My crazy Urban Meyer theory; Notre Dame dissed him

Unlike other reports about Urban Meyer's Christmas decision to resign as Florida's coach, then reverse himself after a single Sugar Bowl practice the very next day, this column does not rely on what the coach or anyone connected to the university has said over the past week. It does not rely on those often-used (and sometimes fabricated) "sources close to the Florida program." This is pure speculation as to why Meyer did what he did, but until answers are forthcoming that are more convincing than those given by Meyer during his pre-Sugar Bowl news conference, the truth could indeed lie somewhere amongst the speculators. Some believe the truth points north, to South Bend, Indiana.

After Tyrone Willingham was fired by Notre Dame following the 2004 season, one of the names at the top of the list of prospective replacements was Urban Meyer, who had just coached Utah to an undefeated season. Meyer, who is Catholic, used to be an assistant with the Irish and has on a number of occasions described Notre Dame as his "dream job." But for whatever reason, probably money since we are discussing college football coaches, Meyer instead was lured to the opening at Florida. Since coming to Gainesville, Meyer had said several times that he would never leave Florida for South Bend. Just last month, Meyer said he would stay with the Gators "as long as they'll have me."

That, however, was before Meyer's Gators, ranked number one at the time, were decimated by Alabama in what appeared to be a changing-of-the-guard moment in the SEC Championship. Having won two BCS titles in five seasons and with the best player in Florida history about to leave the program, Meyer had to be wondering what there was left to prove in the Swamp. Perhaps he waited for the call from South Bend to come again as Charlie Weis's time neared it's end. Sure, he said he would never leave Florida, but college football coaches say that all the time, and who believes them anymore? Apparently, Notre Dame athletic director Jack Swarbrick believed it when Meyer said it.

During the search for Weis's successor, of all the names bandied about, the one name you did not hear mentioned was that of Urban Meyer. That surprised some of us, and I believe it stunned Meyer himself. It doesn't appear that Swarbrick even bothered to put out a feeler for Mr. "Dream Job", and that if Meyer attempted to contact Swarbrick to show interest, Meyer was ignored. Perhaps Notre Dame still stung from being passed over by Meyer five years ago. Perhaps Swarbrick took Meyer at his word that he would never leave Gainesville. Mr. Swarbrick apparently doesn't know that college football coaches are the best liars in the nation, well, next to Members of Congress. Then again, new Notre Dame coach Brian Kelly was surprisingly honest for the most part about being courted by Swarbrick while Kelly was still at Cincinnati. Maybe Notre Dame is one of the few schools left which wants some truthfulness from their football coach.

Meyer does have, apparently, some legitimate health problems. But the way this story has unfolded so far, there is no way that health is the only reason for his resignation and subsequent flip-flop. The Notre Dame theory may sound far-fetched and may not even be close to the truth, but it is as good a theory as any that has been given, at least until Meyer himself gives us the truth and does so convincingly.

If Richt keeps Garner as D. Coordinator, Richt will be fired 11 months from now

"I think we probably need to start out by saying what a fantastic job our defensive coaches did," coach Mark Richt said after Georgia's 44-20 blowout of a middling (at best) Big 12 team in the Jacked Up Energy Drink Used By Michael W. Smith Independence Bowl Tuesday night. It should have been obvious that Michael W. needed to be jacked to get through an entire show of his schmaltz, but that's another story. Georgia's much maligned defense was the story in Shreveport, but Richt would be a fool to let last night's game govern his decision on who becomes Georgia's next defensive coordinator.

This is not meant to take anything away from the job Rodney Garner and a collection of duct-taped pieces of fiber board did in getting the Bulldogs' defense ready. Within the context of the turmoil of the last month, that performance was remarkable. But the Georgia fan who is now clamoring for Garner to be named head of the defense going in to next season should keep two things in mind, the team that Georgia beat last night and the legacy of Dennis Felton.

Texas A&M proved last night just how much quality the Big 12 doesn't have. That was the same inept Aggies offense that scored 39 points on what supposedly is the number two team in the nation one month ago. That was the same vaunted "12th Man" special teams unit that gave up a kickoff return touchdown to the astonishing Brandon Boykin, and the Aggies sported a punting team that resembled our pathetic winless intramural team during this column's days at Jacksonville State. Sure, a win is a win, and it was great to see a Georgia team that has had so many problems this year actually produce eight victories. But this win does not tell us anything about whether a Rodney Garner-coached defense could begin to compete against the middle of the pack in the SEC, much less the conference's elite.

You may remember that two years ago, Georgia was set to fire basketball coach Dennis Felton, whose program had become a joke. Georgia decided to wait until the 2007-08 season ended, which probably wouldn't have happened in football because SEC schools care about football and, other than Kentucky, aren't sure why anyone would want to fool with a ball that is not oblong. You know the rest of the story. Felton's team got lucky and won a few games in a row, as happens in hoops sometimes. Those few games just happened to be in the SEC tounament, and Georgia athletic director Damon Evans didn't have the courage to do the right thing and say "damn the Big Dance. We're still a joke. You're still fired." The Bulldogs were pathetic last season, and the rebuilding of the program that should have started in 2008 instead began one year later.

Richt knows it doesn't matter that he has averaged almost ten wins per season in his nine years in Athens. If he doesn't compete with Florida for the division title next year, he is toast. Richt may in fact be under more pressure to win the division thanks to Urban Meyer's apparent use of a 'Magic 8 Ball' to decide his future with Florida. To win in 2010, Richt knows that Georgia needs a defensive coordinator whose resume includes more than a single victory against a middle-of-the-pack team from a less-than-stellar conference.

Okay, Maestro, we love you, but where's George?

The Savannah Philharmonic Chorus, conducted by the always effervescent Peter Shannon, brought holiday cheer blah blah blah, yappity yap yipperoo, etc., et al, and all that flippin' jazz. So goes what would be a normal review of the Chorus's "Carols In The Cathedral" show on Friday. The show was indeed excellent, all that and a keg of Allagash White (which, if you haven't ever tried it, oh...my.....goodness). But while Maestro Shannon and his legion of wonderful musicians have now conquered the tunes of Santa and The Lord, after successful previous conquerings of Beethoven, Mozart and other purveyors of the classics, it occurred that 'The Phil' has not yet taken on one of music's most important people, Gershwin.

George Gershwin is a great pianist and composer. Yes, he died 72 years ago, but I use the present-tense 'is' because George lives in our house. He is the imaginary friend of our daughter, the first-grader. He taught her how to play a good chunk of "Rhapsody In Blue" by ear on her keyboard, not to mention "Swanee." Thankfully, she hasn't tried to do a blackface Al Jolson performance at the elementary school yet. I often wonder what George truly thought when I made the mistake of recording the horrifically inaccurate biopic "Rhapsody In Blue" off of Turner Classic Movies. He must have lied and told the first-grader he was thrilled. She drew us a picture of George watching the hideous film exclaiming to her "Look! I'm on TV!" Useless fun fact: George in the movie was portrayed by Robert Alda, father of Alan Alda.

Despite the ignominious biography, Gershwin and his contemporaries were American music for much of the previous century. Shoot, in addition to the obvious Gershwin successes (Rhapsody, An American In Paris, Porgy and Bess), he was so good that he wrote "Let's Call The Whole Thing Off", "They Can't Take That Away From Me", "A Foggy Day (In London Town)" and "Nice Work If You Can Get It" in the last year of his life while suffering from excruciating headaches caused by the brain tumor that would kill him. So, Maestro Shannon, where's the concert with George? Or, for that matter, Cole Porter, Jerome Kern, Irving Berlin and, of course, Mr. Mercer? Toss in some Duke Ellington/Billy Strayhorn if you want.

"The Phil and The Great American Songbook." Sounds like a show idea to me. At the Lucas Theater with some of the musical numbers performed on stage. Shoot, I'd even put on tap shoes for that one, and would bribe Stratton Leopold to put them on with me. I'd bet Stratton's money (since I don't have money) that we'd bring down the house, but not nearly as much as our wonderful orchestra conducted by the indomitable Mr. Clean. So, Maestro, you game?

Brylcreem and Lucky Strikes, dang it

So I'm watching this silly musical I Tivo'd off of Turner Classic Movies, "Stage Door Canteen." Because I'm weird and I have the urge to tap dance, that's why. In one of the opening scenes, soldiers on their way to fight in World War Two fall all over themselves when their train stops and a young lady starts tossing them free packs of cigarettes, and I'll be darned if it didn't make me want a smoke, and I don't even like cigarettes (I'm a cigar guy, though I couldn't tell you the last time I smoked one).

This got me thinking...hold on, don't do the duck and cover exercise, hear me out. What would happen today if we handed out smokes to soldiers on their way to Iraq or Afghanistan? We would be denounced by a bunch of TV news reporters with their noses stuck up in the air at 90 degree angles. At least that's how they would be on camera just before the camera clicked off and they snuck off for a smoke. We would be called "terrorists" by various health groups. Worst of all, we would be subjected to the most hypocritical of arenas; the congressional hearing, sentenced to Hades by a group of thugs who don't pay all their taxes, who get sweetheart deals on mortgages and any number of other things, who hand out our tax money as if it were candy canes at a Christmas parade, and who sincerely believe that you are too stupid to make your own decisions about your money, your body, and...well, just about anything.

I know smoking too much will kill you, especially if you inhale. I have read the various Surgeon General warnings; my favorite, "Warning! Taking one drag off your very first cigarette will cause your manhood to turn plaid and fall off." But I miss the days when you could relax with a drink and a smoke without making a passerby believe they and the next four generations of offspring were going to immediately keel over from the secondhand smoke (don't get me started on the science behind that). I'd love the days when you could see the shine of Brylcreem on a guy's head from a mile away, and I didn't even live in those times. It was Brylcreem, wasn't it? Or maybe Vitalis or Royal Crown pomade (Elvis's favorite) or, if you wanted to land the Paula Deens of yesteryear, lard (the choice of Alfalfa from 'Our Gang').

"But look how many people from that era died of cancer." Sure. Both my grandfathers did, though one was caused by asbestos in his workplace. The other one never smoked his entire life. Look at how many people die from cancer today. Cancer deaths are falling, but is that because of fewer smokers or cutting edge medical research? Probably both. On the other hand, do you think that in the past the country was filled with anal retentive people whose sense of humor took a flying leap from the tallest building? My guess is that back then, every other person wasn't separated at birth from Ferris Bueller's friend Cameron.













Insert lump of coal here.

Geez, this is a stupid rant. Why am I griping? Minnie The Moaner here must need a smoke, but it won't happen, except vicariously through the old movies.

Another Bowl Copout

As expected, and as predicted by some goofy, no-talent writer a few days ago, the Crimson Heffalumps will play the Porterhouse Steaks Of The Future in the Mr. Rogers Land Of Make Believe Bowl for the fake national championship of college football. No surprise there, even though one could make an excellent case that TCU played at least as difficult a schedule as Texas and was much more dominant than the 'Horns. But all that is au jus on my prime rib now. The big beef, again, lies in the rest of the bowl schedule, some of which looks as if it were put together by Bozo The Clown's old sidekick Whizzo (doo-de-doo-de-doo-de-doo!)

First, the BCS bowl honchos must have gotten a conference call from SEC Commissioner Mike Slive, ACC Commish John Swofford, and Big East boss man Humpty Dumpty a few days ago that went something like this: "Hey, Fiesta Bowl?" "Si Senor?" "You gotta take TCU and Boise." "Si. Por que?" "'Cause we can't have them embarrassing us the way Utah embarrassed Gawd (Nick Saban, if you are just joining us) last year at the High Fructose Corn Syrup Bowl." "Si." By all rights, either TCU or Boise State should be playing Florida in New Orleans, while the other should be playing Georgia Tech in the "Okay, Remind Us Again Of The Person Who Tied Us In To The Crummy ACC So We Can Fire His Butt Bowl" in Miami.

Lastly, one could look at the Gator Bowl as a crisis since it passed over We Miss The Thugs U. and Michael Vick?, Who's He? U. (9 wins each), as well as Auburn With A Lake* and Remember Us, We Had Doug Flutie and...some other guys College (8 wins each) in favor of watching 6-6 Florida State lose again. The claim is that since it is the final game for retiring coach Bobby Bowden, the game will sell out. Since the only things that sell out in Jacksonville are "The World's Largest Cocktail Party" between Florida and Georgia and tractor pulls, the city needs the booties in the seats even if it means putting the 100th best team in college football in a New Year's Day bowl game. While it isn't fair, it isn't that big a deal. If nothing else, it gives players with the Indigenous Persons Who Greased NCAA Palms More Than Those From Illinois one more chance to cheat on those ridiculously tough exams in Sports Psychology and Music Cultures Of The World without the head coach taking the fall.

Also, one more time...with feeling. The reason for the moniker "fake national championship" is simple. You can't have a real national champion without a playoff. It is not possible, and no reasonable person can make an argument otherwise. Of course, that opinion and 99 cents will buy you one of those giant pickles at the convenience store, so until next time, doo-do-doo-de-doo-de-doo.


* RIP Lewis Grizzard

Fearless Freep football prediction

The question before the committee (that would be your correspondent); whom to pick in tomorrow's SEC Championship game. Number one Florida versus Number Two Alabama, with the winner to play for the fake 'national championship' of college sheetbay. 'Sheetbay' was my word for football during the toddler years. No one knows why, but it's probably for the same reason that mashed potatoes were 'week-weets', local newspaper the Dade County Sentinel was (and remains) the "weekly wipe", and brussel sprouts were "stinking, steaming pieces of monkey dookie." One cannot predict the outcome of a game of this magnitude without considering all the proper intangibles.

Much space could be wasted analyzing the offenses and defenses of the Tuscaloosa Packaderms and the Steve Irwin (RIP) Back Riders from the Everglades. Much has also been made of the two head coaches, Urban Meyer (henceforth referred to as Notre Dame's Next Head Coach, or NDNHC) and Nick Saban (henceforth referred to as Gawd). But those analyses would cause the oversight of the two factors that will decide tomorrow's game; books and Tim Tebow's private life.

Tebow, as you may know, makes Dale Murphy look like Michael Vick. But sources tell me that the ghost of legendary Bama booster Logan Young is stalking Tebow in Atlanta as we speak, armed with copious amouts of (alleged) Spanish Fly. A few spikes of Tebow's pomegranate juice cocktail (hold the pomegranate) and Mr. Heisman promise ring will spend the wee hours of Big Game Eve at the Gold Club shouting "Praise Gawd!" ("Did someone call me?" asked Saban.) While Tebow on 37 minutes of sleep will still be better than Rex Grossman and Danny Wuerffel combined, it will slow him down. That alone, however, won't give The Guys With the Big Trunks the victory. The win will come because of Bama's talent with the written word.

My sources tell me that Bama has secretly acquired NDNHC's playbook, and that players have used their scholarship money to purchase copies for the entire team, along with 53-percent of the Alabama student body, at Buffalo Phil's Pub and Used Bookstore. As Jesse "The Body" Ventura used to say, "cheaters always win and winners always cheat", or as Saban said, "The strong survive, but sometimes, the strong cheat their @$&* off." The adept fingering of the UF playbook will lead to seven Leigh Tiffin field goals (since Bama still won't be able to get in the end zone.) Final score: Dumbo 21, Wally Gator 14.

Immediately after the game, NDNHC will become NDHC approximately 14 minutes after denying that ND even exists except in the 5th Dimension of the McCoo Galaxy. Gawd will be sent to South Korea and cloned. The clone will be cryogenically frozen, placed in the HealthSouth Memorial tank, and buried at Elmwood next to the plaid-hatted 'Daddy Of Gawd', ensuring fake national titles for Tusky in perpetuity. That is at least until there is a playoff and real national titles to win.

I lost a good friend to politics. I almost died from politics. Politics suck. And I love it.

The title is a paraphrase of the distinguished line from ex-Sex Pistol Steve Jones in a commercial for the ironic 1980's campaign "Rock Against Drugs" (as the late Sam Kinison once said, "Isn't that sort of like 'Christians Against Christ?'). There is no better way to sum up my feelings about the game of politics, the dichomatic game that despite it's vast entertainment value unfortunately causes the most massive casualties among those who don't play.

The minutiae of the political game is more compelling than the oeuvre of "24." Granted I don't watch "24", but I hear it's pretty good. Politics is funnier than every episode of "Top Gear" and "Monty Python", of which I have seen most. Okay, maybe not Python, but it's pretty close. It is even makes for better viewing than the 1989 Ric Flair/Ricky Steamboat match at WrestleWar in Nashville (where Flair regained the gold!). But politics also infuriates as much as a Flair/Steamboat 2009 rematch, brought to you by Depends and Cialis, would.

After I discovered Rush Limbaugh in the Fall of 1990, I became a committed conservative and actively sought to help Republicans beat the snot out of Democrats. Some friends and I were in the extreme minority when wore mournful black armbands on the campus of Jacksonville State University (Jacksonville, Alabama in case you are wondering) the day after Bill Clinton beat H.W. Bush in '92. Then sometime between '92 and 2000, it occurred to me that most Republicans weren't actually conservatives, and on some issues neither was I.

There was no single 'Road To Damascus' conversion moment. Perhaps it was the lame excuses made by Republican Members of Congress (henceforth known only as Members) for spending my tax money on things that would be named after them, manicures, research on rabbit dung, or whatever else tickled their fancy. Their favorite reason seemed to be "if we don't give out pork, these 'worthwhile projects' will never get money via the federal bureaucracy." Translation, "recipients of pork money are the hookers and we, the Members, are the pimp daddies, and it feels goooooooood." Prostitution minus the farking* (or in some cases with the farking.) In their rare moment of honesty, many Democrat Members were at least up front in saying they wanted to bring home the bacon for their constituents. Deficit? What deficit?

Perhaps it was hearing for the 8,745th time that our public schools would be fantastic if only Jesus (or Juh-EEE-sus depending on where you live) were allowed in the schoolhouse door. To paraphrase my friend, diehard conservative and devout Catholic Michael Graham, do you really want a government employee telling your kids how to pray? It could have been the country's ridiculous war on drugs where the purveyors of the illegal stuff are always three steps ahead of those trying to stop them while, simultaneously, some believe that my enjoyment of a perfectly legal cigar puts me in the same class as the Roman soldiers who led Juh-EEE-sus up Golgotha.

When my right-wing passions cooled, however, that did not mean I became a liberal. Anyone who is willing to trust the government to take care of them in any way, especially their health care, might be in need of a lobotomy. (You better hurry up and get that Starbucks brain stir stick quick, as there might be a Webster's Dictionary-sized waiting list this time next year.) I tried to relax and watch both sides drone on and on about how much the other party was making the Founding Fathers drink even harder in their afterlife than they did on earth (yes, they consumed. A lot.). But now, though I want to continue to enjoy the Washington cock and hen fights, it is getting ever more difficult to do so.

Every time I log on to Facebook, someone's ridiculous status is yet another uncreative effort to tell me how much President Obama sucks. This is usually followed up by the worn out comments that Obama is a socialist, that he is really a Muslim, that he was actually born on the planet Felspoon where the mountains sway in the breeze (hat tip: Doctor Who), that he raises his pinky when he drinks his tea, or worst of all, is a secret Tennessee Vols fan. If you disagree with this line of inanity, The Pope immediately reserves a place in Hell for you.

Then there is the other side, the Olbermanns we will call them, named after the man who is simultaneously one of the most gifted writers and one of the worst TV hosts in the country. You think Obama sucks? It is the fault of George W. Bush. Don't like the health care plan? Bush's fault. Have painful gas because you ate too much chili last night? Hang that one on W as well. In the world of the Olbermanns, everything wrong with the world can be six-degreed back to the previous president, and judging by most of his speeches so far, Obama is a dedicated Olbermann. One more diatribe about the "mess" he "inherited", as if he accidently became president through no fault of his own, will cause a major upchuck of my morning PB&J. And then I will blame Bush.

So, sadly, politics is usually a taboo subject, lest I lose the ability to converse with most of the people I know. It is sometimes difficult watching from the sidelines as the Dems, who are concurrently terrified of ticking off Mahmoud Ahmadinejad and people making decisions for themselves, take on the GOP, who are concurrently terrified of ticking off Glenn Beck or the producers of "Meet The Press" and people making decisions for themselves. But living a life of talking and writing about baseball, old movies, beer, college football, beer, cigars, and beer is a pretty good one. "But you aren't making a difference in the world" the lefty and righty nut jobs would say. Sure I am. I hope to help cure the aneurysms you nut jobs cause. But if I don't, you could always see if a politician will get you a "grant", then you should blame Bush, then see a doctor. Well, hurry and see a doctor while you still can.


*God Bless Drew Curtis, founder of FARK, the greatest web site.....in THE WORLD!