A Sign of the End of Days
What is a Ute?
I'd love to make fun of Alabama, but as a Tennessee Vol fan, I don't have too much room to talk trash.
But I'll give it a shot.
My brother in law, an otherwise intelligent man and a decent human being, is an ardent supporter of the puce pachyderms. He was born and raised right here in East Tennessee so there's no excuse for that kind of orneriness, although it does come in handy, being married to my sister and all. And it could have been worse; he could have been a Gator fan; fortunately, my sister does maintain some sense of decency. My cousins are also big fans of the maroon mammoths but they can be excused because, being from Nashville, until recently they had no other credible choices.
But now, the long suffering Vandy faithful can stand tall and proud, and while calculating that a 7-6 season comes out to a 0.538461 (infinitely repeating) winning percentage, they can rejoice in a winning season, a winning bowl game, and a better record than Tennessee. Bama fans, on the other hand, have to deal with the undeniable fact that with 8 sacks of John Parker Wilson and a 1.1 yd rushing average, their offensive line looked a lot like one clad in Orange and White.
On the other hand, the Tide faithful can console themselves with the thought that they didn't lose as badly as Steve Spurrier did.
Meanwhile, back at USC (Eastern Outpost), a place formerly known as Neyland Stadium, Lane Kiffen continues to assemble a crack coaching team to bring the Vols back to national prominence and winning seasons, just like he did in Oakland.
Well, maybe not.
I'm not saying we're getting a lot of USC alums here in Tennessee or anything like that, but I did hear that Lindsay Buckingham is trying to work a tune for the Pride of the Southland marching band, but POSL just doesn't have the same ring to it.
But with the college football season winding down, and no really important games left to watch, we can start concentrating on the important things in life.
Bristol, March 22, 2009 will be an historic occasion in the foothills of north east Tennessee. I will be the guest of honor, along with 150,000 of my closest friends, at the world's largest, longest, and certainly the loudest, bachelor party. Lissa is extremely comfortable with this bachelor party idea because the guy to girl ratio at a NASCAR race is somewhere in the neighborhood of 8000 to one. And if you factor in availability, i.e. not with someone who could kill me, that number climbs by at least an order of magnitude. So, by the numbers, in a crowd of 150,000 people, that works out to just under two girls that I might have a chance of hooking up with. Rounding up to two, because the alternative is a little gross, (What would 7/8ths of a girl look like?) and taking into account the laws of random distribution, my chances of physical contact with a real female over the course of my bachelor party is about the same as my chances for winning the lottery.
So she is absolutely assured of my celibacy during this bachelor party extravaganza.
Now, I'm not sure how this post went from talking about Bama's bowl game to my celibacy, unless the common factor is impotent offenses, but I do believe it's time to put this post, and myself, to bed.
PS: Important Safety Tip: Posting with a 100 degree fever is not a good idea.
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