Interstitial

The grey backdrop of an overcast sky could be seen through the canopy of hardwoods and blooming dogwood trees, gently swaying back and forth in a late morning breeze that hurried the waters along on their journey downstream. It was late spring, so white petals were whirly-birding downward, some landing on the banks while others joined the rushing waters. A petal drifted downward, first seirling to one side, heading towards an exposed root that served as a shelter for crayfish in a calm nook of the bend, only to turn at the last second and drop lightly into a vein of water that hugged the edge of a jutting, polished rock. The leaflette rotated in the water, then straightened as it shot the rapid water running the side of the rock. As it shot past, a brook trout adjusted its meander ever so slightly, as though to avoid the petal as it may have been a fisher's lure. The fish swam against the stream, waiting there for an unsuspecting fly to pass on the waters, as it had for so many years before, and will continue on for years to come.

Prognostications of Absolute Worthlessness - October 23, 2009

Nobody cares what I think, but I don't care...I have to hear the opinions of lots of people everyday, and I never asked for any of them, and those folks never seem to care about it, either.

Here we go...all lines based on the MGM-Mirage Sports Book.

"The force is with you, young Skywalker, but you're not a Jedi yet".
Florida (-23) at Mississippi State, 7:30 ET
I would have used a quote from Yoda to Luke, but there's no way that Urban Meyer can be seen as a benevolent master to a growing Dan Mullen. Give Mullen credit...despite the bad record, the Bulldogs have something they haven't had in many, many years: an offense. The effects of a good coach can be seen immediately even in the midst of another down season in Starkville, and it's clear that Mullen is taking State in the right direction. After all, the one downfall of Croom's teams was an abject lack of offense. Mullen will have to flip the switch sometime this year on the defense, and once they become a more complete team, Mullen's Dogs will be tough in the already head-splittingly tough SEC West.

I read somewhere that Florida was looking ahead to the Cocktail Party and may have an off game because of it, but this Dawg fan knows that if Florida is looking forward to anything, it's another glorious, nationally-televised ass-pounding that they'll put on a below-average UGA team. (I guess Darth would tell me my lack of faith is disturbing). Yes, they're looking forward to it like a fat kid looks forward to Easter morning. Florida is currenlty #1 in the BCS and Florida fans are ranting about the "lack of offense" this year for the Gators. Just goes to show you what a hard-nosed bastard of coach can do to a team and his fan base, anything short of 70-7 beatings is seen as unacceptable, which is what makes Florida so damned dangerous.

Of note in this game is the injuries/questionable condition of stud LB Spikes and two DTs, so MSU might have some success in the middle and can control the clock and the score. Sarkisian pulled it off against Carroll when USC met Washington, but Florida is a lot better than USC and Washington is probably a bit better than MSU. Still, Spikes is a difference maker and if gone, it could be closer than people think.

As Walken would say, "I gotta have more cowbell, baby". MSU covers, Florida wins 34-17.


Hedley Lamarr: "My mind is a raging torrent, flooded with rivulets of thought cascading into a waterfall of creative alternatives!"
Taggart: "Gawd doggit, Mr. Lamarr, you use your tongue prettier than a twenty dollar whore!"
Tennessee at Alabama (-14), 3:30 pm ET
Johnathon Crompton is coming off a banner game against Georgia, throwing for close to 400 yards and 4 touchdowns. Problem is, everyone comes away from Georgia with a banner game, with the lone exception being Joe Cox, who is destined to leave at the end of this year without one to his credit while in the Red and Black (okay, he did well against Arkansas). Crompton had a banner day essentially running the same play over and over again, which was the equivalent of watching two drunk frat boys playing NCAA 2004 on a PlaystationvII to the tune of a 97-97 tie...which, strangely enough, is about the same mental strategem equivalent of Willie Martinez's performance as a DC during his tenure at UGA. I digress...

Kiffin got to make good on one of his 8, 175 promises he made when hired as the head signal caller for the Volunteers, and that one was beating Georgia. Whether he can hold up to the other end - never losing to UGA during his reign - remains to be seen. Now he only has 8,174 more to keep, and I still have my doubts that he can really create a light beer that is both less filling and great tasting. Alabama presents a problem for Tennessee, even for grizzled NFL vet Monte Kiffin. While Monte can create schemes that will slow the spread offenses of Auburn and Florida, no scheme in the world can shut down an offense that runs the tried-and-true offensive philosophy of "we're going to run right down your fucking throat and you're going to love it". Schemes and stunts will only slow the inevitable, which will be a humming, clock-controlling Bama offense that will put points on the board.

Whereas Crompton may have had success passing off of the play-action bootleg, he'll find that Alabama's discipline will not allow the same 35-yard pockets of space that UGA's defense provided so graciously two weekends ago. Additionally, Crompton will be happy if he gets more than 1-2 seconds to throw, and he'll have to sling it around with a bad-ass in Crimson gunning to knock the ever-loving shit out of him. Georgia built up his confidence, Saban and the Tide will remind the Vols that all glory is fleeting.

If this game isn't 45 to negative 14 by halftime, I'll be surprised. Georgia fans, on their off week, should watch this one with glee...dance now, you mother fuckers!

Alabama covers, 28-6.

The

The early morning light had already begun to streak its way through the lattice work of limbs and leaves and the waist-high lespedeza, casting shadows on the ground that were cleverly formed into the darkened facade of what one would suppose was a whitetail. An eager glance through the double lenses revealed that there was nothing there, save for the few darkened twigs of litter that had long since started the process of decaying back into the topsoil of the earth. The focus began to fade slightly, taking on the shades of a light haze that proved to me that I was breathing to heavy, allowing the warmth from my lungs to fog the glassware of the scope.

A system of cold, heavy air had slowly laid itself across the southeast, making the air clear and clean, the kind that you liked to take in slowly to feel the rush of sweet, cool vapors into your lungs that seemed to clean years of smog and smoke from each little branch of bronchia in your chest. A faint gust blew from the southwest, enough to keep the scents and air moving but light enough to keep the head warm by a wool cap. Far from perfect, yet very distant from a foul morning, it was a good day to be alive and kicking, sucking in the essence of nature through every pore and letting the symphony of crackling grass, water drops from melting frost, and scurrying forest animals to set the soundtrack for the day.

As I glanced over my shoulder to look back down the line, my good ear picked up a faint humming sound, somewhat like a distant blower to an air-conditioning unit kicking on in the hot afternoons. I turned back around, scanning the horizon for the sound, listening intently to see if the sound would grow louder, then change in frequency and pitch, which signaled a passing car on the highway of some design I'd never known before. It remained the same, but did sound as though it were passing, but more slowly than a car.

It was at that moment that I saw it, high in the north sky and slowly drifting east. A single white zeppelin, as blanched as a cloud with no writing or logos, was floating on the wind and passing through. Though I'd seen a zeppelin before, this was somehow different, as if to signal something more, something that was beyond my control.

Shadow

A shadow was cast upon my wall,
Lingering there for me to see.
Testing me, to see if I knew,
The shape it was supposed to be.

I knew it, though it knew not me,
To be the darkness of another,
The creature comfort of a homestead,
The sadness of what was her.

There she sits, among the waves,
A shade of what once was great,
And there I sat, and spat,
At the calamity of my fate.

I watched the light

It separated.
It folded from the wall like ripples on a pond.
After a penny or a stone had been cast in.
It reverberated with the pulses of the tones of silence, telling me that there something lies within that I cannot understand nor comprehend.
It spoke, with but a whisper of a tone.
It's strangely tangerine hues hinting at a greater design.
What would you have me do, great light?
What purpose should you and I serve on this night?
Nothin'. it told me.
We are, and that's all we are to be.
Play away, young man, play away.
It;s all going to be alright.
Indeed.