Monday Morning Quarterback

This is where I am supposed to demonstrate my class and wit. This is where
I’m supposed to open the weekly missive with a clever and amusing anecdote.
This is where I am supposed to prove that I can rise above the fray. F*ck
that. I have to warn you; this is not going to be pretty. Given the
inspiration provided by the once-beloved purple and gold (OBP&G) Saturday,
how could you expect anything more? So women and children to the lifeboats
first, dear readers, and let the men fend for themselves. And don’t say I
didn’t warn you …

DAWGS — BLEAH

Just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, the skies open up and God
whizzes right on your nachos. Picture Tim Robbins as Andy Dufresne in “The
Shawshank Redemption” crawling through “five hundred yards of sh*t-smelling
foulness” and at the end, finding not freedom, but instead a hormonal
Rosanne Barr. Singing the national anthem. In a thong. Shudder. I know
that I’m going to hell for even planting that image in your brains. But it
couldn’t be helped. Such is the sinking cesspool of disappointment I find
myself wallowing in as I consider the state of Husky football. On the other
hand, it was nice to see one good thing come out of the melt-down: Clint
Eastwood announced that he has found inspiration for his next movie by
watching Husky game films. It’s going to be called “Any Which Way To Lose.”
Put simply, your humble and long-suffering narrator left the Most Beautiful
Stadium in America Saturday feeling lower than at any point since the
infamous Nevada loss in the first year of the Gilby era. And let’s face it:
Other than for the sublime talents (a Tui-esque 157 yards rushing and 336
yards passing) and supreme upside potential of one Jake Locker, aren’t the
Mutts still effectively wandering around aimlessly in the Gilby desert?
Tell me – go on, I dare you – just tell me why I should believe they are
getting any better. You do not blow a 15-point fourth quarter lead, at
home, on Homecoming for chrissakes, to a really bad football team. Not to
the Ari-f*ckin-zona Mildcats. You just don’t. You step on their f*cking
necks; that’s what you do. Instead, we consistently slam our collective
jimmies against the door jamb, in tragic-comic moves gracefully reminiscent
of one Willy McCuckle trying to move a hide-a-bed those many years ago.
Have they recovered yet, sir? Speaking of crushed gonads, in the last two
weeks, the Fightin’ Fleabags have allowed nearly 1200 yards of total
offense. Or in historic terms, roughly half the yardage allowed by the 1991
national championship defense … in a f*cking season. More pointedly (pun
intended), they’ve allowed 103 points in two weeks. The 1991 team allowed
115. In a season. Including the f*ckin’ Rose Bowl. You can accuse me of
living in the past – guilty as charged – but Jesus H. Christ-on-a-stick, we
all have to have standards. And this wasn’t John Effin’ Elway carving up
the Mutt defenders. It wasn’t even Jonathon Effin’ Smith. It was Willie
Tuitama-lama-ding-dong. 510 yards of passing offense and five (count ‘em,
five!) TD passes? Are you f*ckin’ sh*tting me? While we held them to 25
rushing yards, I don’t think the strategy for shutting down the run should
be to let them pass successfully on every f*cking down. I might not be the
sharpest tack on the ol’ carpet strip, but explain to me the wisdom of
giving a receiver a 12 yard cushion on fourth-and-one from your own
seven-yard-line. Or why, when your DBs have shown no ability to stay with
the Mildcat receivers for three seconds, you should go to a three-man rush
and give the QB roughly 20 seconds to survey the field without so much as
breaking a sweat? Let’s face it; if you can’t win when you pile up 572
yards of offense, something is wrong here, something is very, very
w-w-w-w-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-o-o-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-g-g-g-g here. You know how you hit
that stage as a golfer where things are so bad that you just have to put the
clubs down and forget them for a while? That’s how I feel about the BP&G
these days. Sniff. Help me, Obi-wan…

QUACKS – DOUBLE BLEAH

Why does this sh*t keep happening? Why another last-second interception?
Do you suppose that perhaps the Anarchy Central big screen will forever show
the Harper pick of a Mark “Dirty” Sanchez pass to seal the victory over U$C,
finally replacing the Wheaton replay? Unlikely. Nevertheless, this was
another huge win for the AFLACs, as they handed the Condoms their
most-lopsided loss in five years. (OK, the fact that it was only seven
points says a lot about Pete “Christmas” Carroll and the Toejam Dynasty, but
still…) Given the events of the last three weeks, one question remains
obvious: “How in the blue bloody hell did U-Ho ever lose to Cal?”
Actually, now that I think about it, a second obvious question emerges:
“Does Whoregon ever play any tough conference road games?” This week, the
web-footed slug-eaters have a big show-down with the undefeated ASU Stun
Devils and it is – SURPRISE!!! – going to be in the friendly confines of the
Concrete Bunker. Every year, it’s the same f*cking thing: look at their
schedule and all the toughest opponents are in U-Gene, Gene, the Dancing
Machine. Yeah, I know it’s a great business opportunity for the local bars
when Denny rolls into town, but really it’s gettin’ pretty f*ckin’ old,
Hansen. And just wait and see; sometime this week, ASU will regretfully
announce that their starting QB is sidelined with halitosis, their entire
defensive backfield has hangnails, and their kicker ruptured his spleen
while playing beer pong. It never happens to fail. But that’s just the
view from this jaded Dawgfan. In the words of the late Howard Cossell,
“Don’t be bitter Danda-roo.” In the words of Dandy Don Meredith, “F*ck
you, Howard.”

BOOGS – TRIPLE BLEAH

With their victory over the Ruins, the Boogs have firmly planted themselves
at the top of the festering, maggot-infested dung heap that is major college
football in the state of Washington. The MMQB sees no alternative but to
declare them the prohibitive favorite in the upcoming Apple Cup (aka, the
“Who Gives A Flying F*ck-wad Bowl.”) Coach Yaba-Doba-Doo, Alex “Season on
the” Brink, Dwight “Re”Tardy and Co. will have to perform a Coug-It of
biblical proportions to not sleep walk their way to 500+ yards and victory
against the wet paper towel that is the Pooch “defense.” Think Polish
cavalry in 1939, people. I am distressed, depressed and generally at a loss
for words (all evidence to the contrary.)

FINALLY, A RESULT A MAN CAN CELEBRATE

Whitworth beat Willamette 20-17 in OT. There was much rejoicing. The
vaunted student athletes of U-Pay-Us were idle. There you have it: the
highlight of the weekend. Big effin’ whoop-de-doo.

RUNNIN’ WITH THE PAC

Ah, the Stunnedford Cardinal. One loyal reader took me to task for not
trumpeting her team’s monumental upset of the U$C Condoms some weeks ago.
Never mind that I was 6,000 miles and eight time zones away from my
computer. Those chardonnay swillers can be so demanding. So here goes: It
was a great win. Yeah. There was much rejoicing. That having been said,
the Condom Comeuppance (no pun intended) was significantly better than this
past weekend’s result, when the team from Palo Alto showed all the mobility
of their Tree mascot in amassing -8 yards of rushing offense in a 23-6
gnawing at the teeth of Benny and the Barkrats. Such is life in the forest.
Meanwhile, the Stun Devils rallied from 13 down in the first half to claim a
31-20 victory over Cal, which is falling like the prom queen’s bloomers
after a few too many Zimas. Even ESPN noted that Erickson and staff are
masters at the half-time adjustment. The Tempe Tortilla Tossers so
thoroughly dominated the rest of the game that they amassed a 15 minute (as
in one full quarter) time-of-possession advantage over the Tedheads. Class,
for today’s final exam, you must compare and contrast this outcome to the
halftime effectiveness of “Talky” Ty and his staff, which inspired his team
to reduce their total offensive production by more than 60 percent in the
second half and then collapse like Yul Brynner’s lung in the fourth quarter.
You know, McTavish, maybe you should just let that go…

MISERY (AND GOD KNOWS WE’RE MISERABLE) LOVES COMPANY

Nebraska’s famed “black shirt” defense has been so battered of late that
they’ve become the “black and blue shirts.” On the bright side, inspired by
the return of Tom Osborne to the fold, the Children of the Corn held Texas
to less than 40 points, a mark of futility they’d surrendered in four of
their last six games. For those of you keeping score, that’s one more 40
point outburst than Kirby and Co. allowed in the entire DECADE of the
1990’s. (And for those of you who graduated from Orygun, a DECADE is ten
YEARS.) On the not-so-bright side, the Donghorns’ Jamaal Charles racked up
290 yards rushing, including 216 in the fourth quarter alone, in Texas’
28-25 victory. Nebraska now has lost four in the row for the first time
since 1961. Their recently deposed AD justified the firing of Frank Solich
and his 80 percent win-loss record by saying he wouldn’t sit idly by and
allow the program to slowly slip into mediocrity. He was right; they’ve
skipped right past mediocrity and landed in the parking lot of the local
Sh*tburger outlet, without so much as passing go and/or collecting $200. So
when you think things are really bad in Montlake, just thank your lucky
stars … you could watching bad football AND living in Lincoln Effin’
Nebraska.

NOTRE SHAME FAILS TO FAIL

Stop the presses! In a newsworthy event, the Fighting Rudies failed to
notch another L on their collective bedposts, as they were idle this week.
Instead, they luxuriated in the fact that their season-long average of 187
per game is a full 40 yards behind the next worst team in D-1a. It prompted
a local comedian to ask why Indianans flock to Notre Dame Stadium whenever
there is a tornado warning. Answer: No one expects there to be any
touchdowns there. Chuckle. As the Catholics head into a … shall we say,
more accommodating schedule stretch against Navy, Air Force, Duke and
Stanford, they are a realistic bet to get to three or four wins. As
compared to … oh God, don’t make me say it…

QUICK HITTERS

Power of the (Wine) Press – It was nice to see that the media cut through
U-Ho’s efforts to white-wash the fact that Bawlalotti’s kid recently picked
up his second DUI. The kid is the old man’s onside kick specialist, where a
certain amount of unpredictable turns and weaving is a good thing. They
probably have the little sh*t on video tape and are planning to bring in
some Pac10 officials to overturn the officers’ call. ***** It Ain’t Over
‘Til It’s Over – Did you see the “other” Catholic school, come back for that
heart-stopping 14-10 win over Virginia Tech? I did. Well, I would have if
I hadn’t turned off the game with four minutes to play…***** Weber State
beat host Portland State 73-68, setting an NCAA all-division record for most
points in a single game (and without playing overtime). Next week, when
Viking coach Jerry Glanville leaves his traditional tickets for Elvis, he
might want to add a few extra ducats for his defense. ***** Go Dawgs! -
Georgia upset Florida 42-30, capturing the game billed as “The World’s
Largest Outdoor Cocktail Party.” Obviously those who did the naming never
attended an event at the Strossers’. (Like the taste of authentic Irish
Guinness, those who know, know; those who don’t know will never know.)
***** And Now You Know – After Rutgers defeated #2 South Florida last week,
we were left wondering whether USF was over-rated or Rutgers was
under-rated? Saturday, the Bulls dropped their second straight, this time
22-15 to U-Conn(victs), while Rutgers got bent over the hood of a rusted
Dodge in a 31-3 ass-whuppin’ by West Va. Draw your own conclusions. *****
Just Like In the Movies – Marshall bested Rice 34-21 to climb to 1-3 in
conference and 1-7 overall. Rumor has it that Matthew McConaughey delivered
a stirring pre-game speech. ***** Oh, That’s Very Different. Never Mind.
- Michigan smacked Minnesota’s Olden Gophers 34-10. Apparently, the
Wolverine players thought their victory celebration was going to be a
performance by Janet Jackson so they could enjoy some “little brown jugs.”

Stop me now… no really, I mean it.

Stop. Me. Now.

McTavish O’Fishlivet

This Thursday night past, the MMQB sat in his comfy leather chair and
watched Rutgers knock off the #2 team in all the land, the USF Bulls, 30-27.
During the broadcast, the NCAA aired one of its sappy PSA’s.  A youngster
was posing as a coach, lecturing a bunch of adults posing as athletes.  The
message:  watch what you say and do, because sportsmanship begins with you.
And, as intended, it got me thinking.  I sat there squirming like a stripper
at a Duke lacrosse kegger, questioning my very mission in life.  Perhaps I
should change my ways and embrace the diversity of the Pacific 10 conference
as a good and noble thing.  Perhaps I should stop referring to the
University of Oregon as U-Ho, Whoregon, and the University of Zero.  Perhaps
I should stop portraying the fine scholar athletes representing that
esteemed institution as nothing more than a bunch of plasma-watching,
ticket-scalping, felonious thugs decked out in garish Klingon pajama
uniforms that would gag a maggot and coached by a former porn star willing
to forge intent letters, blatantly run up the score, and then prostrate
himself to satisfy the blood lust of a maniacally manipulative megalomaniac
owner in Beaverton.  And then I thought, “Nah, f*ck that.”  If I tried that,
my head would explode and my fingers would jump off my hands.  So, Mr. NCAA
punk, I’ll show you what you can do with your sportsmanship…

PPS – Oh yeah, I almost forgot.  Driving north on I-5 Sunday morning to
attend a matinee performance of “Spamalot,” I was pleased to see that the
railway overpass around milepost 115 defaced with purple and gold paint and
the heartfelt message, “F*ck the Ducks, Go Dawgs!”  And sure enough, the day
set itself up nicely for a potential upset.  The Quacks could be looking
ahead to next week’s date with the Condoms – God knows most young men look
forward to any date with a condom.  And their offense would be without the
services of back-up RBs Jeremiah Johnson (injury) and Derrick Jones
(suspended for breaking team rules; turns out he wore an Adidas sweatshirt
and went to class, two things that simply aren’t tolerated by Herr
Bawlalotti.)  But then the AFLACs threw us a real curveball, unveiling their
metallic and marshmallow white unis.  While most of the Mutts were
distractedly wondering when silver became one of U-Ho’s school colors, the
Women of the Knight were busy rolling up 465 yards rushing and some 661
yards of total offense.  (“They’re running the spread, Tyrone!”)  Jonathon
“The Traitor” Stewart led the way with 251 yards rushing, including six runs
of more than 14 yards.   Punk better not plan on coming back to Tumwater.
The offensive onslaught (and this time I’m not talking about the uniforms)
overshadowed the four TD performance of young Jake “The Savior” Locker.  But
the lingering question, the mystery that keeps me up nights remains:  how
did Lyle Lovett ever get Julia Roberts?  No wait, that’s a different
question.  I meant to say, “When will this madness end?  When will the long
season of our discontent be over?  When will the Pooches, those lovable
Mutts of Montlake, the Beloved Purple and Gold be any good again?”  This
week, for something new and completely different, the Mutts changed their
modus operandi.   Instead of playing a solid first half and folding in the
third quarter, the Dawgies hung tough for all of three-and-a-half quarters,
heading into the final period in a 31-31 deadlock and trailing by only one
score with less than six minutes to go.  But then it was like Wile E. Coyote
running off the cliff, impossibly floating in space until he looks around,
sees no visible means of support, and immediately plummets to the desert
floor below.  The text message from Beaverton hits Tod Turner’s cell phone:
“You ain’t gonna rebuild that f*ckin’ stadium if you keep this sh*t up.”  So
the Pooches promptly and obligingly plunged to the turf, allowing two more
Fowl TDs for a 55-34 final (which doesn’t really reflect the tightness of
the contest).  I could put more spin on this message – Lord knows I’ve done
it before – but I must painfully conclude that the Huskies simply are not
improving fast enough to escape the bottom quartile of the conference, and I
find no compelling evidence that this situation is going to rectify itself
anytime soon.  This makes me sad.  Real sad.  Dead kitten sad.  Dead kitten
rotting by the side of the road sad.  Dead kitten rotting by the side of the
road as the buzzards peck out its eyeballs sad.  Dead kitten rotting by the
side of the road as the buzzards peck … well, you get the idea.  Sniff.