calendar ever since October 10th, 2015 at about 3:34pm. I've waited that long to see someone exact some measure of revenge. Someone who is about the humblest, most talented running back my kids have ever seen. Someone who worked his ass off to get back..not for this game tomorrow, but for the earliest game he could (in)humanly possibly play in.

I desperately want to see Nick Chubb run over tackle footballers in orange tomorrow. I desperately want to see 27 put his team on his shoulders and cure cancer on the way to the endzone for the game winning touchdown as the sun sets and the Middle East finds peace.

My heart wants that. My heart needs that.

But we don't win this thing tomorrow with what my heart wants. We don't become a better blocking and tackling football team with what my heart needs. We don't beat the Volunteers based on romanticized ideals.

We beat them only by earning it. Now buckle your damn chin strap son. Ole Miss was five days, 14 hours, and one minute ago. You gonna let them beat you twice?

Bitch please.

Lulu the Great

The easiest way to understand the abject simplicity with which the UTKnoxville HillBillys live is to really listen closely to the “lyrics” of their “fight” song.

A couple years ago I gave you a picture of what Honest Abe and his dear wife Mary saw as he toured the post-Civil War South and traveled through the Tennessee hills. Today I think we need to go back even further to the very beginning.

Yes, back to the Adam and Eve of HillBillys - Junior and Lulu.

I'm pretty sure Lulu is the one on the left.

“Down” in the Tennessee hills, Junior once had a girl on Rocky Top. According to local legend, she was half bear and the other half was a cat. (Yes, you read that right.) And together they commenced to a level of advanced husbandry no one has, or ever will (hopefully) match.

Catherine the Great, according to rumors, died trying under the weight of a horse.

Catherine the Great evidently was neither half bear nor half cat. (may she rest in peace)

The Butch and Dobbs' lovechild.

Most civilizations entrenched in the practice of incest and animal seduction die out as a victim of their their unGodly nature. Somehow “corn from a jar” has sustained these hillbilly deviants to the point where their tree of life ain’t seen a branch since the day Lulu dropped that spork into an empty can of beans, farted and then Junior felt his Wranglers rise to attention.

Yeehaw.

Hey hoss, you can’t crush faces with a box of kleenex

Can you imagine…”We just threw a box of tissue and got snot on their nose...we just snotted their face!!”

Ugh. We’re all like:

“Chubb may not play.”

“We can’t put no pressure on anybody.”

“We couldn’t block a no parking zone with a semi truck and a herd of buffaloes.”

“I have a real, real sad and college football won’t make me happy no more.”

“I burnt my tater tots yesterday and momma won't go back to the store!”

The thing about humiliating losses like last Saturday is that they tend to beat the fanbase more than once. Hell, some of y’all done gave up on the entire season! And some more have already started the next coaching search!

Lord A’mighty! What in the name of all things Holy! Look, it’s one thing to get caught with your drawers down. You’re embarrassed and ashamed and oh no Chad Kelly just threw another touchdown pass 187 yards downfield while side-stepping a dozen rabid black bears! But it’s another thing altogether to get caught with your pants down with one arm around ol’ man Cooter’s goat and the other cradling a box of Franzia.

Get hungry BIG DAWG!

We’re GEORGIA goddammit! WAKE the F up! You don’t shit the bed and spend the rest of the season wallowing in it. You stand up and clean yourself off. You grab a mop and get back down to basics. You GET YOUR ASS DOWN IN A THREE POINT STANCE BY THE MAILBOX AND WAIT FOR THAT BASTARD MAILMAN TO COME AROUND JUST TO GET ONE MORE REP IN!

We’re 3-1! THREE and one! Did you wait around all offseason to get shit-faced wasted on your own self-pity? Was it over when Casey Clausen hit Travis Stephens on the screen? No!

HELL NO!

So put down your sloppy box of tissues and strap on them boots. The first act is over, so tomorrow begins the second stanza and I’m damn sure not tuning up for some gotdamn song about non-existent animals and strangers that disappear into smoggy smoke.

I told y’all at the beginning of the week this one was different. I NEED to know y’all care. I HAVE to know you have the INTESTINAL FORTITUDE of Damien Gary and Verron Haynes combined. I’ve GOT to know you want this one more than your next breath, because just as Butchie and his boys aren’t coming to town in a Prius with a BB gun in the floorboard, we ain’t planning on sniffling like a bunch fancy pants’d sissies before the coin toss.

Brick by brick...F that. Attack the GOTdamn day and let's beat these tourdefranzia assholes!

Now, please bow your heads...dear Lord, please let their band get a flat tire and also help us make Josh Dobbs over work his deoderant. Blessed! Jazz Hands! Go Dawgs!

the Friday Misery is a Champion at Comeuppance

About last night...

Seriously, we’re gonna run them mountain goat humpers ragged Saturday. They’ll eventually make a 30 for 30 about it. Go Dawgs!

— Bernie (@BernieDawg) September 29, 2017

Bank on it.

Butch’s temperature, a week to week examination

Week 1, visit to Athletic Director’s office

Butch - “Wahoo! You like that goal line stand in OT BABY!!”

AD Currie - “Wonderful. Now put that damn trash can back in the locker room. Coach football, not future internet memes you sonofabitch.”

Week 2, luncheon with boosters

Butch - “Put that whoopin’ on Indiana State boy! Offense starting to come together. I like this kid Dormady. Think I might make a poster of him...Stormin’ the Beaches of Dormady. Nice!”

Booster Cleetus - “No you’re not.”

Booster Bobby Jo - “Boy, you gotta purty mouth. Reminds me of ma best goat”

Week 3, family dinner table

Butch - “That was one heckuva throw. Can’t believe we lost that one like that. Hate it for my guys.”

Wife - “Yeh, into single coverage, on the last play of the game, 60 yards from the endzone. Duh!” (tops glass off with the boxed wine and storms down hallway)

Son 1 - “And that was a BAD gator team Dad, real bad.”

Son 2 - “Can we live in Florida next year and not Michigan or Ohio again?”

Son 3 - “Pass the tater tots please.”

Week 4, getting that wannabe high and tight

Butch - “I tell ya, that’s about the best 0-4 team I’ve ever coached against. Wow!”

Barber - “What about those smokey gray uniforms again? And a pregame speech about flashlights making the dark spots shine bright!”

Butch - “Oh, yeh. I like that! And the batteries are like the energy that makes it all happen!”

(Mystery solved. It’s been the barber all along, from the bricks through the trashcan. He’s got clippers in one hand and a copy of “Coaching Motivationals for Dummies” in the other.)

Week 5, back in Currie’s office

Butch - “KnockKnock! Hey there John, I brought the trashcan like you asked. I was wonderin…”

Currie - “Good, close the door.”

The buzz cut from La Mancha

Don Quixote was a fictional dreamer; a romantic Spanish gentleman, in pasteboard armor and saddled on a horse well past its prime, driven to insanity by his relentless pursuit of Chivalry.

Butch Jones is an actual professional cheerleader; paid handsomely as a college football coach to drum up motivational slogans and tactics in a continuous failing pursuit of an SEC East crown.

"I DON'KNO WUHT A QUIXOTE IS!! SOME
FRANCH SPELLIN' FOR COYOTE?!!??"

For both, the beginning is whimsical and delightful. Knoxville, much like the Spanish countryside of the 1600s, was a blank canvas in 2013 and in much need of a new spark and direction. Enter Jones who quickly proclaims himself a master mason proficient in the use of words and catchphrases as bonding agents.

The results are mixed. I’m sure Spanish prostitutes didn’t mind being referred to as high class ladies and the innkeepers enjoyed being “lords of the castle”, but when windmills are envisioned as monstrous,murderous giants things take a dark turn.

Besting Georgia two seasons in a row and ending Florida’s 11 year win streak really put Tennessee’s future in a rosy hue. But the epic tumble the Vols experienced the rest of the 2016 season was a dramatic, painful adventure on Rocky Top, as if Rocinante itself had thrown Butch from the saddle into his own pile of bricks.

But here’s where the romantic cheerleader takes a different path from Cervantes’ star gazing Hidalgo. Quixote never parts ways with his “squire”, Sancho Panza. They’re relationship is as loyal as it is symbiotic. Jones on the other hand fires assistants, thereby uprooting their families, in order to continue his ponzi scheme of slogans. After the 2015 season it was defensive coordinator John Jancek, and after last season it was newly hired offensive coordinator Mike DeBord. What started out as a whimsical play with words has devolved into a bloody battle of stab the scapegoat in the back.

Perhaps Cervantes himself said it best: “The truth may be stretched thin, but it never breaks, and it always surfaces above lies, as oil floats on water.” Butch, you’ve run out of heads to lop off and your trashcan is full of broken bricks. Perhaps your barber can provide some sound investment advice for that buyout.

Down to the business of kicking ass

Ladies and gentlemen, though we have more than one enemy tomorrow, only one of them is truly formidable. And no, it doesn’t wear orange and it doesn’t play football.

Hear me out now.

Understand, Tennessee can’t beat us. They just can’t. They are one thread away from becoming completely unraveled. They’re the trash at the bottom of the bin. They’re soon to be has beens being cheered on by low lifes in checkerboard overalls and fancy pants frat boys with a funnel protruding from their nether regions. That’s all they are. They just aren’t able to beat us.

UMass exposed them for what they are, they just lacked the talent and ability to finish the job. Georgia comes out tomorrow and smacks them in the mouth and they’ll crumble into a pile of rubble at their false prophet’s feet.

However, if not taken seriously, our true enemy can absolutely be formidable. She can turn the most prepared and talented team into an on field three ring circus. Her name is Adversity and she planted the Neyland sod that claimed three ACLs in 2013 and Chubb’s entire knee in 2015.

She connives for missed blocking assignments. Next thing you know your quarterback just got blind-sided and the ball is scooped up and headed the other damn direction.

Adversity gives birth to setbacks. And setbacks don’t treat Georgia well. They tend to make a better Georgia team fall flat at a lesser opponent’s feet. They get into our heads and scramble things up until the next thing you know that squib kick turned into a game tying field goal and oops they just intercepted and somehow we just lost to georgia tech.

So tomorrow, when JimBob Cooter drops a stack of cash in a referee’s pocket and Chubb gets flagged for roughing the passer because he ran out of bounds and tripped over Dormady’s out-stretched cleat, we have to stare back at Adversity with a steely gaze.

“You messing with the wrong mothereffer today bitch.”

Kirby has filled us with hope. We believe we’re past the days of wetting the proverbial bed and making up excuses for our own inadequacies. Maybe so. But we’re right where Missy State fans were this time last week. And those doggies got walloped from the get-go and never bothered to get back up into the fray.

So when She swings and connects, don’t reach up to wipe the blood from your mouth. Smile at Her and tell her what Damien and Greenie and McMichael and Verron told her before that last drive in ‘02 - “Nice shot, but you’re gonna need more than that today.”

It’s a long road through a college football season. Knoxville is just the next stop. Let’s treat it like a business trip. And like it says right there on our business card,

Georgia Football

“We’re here to make your life even more of a living hell.”

Four dissatisfied customers from Starkville to South Bend.

You’re next!

Through our own faults, we’ve fallen victim to this Hillbilly regime’s magic and sheer dumb luck before. Still today, two years removed, they mock our best player’s injury, like some dipshit point of pride that they can’t use fertilizer for anything other than their own goat farming. For that and many other reasons they need their comeuppance. They’re overdue for a good ass whoopin’. Set your jaw and turn your motor all the way to HIGH.

Now, please bow your heads...dear Lord, Herschel’s angels, Mr. Grizzard and the late, great Munson, please keep their Franzia Frat boys away from our Dawg brethren tomorrow. Let Chubb run free and Roquan run amok! Thank you please, Amen.