The Buckeye Blog

And, you thought I’d end on lucky Number 13? Like Punxsutawney Phil, I thought I’d stick my head out to end your finger-pointing and crying. Erase everything from your minds. Cease and desist. You’re good fans and the Buckeyes are worth cheering.

It shouldn’t be a shock to anyone that OSU lost to LSU. We were rated 3rd preseason in the weak Big 10 with a patsy schedule. Serendipity or dumb luck allowed us to sneak in the back door. At least we didn’t get screwed like Georgia. They were 4th and OSU was 3rd going into the Missouri and the Mountaineers choking. The “Show Me State?” I’ll show you a spanking to Kansas. And, Pittsburgh beating WVA. Please… Where’d LSU come from?

As an English major it makes plain sense to me that 3rd goes to 1st and 4th goes to second. The University of Spoiled Children (USC) looked like axe murderers at the end of the season — a little too late. Pete Carol lobbied and cried like Oklahoma’s Bob Stoops (who was rated 9th in BCS strength of schedule going into their last game). Bob are you smoking dope or are you stupid?

Okay, the BCS isn’t perfect, but it’s all we have and we tweak it every year. If all you babies were in the championship game, you wouldn’t utter a freaking word would you? Pete needs to win another championship before the New York Jets offer him the coaching job to derail the guys who kicked him to the curb, Bill Belichek’s (I mean Mr. Kraft’s) New England Patriots. Good luck. You’d do a better job hosting The Price Is Right.

Michigan was preseason 5th in the country and look what Appalachian State did to them. Face it. It was a weird year as NostroCraigus stated earlier and repeatedly. How many times do I have to hit you on the nose with a newspaper to get the point across? I was as pensive and leery as every one of you.

Now, let me rub salve on your American Express Card — I mean wounds. Here’s the breaking and final news for the 2008 Buckeyes. We have 19 out of 22 starters returning for next year including James “Little Animal” Laurinaitis. Most teams are happy to return half their team, but 86%? Yes, I cheated with a calculator because I know one of you smarmy weasels would correct me and email bile my way. Where are you Nitany Cryin’s? I miss your spite. Gus and Ollie, you out there? I know better. They’re out ice-fishing (hiding from their wives until the Packers game on Sunday).

Anyway, other than exiting senior fullback Dionte Johnson, OSU needs to replace only two starters, DL Vernon Gholston who should be a 1st round Pro and MLB Larry Grant. You can’t blame Gholston for taking the money. But, hats off to the young gentlemen taking the high road that are going education first, then cash secondly. They’re pissed off and are on their way to a third BCS trip in 3 years. Where the heck are we going? Email me and I’ll reserve a Timeshare tomorrow.

So, we lost two championships back-to-back. Maybe we’ll win another national championship for our third try. But, hey, we’d be there 4 in 7 years. Gators and Tigers, SEC — shut up please. Notre Who? OSU might even be ranked the preseason #1 for next year. Great…

Michigan Freshman phenom, Ryan Mallet is considering transferring to A&M, Tennessee, UCLA — anywhere but Michigan. Is this writing on the wall? With yet another year of eligibility left, although he looked poised and tough winning the Alamo Bowl, we know Chad Henne is almost as bad as Chad “Choke” Navarre. With new run-and-shoot coach from West Virginia, Rich Rodriguez might win the battle for all-world QB, Terrelle Pryor — where Michigan can fully utilize his Vince Young skill set — and he can start on a hapless Michigan basketball team.

Bad news for Michigan though. Not only did mouthy running back (0-4) Hart graduate, but WR Mario Manninham and WR Adrian Arrington are leaving early for the Pros. Who’s Pryor going to throw to — his own shadow? If you’re going to run and suck, you might as well go to Penn State where they know how to run and suck. Pryor lives in PSU’s back yard too. Easy decision if it were me. Wow. And, Michigan’s new coach is being sued for $4 million for breaking his contract. Looks like bad theatre up North.

OSU’s 3rd-string “Gunslinger” Schoenhoft transferring to Delaware might be telltale as well as the Michigan QB gyrations. Antonio “I was set up for soliciting prostiution” Henton is a scrambling QB with about 30% less stuff than Pryor – and with starting QB Todd Boeckman leaving, Pryor could be king of the Horshoe.

After watching West Virginia beat up on another patsy and Missouri handle Kansas with an excellent, bruising double-tight-end set and a passing efficiency over 93%, I watched 16 Pro games to pass the Buckeye Break. Hopefully the Oklahoma Sooners will beat Missouri so OSU can pummel the pass-less Mountaineers in the BCS Championship game in New Orleans. Or, we will get our asses handed to us by a revved up and PO’d USC at their home turf at the Rose Bowl (Coliseum of Big 10 Death). Maximus Decimus Meridius couldn’t hold the healthy John Wayne Booty’s jock strap. Good luck, whomever…

In the mean time, I found a great way to pass the Buckeye Break. Last night I watched Star Trek’s “Doomsday Machine” episode before bed — an unadulterated Classic… Wouldn’t let the wife change the channel. Look, it’s either this or the History Channel – which she calls the Hitler Channel because every time someone passes through the room, there’s a black and white still of something gruesome on.

Anyway, I deftly kept the remote moving through the bed cover layers and almost reduced myself to taking out the batteries and saying my legs were broken. She thinks I’m immature, or insane — maybe both… It’s not my fault the football games pushed it to 12:35AM… It’s difficult to argue when you have it recorded on DVR and they say, “Can’t you just watch it later?” Reply, “But, it’s almost over… only 56 minutes left.” Or, in a more juvenile manner say, “William Shattner’s better in a life time than Tyra or Heidi Klum is on Project Runway” or whatever the hell the girls watch over and over in the den. Payback, sayeth the Eggman!

Here we go. Plot Line: On their journey to seek out new life and new civilizations, to boldy go where no man has gone before, the Starship Enterprise stumbles onto a distress call from one of Kirk’s academy buddies, Commodore Decker (actor William Windom — more major than a captaincy). They track the signal and plow through space debris which used to be where planets were charted. That’s strange.

Decker’s plastic model, I mean the Starship Constellation is found derelict drifting in space without any signs of life. We know that because science officer Spock (Leonard Nimoy) sez so from looking into his Etch-A-Sketch. You can’t argue with the pointy-eared Vulcan because he’s smarter than everyone, is driven by logic never emotion, is cool under pressure, and has a death grip for your shoulder badder than your Uncle Lou can deliver on a sober Thanksgiving morning and a Mind Meld that would reduce Dr. Phil to tears.

Anyway, as standard Star Trek practice to determine the hostility and safety factor, the Captain (Kirk) and two other executives “beam down” and board Decker’s ship. Brilliant! This time, however, they leave Spock behind to run the Enterprise while Kirk absorb radiation or be mauled by monsters. They scour the abandoned ship.

Eventually, they find Decker in the break room hunched over in his Barkalounger disheveled with bloodshot eyes, and a small tear in his yellow polyester V-neck. He’s catatonic, because Dr. “Bones” McCoy sez so and injects Decker a shot of some kind of Go Go Juice Truth Serum that wakes him instantly. The crying Commodore spills the beans. As his ship was surveying the galaxy, they were brutally attacked by something resembling the Devil. Excuse me, “Bones,” what exactly did you shoot the Commodore up with? We can’t get a straight answer from this lunatic. Rule #28, don’t let a doctor called Bones shoot you up after a five second diagnosis. If you jump around ranting and crying, it’s probably paint thinner in your system and your going to do something more stupid THEN die.

C’Mon Decker, fess up. You’re either stealing, protecting, or wanting to kick something around with your battleship. You’re no Captain Cook looking for Bread Fruit in Polynesia to feed Jonathan Swift’s starving Irish. That’s like the aircraft carrier Nimitz patrolling Somalian waters for interdiction and slamming into Madagascar. Oops. Commodore Craig issues his public statement that, “We were on a science mission trolling for Sea Monkeys.” Anyway…

The bad guys are actually a robot – according to Spock as always – slicing and dicing planets hungry for energy on its path to destruction to survive by self-perpetuation. It has no purpose but to eat and annihilate stuff. “Stuff” is planets and lots of people live on them especially in the Rigel Galaxy. That’s bad. Some alien culture designed it and set it loose to end everything as they knew. Remind you of anyone else in recent history? My buddy Al will tell you. And, he’s smart. He has a Nobel… Kirk repeatedly refers to it as the H-bomb from millennia ago like we’re stupid – and to drive the point home — that they’d never use it, but… Nice 60’s message. You can thank Gene Rodenberry for that.

On a more sympathetic note, after Decker got the Constellation demolished, to save his crew Decker beamed the 400 people onto Planet Number Three which Spock coldly points out to Decker, “No longer exists” as Decker throws his hands into the air and screams, “DON’T YOU THINK I KNOW THAT.”

It’s understood by all that they have to stop this thing. Kirk and his staff work to fix Decker’s beat up Constellation to get to the archives because no-one can trust this raving psychedelic super-exec. They cut through magnetic interference generated by the thing, get the communications and transporter fixed “temporarily” and beam Decker out of there – to Sick Bay on Kirk’s Enterprise. But, much to Kirk’s chagrin, his pissed off buddy, Decker, is high with authority and invokes a little know Federation rule that only a space attorney and Spock know of. Spock relinquishes the helm and Decker proceeds to attack this thing that’s as big as “20 Starships” and is made of impenetrable Moldavian. No, you’re thinking of an eastern European province in the Carpathian Mountains known for its hunting dogs, not vampires. Rodenberry probably summered there as a kid or something. Whatever.

Although it sounds imposing, the robot model looks like your grandmother’s Thanksgiving cornucopia spray-painted gun metal gray and a distinctly clunky non-aerodynamic look to it. There’s great line where navigator/helmsman Sulu says to Spock, “We can outmaneuver it….” Spock replies as he looks into his Etch-A-Sketch, “Yes, but, it’s gaining on us.” Excuse me, that’s like being overtaken by a cement truck and you’re driving a Lamborghini Diablo. Better yet, it’s worse than Carl Lewis falling down as he’s getting away from Frankenstein. There’s a joke there. Really.

So, while Kirk’s fixing his buddy’s ship, Decker’s attacking the robot getting the crap kicked out of the Enterprise. Warp drive is out, shields are down, casualties are mounting. Enterprise crewmen are rolling their eyes at one another on the bridge as they fall out of their chairs in contagion. Engineer “Scotty” gets the Constellation running on Impulse Power (much slower than Warp Drive) by inverting the cross-connects (isn’t that redundant?) with a visual, but no communications. On the Constellation, Kirk gets to sit by the sideline in Decker’s Barkalounger and watch his ship get hammered. Now you know how Bill Belichek and Browns fans feel.

Decker gets the Enterprise sucked in by the robot’s Tractor Beam. And, finally, like an attorney, Spock pounces on Decker with a technicality — that “If you’re doing something that seems insane… under Article whatever of Section whatever… I can relieve you of your duty.” Ta da! About time dumbshit. Time to get a smarter Vulcan. Or, better yet, use your Sleeper Grip, wuss.

Here comes the compulsory Expendable Crew Man (ECM) in the red polyester V-neck of a Security Officer who buys the farm every stinkin’ episode. Spock casually sneers at Decker as he is helped by the arm onto the elevator by one ECM and says, “You’re relieved of your command… and you’ll be escorted to Sick Bay… for that evaluation.” Beyatch! Naturally, as they both exit the elevator, Decker has a fake lean over to cough move. The ECM takes the bait to help him up. Decker gives him a cheap body blow and double Judo Chop and drags the limp-legged ECM into a closet.

I’d have put my foot up his ass if he did that to me – Commodore or not. Couldn’t see that coming a mile away.

Hey, if a bar patron is high on PCP, do you send just one bouncer to take the starch out of his shorts — or two or more? We all know the answer. Two — after the third bludgeoned him to submission. I know, you can’t do that to a Commodore. But, wouldn’t you want to if he stole your Starship, especially after a lame technicality? And, he was your Academy buddy?

Decker swerves down the hall in exhaustion from his 5-second bout and skulks towards the shuttle hanger. He steals the shuttle and flies out of Enterprise’s aft transom hanger. Kirk conveniently gets communications back on the Constellation to say from his Barkalounger, “Who’s the idiot taking my shuttle out?” Spock pretty much says, “The same idiot that attacked the Cornucopia, errrr Devil, sir.” In a moment of clarity Decker radios Kirk and says, “I’m going to kill that thing… I’ve been ready to die since I and it killed my crew… Out.”

The shuttle banks and veers the little spud into the Cornucopia’s mouth to blow it up from the inside out like a Kamikaze. Decker makes a bug-eyed twisted facial expression, crosses his forearms over his face and it’s all over. They pan to the Enterprise where Spock says, “From my readings… it’s effects were minimal.” Kirk chimes in from the Constellation, “Maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea.”

Scotty gets the Phaser bank going on the Constellation.

So, like what Browns fans do to referees from the dog pound with flashlight batteries when they don’t like a call, Kirk pops off a few shots off at the robot from his hulk. He does so and the Cornucopia releases the Enterprise from the tractor beam which promptly gets away so it can go warn Star Fleet. Better yet, Scotty gets the communications and transporter both up.

Kirk has Scotty set an overload on the impulse engines to self destruct after Kirk throws a 30-second delay switch – then he beams out at the last second. The Constellation is eaten and it blows up in the robot’s mouth killing it. Sweet and easy – Pinocchio and Gepetto with dynamite. The finicky transporter awkwardly burps Scotty’s molecules back to form on the Enterprise as the engineer runs over to the Etch-A-Sketch to tweak the knobs into working properly.

Kirk is so golden. Except, like security in the dog pound, the robot is after him now and it’s a matter of time before he’s toast also on the crippled Constellation. But, Kirk doesn’t sweat as Spock counts down from 30 seconds as his feet are being inserted into the wood chipper. At the last second, Kirk materializes, the Constellation blows up, snuffs the robot and the crew collectively sighs.

Spock retrieves himself in the end saying to Kirk, “It will be recorded that Commodore Decker died in battle.” Kirk says, “Here, here… I just wonder if there are any more of them out there?”

The super bowl just goes an edge beyond, when the likes of buffalo bills, carolina panthers and chicago bears are playing.

Okay, so whoever the wise guy is that’s been hassling the Eggman to come out of “sucklusion” is, I’d like them to quit signing as anonymous and face my wrath. I’m betting it’s the Nittany Cryin’ that can’t get over the 50-gallon drum of whoop-ass the Buckeyes delivered earlier this year and had his Starbucks replaced with Folgers crystals.

I’m going to be bored this winter with the NBA and the Super Bowl when the Pats win their 4th ring to debunk Don Shula – cheating or no cheating. Bring it on! Gus, Ollie, is it you? Are you taking this thing personally? You must have a sense of humor living in Milwaukee. You still have Laverne and Shirley Re-runs. What I’d give to hang with Lenny and Squiggy for a weekend.

Granted, Nostroeggus laid an egg on the Wisconsin game going for an audacious 14 points. But, no matter with Boeckman underthrowing for three picks or Tress the Vest blowing two timeouts (one not called and the other called) the prediction was yet again bold and should have been correct. My bookie sez so. (Argue with Felix. I dare you…) There will be no towing the Vegas line or eking a daring one or two points either way. C’mon. Where’s the fun? My crystal ball has been re-calibrated and we’re good to go.

There a lot of people shaking in their boots in Columbus right now. We knew some bad karma was coming our way. It just came a little early. We were the nail and Ron Zook was the hammer. Or, OSU couldn’t squeeze the juice out of Orange Williams. Something like that. There is a point to be made, here.

There many reasons why the Gods should smile at the Wolverines. Now we’re holding our collective breath – hiding behind a facade of tradition, the Big House, Woody and Bo – yada, yada. After being ranked 5th in the nation Michigan came out of the chute and suffered an embarrassing loss to Appalachian State, then back-to-back lost another to the formerly respectable Pac 10 Champion Oregon Ducks. Mr. Carr is having his last hurrah.

The kind people of Michigan had enough of their version of John Cooper with Tress as Llllloyd’s boogeyman. They just aren’t going to tar and feather Bo’s understudy. They’re going to blame it on the onset Parkinson’s and promote him to Michigan AD. Classy move. Or, is it just plain clever – waiting out Michigan alumni, Les Miles’ running the sand out of his hourglass at LSU?

There should be an element of sympathy for the Michigan seniors, even 0 and 3 running back and poor sport Mike Hart, the second worse interviewer next to OSU’s own Dr. Robert Smith.

“We should have, I could have, we will…”

Bite me.

He should have a fruitful Pro career – with the Cincinnati Bengals. One can only hope.

Michigan also can win the Big 10 and a trip to the Rose Bowl if they beat the Buckeyes. Some say, Lllloyd, although a man of character rested the “injured” Hart and quarterback Chad Henne to lay down like a $10 ho against Wisconsin to be ready for “The Big Game.” It has been double hush hush, but, you can guarantee they’ll both play their final game even on crutches or with an injection of some kind of ‘cain.

What a great way to save face and revitalize their program going from riches to rags to riches. It’s the stuff stories are made of. I’ve already ghost-written the script for Al Gore – and man are we going to be rich(er). We’ll be able to buy hydrogen-powered RVs and have bitchin’ tailgates with Mr. Gates, Sir Richard Branson and Sean Penn if I must indulge him.

Despite all the hoo haw, the Eggman has come down from the mountain on a tattered, yet proud magic carpet to pee on the Wolverines’ legs – that the sound of Hail to the Victor will be interrupted by the beeping of the OSU dump truck full of monkey dung backing into the Big House.

Here’s how it goes:

OSU was superior to in every total category to Penn State and Wisconsin respectively. Michigan is one notch below them. Somebody tell me that that doesn’t count for something? And, the have two injured seniors driving their fiery chariot to Hades. The backup quarterback, Mallet (cool name – although unpopularly French) is a freshman and got his bells rung by the Badgers. I don’t care how good your line is, you cannot count to 15 in the pocket.

Regardless of home field advantage with a twelfth man and storybook potential, the kinetics behind Tressel’s machine should grind them down. Buy how much? What else? Fourteen points. Go figure. Buckeyes win 31 to 17.

Figuring out the crowd in a football stadium is like counting license plates on a road-trip as a kid. It’s something you do at breaks in the game after the teams are done warming up, before the Star-Spangled Banner and especially during those blessed drive-killing TV timeouts.

Remember the Huskies half empty stadium? I doubt you’ll find an empty stadium in the Big Ten – even at Northwestern. We love football in the Midwest. The Pulitzer photo of 2007 has to be of the one lone Buckeye fan sitting in the student section last weekend at Beaver Stadium — in the hostile Happy Valley.

What was that guy thinking? That’s the Heart of Darkness,

“As I hung a left off Route 26 onto Porter Road in my 1976 Pinto, I could barely make out the stadium through the fog on the windshield… the crowd parted… the parking lot attendant waved me in… I could smell hotdogs in the air… it was as if they were expecting me….”

It takes big brass balls to sit in the middle of the White Out in your scarlet and gray jersey and lucky Buckeye necklace. That’s it, just wade into the paper Pompom waving weenies. “O.H.I.O.,” I say! That’s like swinging in on a rope onto Blackbeard’s ship unarmed and calling him a fat, smelly sissy that wears women’s clothes. Oh, the reason why our band didn’t attend was because last time the PSU fans threw urine bombs on them — TBDBITL…

The Ohio State Alumni or Athletic Department ought to pony up the cash to buy this diehard Buckeye fan (find him for me please) season tickets at away games for the next 25 years that pass onto his children, dead center in “their” home section – just to put a burr up their butts. He could be the next Neutron Man and he doesn’t even know it – or that commuter standing in front of the tank at Tiananmen Square. Yes, it’s that big. OSU could provide him a jersey with an antagonizing names like:

• Illinois: “Ill Annoying”
• Indiana: “Go Hosers”
• Iowa: “Herkey Jerkey”
• Michigan: “U of Hmmm”
• Michigan State: “Go Spurtinz”
• Minnesota: “Land O’ 1000 Aches” or “Golden Goofers”
• Northwestern: “Mildcats”
• Pen State: “Whitewashed Up” or “I.B. Snowblower” or “Nitanny Cryin’”
• Purdue: “Boiler Breaker”
• Wisconsin: “Cheezewiz” or “Don’t Need No Stinkin’ Badges” (too long).

Last but not least, this brings us to our next opponent, the Badgers. When you think of Wisconsin football everybody pictures Gumbas from the Deer Hunter sitting at Lambeau Field (Packer Stadium) shirtless in a blizzard. These are the same boneheads that force farmers to braid Day-Glo into their horses’ manes so the drunks don’t drive-by shoot their stock on the way home from a fruitless sortie of card-playing.

Gus: “Whatcha gonna do, Ollie?
Ollie: Headin’ out to the field to spray paint the cows…
Gus: Yep, sounds like a good idear… Need a hand?
Ollie: You betcha….”

Despite the yahoo factor, the University of Wisconsin is a beautiful college – located on Lake Oshkosh. Although I like to have an association with places I visit, UW’s academic forte eludes me. My geography teacher would be disgusted. At least I got the lake part right. Maybe we’re all brain-washed.

It comes back to the overwhelming power of cheese. America’s Dairyland – yada, yada, yada. The UW campus is the land of blondes Nords and Wilmette (Chicago) Hebrews – the outland of the big city – a remote, safe enclave. It’s like night and day. And, that’s about as far as their heterogeneity goes. In striving to show UW diversity (worse than UWVA or Colorado whom I ragged on earlier this year) the student editor got caught airbrushing if not pasting with Elmer’s glue, an Afro-American student’s head on the university yearbook – dead center. The fact that his noggin was about 20% disproportionate didn’t phase the goof. Right on. Good idear, eh?

Camp Randall stadium looks like a depression-era Roosevelt work project, but it has character. And, oddly at UW they treat their students well, unlike many commercial Division 1 football factories. Maybe because while all the adults are sitting in front of their fires, students attend the games not realizing it’s sub-zero and have icicles hanging off their noses. But, what the hey? At least they don’t have a vacant dome 30 miles off campus. The students are right down on the field in the good seats where they can be heard.

They also have a diabolical if not completely dangerous tradition at UW. No, it’s not like engineers at Texas A&M building a 5-story pyramid for their homecoming bonfire to crush the student body when it collapses. It’s something more simplistic – slightly less asinine than Brown’s fans throwing flashlight batteries or Raiders fans throwing beer bottles or the Nittany Urine Tossers Local #666. Oh, but it’s up there.

The day before the game, UW students takes an average Stay-Puff marshmallow, inserts a couple of quarters matching the flat ends of it, then puts them in the freezer overnight. Sounds harmless until you score a touchdown at the UW student section end-zone and a missile puts your eye out. Ask any Buckeye Football Alumni that’s played the Badgers away, and they’ll tell you so. It’s a real, living urban legend – with welts as proof.

Although juvenile and dangerous, it takes skill to throw these “marsh missiles.” Is there a name for them? C’mon some Badger has to email me and give it up. When frozen the marsh missiles are hard and weighted, they’re not aerodynamic, but are cylindrical. Do you throw them end-over-end like a Tom Dempsey field goal? Do you spiral them like a Ray Guy punt, or throw them side-arm flat top horizontal to the ground like a Ken Tekulve pitch? And, if you insert the quarters wrong, that’ll throw them out of round diminishing accuracy. Perplexing.

It took it upon myself to find out. The answer is none of the three approaches. You throw them over-hand with a backspin with the flat ends perpendicular to the ground and you’ll hit your target every other heave – which was my dog, Chester, so he made clean-up simple – except he has a buck and 25 cents in his gullet. But, nothing can kill him. I’ll have to borrow the neighbor’s metal detector in the Spring to get my money back. Every now and then a blind squirrel finds an acorn. Yes, Chester taught me something other than how to pass a fistful of quarters — that if you get caught throwing Marsh Missiles, you can eat the evidence. I’d hate to be in the UW dorms on Sunday morning.

That’s about where the threat ends with Wisconsin fans. UW fans don’t travel well because they can’t get the cheese hats off their heads to get into their cars or airplanes. Try to explain that the FTA as you pass through the X-ray machine at Dane County Regional Airport.

Dwight the TSA Guy: “Hey, Ollie… you got that shoe horn thing we use to get the cheese off their heads?

Dwayne the TSA Guy: “No, I must have misplaced it… You’re gonna have to send ‘em away again…”

Bet you’d cry like a baby if they confiscated your cheese hat. Then what would you have to do – comb your greasy hair on that wedge-shaped head of yours? Okay, that was childish. I recant for a moment. Here’s another original.

Q1: Why do Wisconsin fans wear cheese hats?
A1: So after visiting the bathroom they can find each other – beats the ball of yarn they used to carry on them to make their way back to their seats…

I never said it was a good joke. Thank God Badger fans live so far away from us – because they are the worst drivers in America — worse than a cabby or New Jersey driver. They’re easy to spot in a rusted out 1980-period American car belching blue smoke, swerving line-to-line at 45 mph in the fast lane with yellow WISCONSIN license plates. They’re not from Fargo, but darned close.

Enough of the fans. If a Badger fan is at the Horseshoe, their red and white will conveniently blend in at the horseshoe and they won’t say much or have much to cheer about even of they can figure out the Planes, Trains and Automobiles… OSU should methodically pick them (#4 Passing Defense, and a lowly #8 Run Defense) apart. Like Penn State, they’re not only Neanderthal on offense (#5 Passing and a respectable #3 Rushing Offense) but they won’t be able to catch up as Secretariat runs for the finish.

Score: Buckeyes 38, Wisconsin 14

This has to be the weirdest season ever at Ohio State. Notsomuch that it was in the 90s last week in October when its supposed to be in the 60s, but for the mood in Columbus. Everyone seems to be walking on ice. We cheer the Buckeyes on as we always have, but we’re tentative for a variety of reasons.

It all started last year on our supposed home turf in Phoenix we received a post-season spanking by Florida when we thought we were hot patooty–so we’re not holding our collective breath this year. No-one seems to be over the drubbing and needs years of psychotherapy that a case of beer can’t wash away. From watching last weekend’s Florida versus LSU game, we know in our heart of hearts that either team would punish us back to the tarmac and onto the Skybus we rode in on.

Michigan was embarrassed by historic proportion by Appalachian State when ranked 5th ahead of us, so it can happen to anyone - and did with a 41-point underdog, Stanford de-pantsing USC (the University of SpoiLed Children). Big Blue has won four in a row and will be an angry host to the Bucks to win one lllllast game for LLLLLoyd. We could end up 11-1 like John’s Cooper’s best season with Earl’s players. Guess when – Coop’s first year out of Arizona State (after being coach of the year after winning the Rose Bowl).

According to the sports world, the Big Ten stinks this year — so our opponents are setting us up for a big fall at the end of the season. Minnesota was expected to finish last with Indiana nipping at their heels. Looks like Iowa wins the cellar hands down while the Fighting Illinois and Hoosiers play with heart. Michigan State, despite Mark Dantonio, is the manic MSU that makes you scratch your noggin.

Despite these oddities, the most glaring SNAFU is the OSU schedule. Face it. It’s a mess. We have three (3) away games starting at 8PM which is a pain in the butt. I understand that if we were playing someone out west, it would be fair to a Pac 10 fan base. But, the last time I checked Purdue and Penn State were east of the Mississippi and Minnesota isn’t that far off. Splain that to me Lucy. Sure, some alumni in San Diego that can watch the game at dinner time. But, when did we in Columbus ever care about them? It was about them caring about OSU only.

I might understand one late game and accept an extra half an hour for advertising. I always hate when your team had a sustained drive down the field for the rally win, then the referee would stand signaling the iron cross displaying a “T” as in TV Timeout – so the opponent can get their head together for a solution to the drive. Jerks. This is where it gets borderline insane. The Purdue game ran three and a half hours to 11:30PM. That’s not fair to the fans nor to the players — or my American Express Gold Card I left at Panini’s bar in Cleveland. There’s no doubt we were all sober when we left at midnight. The TV revenue on prime time draws the biggest, best audience which drives the biggest, best advertising revenues. Pretty simple. Who’s in charge here? Really.

Meanwhile, back in C-Bus, fans are disturbed because we can’t watch the Buckeyes since 150,000 of us have Time Warner cable and can’t watch it at home because they can’t agree on a deal with Ruprick Murdoch’s Big Ten Network. Sports bars with satellites are lovin’ it as if it were their Christmas all the way to the bank. Doesn’t anyone in this twisted equation feel dirty? This is supposed to be a college game with kids that just left high school and 6-year redshirt quarterbacks and Juco transfers and underwater basket-weavers.

Gordon Gee needs to quit hassling the tailgaters who are the real fans with off-duty county Mounties and re-focus his attention. Grab the horns. Revoke TV rights from the cable boners and give it back to PBS on WOSU. That’s the first thing that should have been done this year before you peed on our legs. Hey, our taxes pay for it, give us the money and give the advertising dollars back to the community. It might even pay for scholarships, buildings and needed stuff that we’re also being taxed for. At least use some money to buff the green off of William Oxley Thompson’s statue on the Oval or skim the algae off Mirror Lake. Hugo Chavez and I are ready. Bring it on. Oh, that’s un-American. Nevermind…

The piece de resistance (French: principle part of a meal, extraordinary like — or unbelievable BS). We’ve always had patsies on the schedule, especially for the traditional homecoming thumping, but not in the middle of the Big Ten schedule. That’s blasphemy. What the hell’s going on, here? Woody’s rolling in his grave. The Youngstown State Penguins, the Akron Rubbers, and now the Kent State Zips?

Here’s what I know about Kent State. It’s in northeastern Ohio south of Cleveland and north of Akron/Canton. My sister graduated from there. I had a girlfriend there. The girl to guy ratio is about 6:1 –except, five out of every six girls commute so the place is beat on the weekends like a convent so you better know what you’re doing. There are two good bars, the Black Horse and the Rathskeller. Kent State rivals Akron for the worst mascot (Zips versus Golden Flashes) Sounds like Toy Story. Joe Walsh from the James Gang and the Eagles attended KSU. And, in the 60s, a redneck governor sent the Ohio National Guard to quell a demonstration of “Outside agitators” things escalated and they shot up the students. Who didn’t see that coming? Enough.

The Associated Press ought to revoke five slots from the rankings for us playing such nambies. In today’s Columbus Dispatch, the Zips coach, Doug Martin, said that he was going to play his reserves heavily against OSU to get ready for a run at the MAC’s conference games. It could be locker room talk to lull the cocky Buckeyes into submission, or he just doesn’t give a rat’s ass and has faced the inevitable. Why even get on the bus? He’s another nice guy that’s going to lose. And, he likes it that way. “Grab your ankles, Boys… you can tell your kids about this one some day.”

Do you know why he doesn’t care? Because it was a moral victory to get on the OSU schedule – and after the Buckeyes are done drubbing them on Saturday they’ll be taking home a semi full of cash. Score Ohio State 49, Kent State $650,000. Somehow, we lose. I protest….

(The Mac T is back and he is bent. I warned you we’d all be in his cross hairs. For the record, I don’t own a Blackberry or any other form of smartphone.)

Okay, so I go for a 3-day weekend to take a little R&R in Cleveburg golfing during an away OSU non-game like Purdue. That’s how you do “it” during football season. Nice fill–in video, Mr. Editor. You guessed my cameo appearance, I mean MIA routine quite well. Except I wasn’t sitting in a crib, but was fetal in a steamer trunk with a tennis ball in my mouth with fire dragon red lipstick smeared under the duct tape with a pink tube top and yellow banana hammock and aqua tutu wearing tube socks and black high-tops with my hands tied behind my back – as the rumor goes. That’s why I couldn’t answer your insipid Crackberry taunts. Better yet, I drank a boilermaker (a shot of whiskey dropped into a beer) and was sick for the weekend. Only an engineer could come up with that swill.

This is exactly what I was afraid of, succumbing to the pressure of far away Doppelgangers. Thomas Haynes Bayly (or THB to his posse) wasn’t right when he said, “Absence makes the heart grow fonder.” Take that poignant placard off your guest bathroom wall that you bought at a garage sale or got from your mother-in-law who got it at a flea market and gave to you for your wedding. “Distance makes nimrods with Crackberries ping you harder” and more frequently which is tough to answer when you’re hog-tied. And, now the tail is wagging the dog.

All right you bastards, here are the ground rules for getting under my skin like the bunch of chiggers that you are:

I am like Andy Rooney. I would rather be down by the creek pounding two rocks together in my whitey tighties than chatting with you for the 10th time this week. My wife’s beginning to wonder about us. But, I digress. There is/was a game to address.

Sure, Purdue had great stats in the newspaper with a contemporary, prolific Joe Tiller spread offense. I am the Egg Man and Joe Tiller is the Walrus. Hear me roar, “Goo Goo Ga Jube.” He might look big, but I can hit JT over the nose with a rolled up newspaper easier than I can to my brain dead dog. With warning beeper blaring, the Buckeyes came into town and backed up a truck full of whoop-ass and as the Boilermakers stood patiently, dumped a pile on their heads. Tiller yes, but I wouldn’t mess with Lou Hotz. Lou once said “Dogs don’t bark at parked cars.” But, if they did, Lou would know what to do with it. So would I, get 20 drunk co-eds, flip it and burn it – win or lose then saunter off nonchalantly as the police arrive.

QB Painter was so cool, fragile, and patient. I want his blood pressure. I thought I was watching a re-enactment of a high school game. Did you see that crappy Roosevelt-era stadium? I wonder if they even have toilets. I bet the “Big house” has at least two more on each side. “Hell, coach… I’d loved to come from Los Angeles to come play here any day… what, and it snows… hey, where’s the bathroom?”

The Purdue fans were so well-behaved I thought I was at a Miami of Ohio game without the sweaters and Weejuns. What did they do, practice their cheers in their dorms for five weeks to get bitch-slapped by a team who’s fans flip cars and burn dumpsters? Here’s a hint, until you have some passion about the sport, you’re never going to win.

Remember, my “Nice Guy” diatribe from my Washington game installment? Add Joe Tiller to Craig’s List. That’s right, Al Gore and I invented that too, and we’re rich – stinkin’ rich with the love of our misguided followers. Al and I have matching parkas for the Ice Age that’s coming in 2010 when we’re releasing our 2nd book How to Get Rich When the Weather Changes. It’s also convenient to write about something that already happened. I helped Newt Gingrich with his last book, When Monkeys Flew Out of My Butt. I see winning a Pulitzer…

Face it. There’s nothing satisfying about playing Purdue, before, during or after the game. You might as well merge both Iowa and Purdue football teams to make one decent team out of the combo. Maybe I can send a memo to their presidents with these selling points:

Let’s call it “Iado” (i – uh – doo), then they can have four-sided stadium chant that a drunk can remember or any foreign exchange student pronounce like “O. H. I. O!” It’s easy to text to friends when you’re sitting at an airport taunting your buddies – THAT DON’T POSSESS A CRACKBERRY!

The Purdue game was so one-sided that at the sports bar, I watched the LSU Florida game and cheered for Florida so NostroJimma’s prophecy could come true for a BCS rematch. But, it wasn’t to be. You know how LSU figured out Florida’s plays? It wasn’t when Tebow counted his fingers when he was figuring out downs, but when his lips moved while reading the plays off his wrist. Speaking of relaxing academic standards… He does have one thing going for him. USC’s (University of Spoiled Children) John Wayne Booty is injured, so there will be at least one guy behind TT at Heisman time. OSU needs the rematch because I have so much new material for “The Love Boat” installment.

Thank all of you for antagonizing the writer’s block out of me. There has to be a statistic that there’s more Monday road rage due to Starbucks drinkers having no chits left on their coffee cards. Oh, to see the sandals and fanny packs flying.

Next week, I promise to be on time. I’ve been secretly compiling a list of inane recurring themes for a crossword puzzle. Al and Newt are going to be so jealous when it’s in the NewYork Times. It’s hard to cheat on my puzzles because there’s no “windowlickers” in the dictionary.

Lastly, I’m seriously disappointed that no missile scientist has been able to solve my movie trivia quote for “Outstanding, Red Team… get that man a case of PBR.” Name the actor and movie and you’ll win a get out of jail free pass from my maligning you for one year. So, you’re all fair game…

Sincerely,

Captain Stubing

Please Mr. Eggman, please don’t ever quit your job!

I know, the question everyone is asking…WHERE’S CRAIG’S EGGS.

Personally, I’m getting a little concerned. The last I heard from the egg man was from a garbled text message on my cell phone.

I will leave the message up to you to interpret:

“hdng w/I-70. Dwn to lst btl Mex. cough syrup. Attny says we can make Wst. Laf by gmtime if tires hold. Must find sunglasses, drk sunglss.”

And that was the last I heard from him. I will update as I hear more.

What is the University of Minnesota’s academic forte? It’s not Engineering or Logistics. If it was they would know how to build a stadium on campus instead of 30 miles away so the largest student body in the United States can attend football games. Pretty novel idea. Maybe that’s why they average 47,000 fans per game and are 9th out of 11 in the Big Ten for attendance

Sure, it’s a big state and has 1,000 lakes that make getting to a football game difficult. They have snow too that can impede travel, hence the dome. It is kind of un-American in ritual. Look at Green Bay. The cheeseheads understand the prime mortal nature of football and will sit through a game shirtless in a blizzard – whereas these fat lemmings can’t make it to the game.

I recant. That’s not fair to call Gophers lemmings. At least lemmings travel en masse “somewhere” when it’s time to be somewhere – at game time. Who’s smarter now? Tough call.
Think of the mascot, the Golden Gopher. I know it’s not original, like a poisonous nut only squirrels can eat. There’s an identity problem here though. What is a Gopher, Groundhog, Woodchuck or whatever the heck you want to call it? Below, the many definitions:
gopher

noun
1. a zealously energetic person (especially a salesman) [syn: goffer]

2. a native or resident of Minnesota [syn: Minnesotan]

3. any of various terrestrial burrowing rodents of Old and New Worlds; often destroy crops [syn: ground squirrel]

4. burrowing rodent of the family Geomyidae having large external cheek pouches; of Central America and southwestern North America

5. burrowing edible land tortoise of southeastern North America [syn: gopher tortoise]

See where the confusion comes in? I know a gopher as a cute, fuzzy, dumb animal that we count by the roadside sunning themselves as trucks run them over. Awww. The weatherman gopher, Punxsatawney Phil has his own web site
.
Farmers as golf greens keepers despise them and are viewed as a “burrowing” menace that is unendingly annoying, like the guest that wouldn’t leave your digs — the slovenly stoner that camps in your beanbag chair, watches your TV and eats everything in your frig including the condiments – not someone especially “energetic.” Quite the opposite.

Go to the web and Google “Gopher” and you’ll find 1,067 ways to eradicate these varmints. Try poison pellets, smoke, high frequency, drowning, electrocution, firearms. Name it. The worse part is that they have few predators and breed like rabbits. They’re not really that cute either like Floppsy, Mopsy, Peter – oh, and Fat-ass!

The little bastards took over Port Columbus and were chewing all the wiring for aviation telecommunications and were tunneling under million-dollar runways. The little cherubs had the Columbus City Council stymied.

To make matters worse, some people with pony-tails, pop-bottle glasses and fanny packs called the media and the scene was teaming with newsmen. Seems the rednecks that City Council hired to dispose of the gophers were being inhumane. Apparently, travelers on planes could look out their windows to witness the Earp brothers’ unloading their shotguns at will.

After much debate, Columbus found their Pied Piper of Hamlin, a snake oil salesman named Mr. Haney. His solution was to use a leaf truck where he would insert the 10-inch diameter vacuum nozzle down a hole, turn it on and a jillion pounds per square inch sucked them out like a dust mite out of your carpet. That vacuum contraption was Dr. Suess-like, brilliantly obvious and diabolical and almost as unsportsmanlike as fishing with hand grenades or hunting deer with LAWs rockets.

Council considered this humane. Sure, they took the leaf grinder off the back, but can you imagine the “Suuuuuuck.. vooooop… thud” as they hit pay dirt – or the steel wall of the truck traveling at a jillion miles per hour? When asked why he had the gopher removal business, Mr. Haney’s reply was, “Good pay and all you can eat.”(see recipe).

What might be even more inhumane will be our thrashing of the Gophers tomorrow winning 49 to 10. Speed kills on astro-turf and the Buckeyes have plenty of it.

Gopher Pie

1 Gopher, skinned and cleaned
1/4 cup onion
1/4 cup green pepper
1/2 tbsp minced parsley
1 tbsp. salt
1/8 tsp. pepper
4 1/2 tbsp. flour
3 cups broth

Cut Gopher into 2 or 3 pieces. Boil for 1 hour. Remove meat from bones in large pieces. Add onion, green pepper, parsley, salt, pepper, and flour to the broth and stir until it thickens. If the broth does not measure 3 cups, add water. Add the meat to the broth mixture and stir thoroughly. Pour into baking dish. Roll only enough to make it fit the dish. Place dough on top of meat, put in a hot oven (400 degrees F.) and bake 30 to 40 minutes or until dough is browned. Serves 6-8.

(The Mac T stayed up late for this one and it’s worth every minute.)

Why is it that I’m sleepless at 3:26AM? Could it be the fear that the Northwestern Mildats are going to soil an OSU home opener? Am I troubled of the thought that some other post-game Philistine is going to beat me to the dumpster burning behind the Seven Eleven on the corner 12th and High? Could it be that I can’t fathom the idea that a some green-card havin, four-point GPA getting wonk who doesn’t know how to play football is going to rag on me?

Indulge me. Pretend with me. Close your eyes, but read this first or it won’t work. It’s snowing lightly. Imagine that you’re in a half-vacant, sub-zero, windswept stadium sitting on aluminum seating that your butt’s frozen to — and recite the Northwestern cheer with me with a Mandarin accent:

“That’s alright (are light)
That’s okay
You’re going to work for (fall) us
Some day,
Rah!” (Lah!)

It’s highly unlikely that a bunch of purple panty-waists are going to keep anyone up tonight, errrr, this morning (See Craig’s Eggs Installment #3 referring to teams that wear purple and about nice guys finishing last)… Woody intentionally scheduled Northwestern for homecoming and season openers to pump the team to ramp up the Big Ten season. OSU didn’t have as many games scheduled in those days, nor would Woody allow injuring any of his players by playing non-conference teams for cash and TV ratings — especially the five quarterbacks that that he benched so teams like Northwestern could not have them. Har de har har. Wait. That was until some smart-ass (probably from Northwestern) reduced Division One football scholarships for parity in the 90s. Stay with me.

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