Jevan Snead: please tell me you got plastered and slept with four different sorority girls last night. Please? Honestly, the pass rush was in his face all night (and how embarrassing is that, Michael Oher and co.?), but Snead didn't do a great job of making checks at the line to adjust for blitzes. Hopefully, this was just a result of vanilla playcalling and lack of motivation. And seriously, Jevan, Lionel Breaux is STILL hung out to dry on that five-yard hook. Bring that shit down.
Running backs: Really? We have five backs on our team that would, in theory, start for Samford. None were impressive tonight. Eason hits the hole with all the tenacity and timing of a 16 year old in the back of his mom's borrowed minivan on prom night (last Dennis Miller-esque joke of the night, promise). Bolden appeared to be limited, and his primary vehicle, the Wild Rebel, was left in the garage. And as a note to all 5 backs: shoestring tackles need to be broken, folks. This is the SEC you're playing in.
Offensive line: as it stands, probably the most overrated unit in the SEC. 'Soft' would be a compliment, a goal to strive for, at this point. Almost 1600 pounds of bulk spread out amongst five men with over 100 starts between them in the SEC, and we can't beat down Samford's defensive line? Markuson isn't sleeping well right now, and neither is Michael Oher.
The offensive playcalling was extremely boring, and that shouldn't have mattered. Just execute. Execute against a team with less talent than the scout team that impersonated them all week.
Defense... Where do you start here? For most of the second half, Samford held a 5-minute advantage over UM in time of possession. Blame this on a defense that was unable to stay on assignment all night. Sure, we busted a few plays in the backfield, but where were the turnovers? There wasn't a play that seemed close to a Samford turnover. The desire to actually hit someone seemed a tertiary goal, at best. Houston Nutt can't be happy with Tyrone Nix, can he?
Special teams: glad to see Marshay take a punt to the house, and in impressive fashion. I still haven't decided if that makes up for the punt he should've taken back earlier. Let me set up this scenario for those who missed it: Green takes the punt, finds that his blockers have completely sealed off their slower, more Baptist counterparts, and the only thing between him and the endzone is a portly little fellow in white and a speedy blocker in blue. What happens? An awkward, three man collision, you say? Well, how did you guess? Seriously, folks, I'd have taken that punt back in my flip flops without losing my Aviators or getting my polo sweaty.
Enough with the detailed statistical analysis, though. What all this boils down to, scientifically, is that this game was a load of HORESESHIT! Defense, don't come waving your arms around trying to pump the fans up in the face of this all-male pillow fight. Entertain me. Hit someone so hard that they regret the day they first touched a football. And offense? This was supposed to be an All-You-Can-Score Buffet, and once again, I left hungry, and pissed off at my townie waiter. Did Nutt do this to the team on purpose, so he could yell at them all week in preparation for Vanderbilt? Did he take off all week to help his least-attractive daughter make a diorama of the solar system for school? Here I am, wracking my brain, thinking of ways NOT to score 40 against Samford, and I got nothin'.
On a brighter note:
Narrowly edging out rH0d3$+@r, a bow-tie-clad fratter named Vince gets the weekly 'Awesomest Drunk Guy in My General Vicinity' award. Thanks for your light-hearted yet caustic display of profanities; it made me want to gouge my eyes out a little bit less. Congrats, Vince, and thanks to all of those who played.
fUcK yOu oHiO sTaTe, and Fight On, USC. That is all. I'm really dying to see USC take on Florida or Mizzou in the BCS championship.
Dear MSU: I have to admit it. I don't trust you to lose games in the fashion to which we all became accustomed. You played a hell of a defensive game against Auburn, apparently, and I had to see the body to really believe you were dead. Still: HA HA HA... HA.