Football Future-see Week 15 Recap

Record
Week 1 .... 6-1
Week 2 .... 4-1
Week 3 .... 3-2
Week 4 .... 4-1
Week 5 .... 3-3
Week 6 .... 3-2
Week 7 .... 4-2
Week 8 .... 4-1
Week 9 .... 4-1
Week 10 ... 4-1
Week 11 ... 4-1
Week 12 ... 4-1
Week 13 ... 4-1
Week 14 ... 3-2
Week 15 ... 3-2
Overall .... 57-22

So, we failed. Yeah, 57-22 for the year is great, but we never had a perfect week. I would've taken 0-5, just so long as I could get perfection one way or the other. But alas, we are continually denied prediction perfection.

Bowl Predictions:

BCS Championship Game: (1) Oklahoma vs. (2) Florida

Fiesta Bowl: (10) Ohio State vs. (3) Texas

Sugar Bowl: (6) Utah vs. (4) Alabama

Rose Bowl: (5) USC vs. (8) Penn State

Orange Bowl: (12) Cincinnati vs. (19) Virginia Tech

Capital One Bowl: (15) Georgia vs. (18) Michigan State

Chick-fil-A Bowl: (14) Georgia Tech vs. LSU

Cotton Bowl: (7) Texas Tech vs. (25) Ole Miss

Poinsettia Bowl: (9) Boise State vs. (11) TCU

International Bowl: Buffalo vs. Connecticut

That's right, the next Football Future-see Edition will feature 10 Bowl Games: the National Championship Game, all 4 BCS games, and 5 additional games, selected in a completely biased manner. Enjoy.

College Playoffs? Why Not?

Every year in college football there is talk of a playoff system, how to make it work, why it will never work, and why the detractors of the broken BCS system should just shut up, because this is how it is, and this is how it always will be. Every other sport has a playoff system. Even NASCAR has a playoff system. Division II college football has a playoff system, but Division I cannot ever have a playoff system, because the Rose Bowl would disapprove.

Well, I think I may have come up with a system that works, keeps the major bowls in place, granted without their conference affiliations, but they remain in place nonetheless.

In the NFL, each conference sends 6 teams to the playoffs. The top two teams, by record, get first round byes. Then the remaining 4 teams play each other, the two division winners getting home games.

The proposal for college is simple:

Take the 6 BCS conference champions and rank them 1-6 in the playoff format, using their current BCS ranking as their position in the playoff bracket. The top four conference champions receive first round byes, thereby making the regular season mean something. I don’t understand why people think that a playoff in college football would make the regular season meaningless. Is it meaningless in college basketball? What about the NFL? No? But in college it would be.

So the BCS conference winners get in. Then you take the top 6 teams in the BCS after the champions are taken out, and put them into the brackets. The teams with byes would play their first match in the Quarterfinals, at one of the four BCS Bowl sites. The first round games would be played at the home stadium of the highest ranked team in the match-up (ex. 10. Texas at 7. Georgia).

Let’s use the final BCS standings from the 2007 season as an example.

1. LSU

2. USC

3. Georgia

4. Ohio State

5. Missouri

6. West Virginia

7. Kansas

8. Oklahoma

9. Virginia Tech

10. Texas

11. Boston College

12. Tennessee

Conference Champions: LSU, USC, Ohio State, West Virginia, Oklahoma, Virginia Tech.

Under my proposed playoff system, LSU, USC, Ohio State, and West Virginia would all receive first round byes. The other teams would then play each other in the first round, with the games being played at the higher ranked team’s home field.

Bracket 1

1. LSU – bye

4. West Virginia –bye

12. Tennessee at 5. Oklahoma

9. Kansas at 8. Missouri

Bracket 2

2. USC –bye

3. Ohio State –by

11. Boston College at 6. Virginia Tech

10. Texas at 7. Georgia

After the first round, the Quarterfinal Games are set. I’m using a hypothetical here, so don’t get mad. Remember, these are the standing from last season.

Bracket 1

9. Kansas vs. 1. LSU at the Sugar Bowl

5. Oklahoma vs. 4. West Virginia at the Fiesta Bowl

Bracket 2

2. USC vs. 11. Boston College at the Rose Bowl

3. Ohio State vs. 7. Georgia at the Orange Bowl

These games would be played at the current BCS Bowl sites, as indicated. As the Quarterfinals were played, and the Semifinals determined, the Semifinal games would be played at neutral sites, as determined on a rotation basis.

Bracket 1

1. LSU vs. 4. West Virginia at a neutral site

Bracket 2

2. USC vs. 7. Georgia at a neutral site

The National Championship Game would be played at one of the BCS Bowl sites, two weeks after the Quarterfinals. Under my system, and remember, it is my system, so I get to make the rules in this little example, Georgia would face LSU for the National Title.

And Georgia would win.

Now,

For some screaming Injustice time.

It's looking more and more like 2-loss Ohio State (10-2) is going to a BCS Bowl, but that 12-0 Boise State, ranked one spot ahead of Ohio State in the latest BCS Poll, will be lucky to get a berth in the Humanitarian Bowl, played at their own home field. It's just not right.

Good Tidings of Great Joy?

I need Academia.

I never thought I would say those words, but it rings more and more true everyday. I need to be in an Academic setting. It’s where I thrive. This real world stuff just isn’t cutting it.

I did learn a bit of good news, however. Appalachian State has a hope-giving device on their website. Appalachian State is very high on my list of Grad Schools. They have a good History Department, according to Dr. Jespersen, and that means a lot to me. So, back to this hope-giving device…

It’s a mathematical equation. (Don’t fret, Robert, I think we’re both safe.)

It looks like this:

UGPA(x100) + GRE V + GRE Q + GRE W(x100) = 1550

If you multiply your Undergraduate GPA by 100, and multiply your GRE Writing score by 100, then add your actual GRE score to that, so long as it equals a minimum of 1550, you will be considered for admission into the Appalachian State Graduate Program.

For me that equations looks like this:

279+570+570+350=1769

That’s 219 points better. That makes me rather happy. It gives me hope.

Now, if only the money would work itself out.

Football Future-see Week 15

This is it. Our last chance to go 5-0. Let's be honest here, 54-20 on the year is not bad. Some of the guys at ESPN would probably love a record like that. But we strive for perfection here, so we're giving it one last go before bowl season. Oh, and tacked on to the end of this post is our final attempt at Bowl Projections.

(12) Ball State vs. Buffalo - MAC Championship
Buffalo (7-5) is in the MAC Championship Game, something that never happens. The Bulls typically dwell in the NCAA cellar. They've been invited to one bowl game in the 107 year history, and they refused to go, because the Tangerine Bowl, played in Orlando, refused to let the team bring along the two black players they had. Everyone else but those two were invited. Ball State is undefeated and would really like a BCS Bowl, but it doesn't look like that will happen (the BCS would rather have two-loss Ohio State).
Final Score: Ball State 35, Buffalo 14

(1) Alabama vs. (4) Florida - SEC Championship
The Big Game in the SEC. This game will determine one half of the National Championship Game. Florida brings one of the most potent offenses to ever take the field to the Georgia Dome to clash with Alabama's stout defense. I know the old saying is defense wins championships, but I think Florida is too strong for Alabama. Tim Tebow would like to add a second Heisman, but it doesn't look like that will happen, as the Heisman voters are basically enthralled with the Big XII.
Final Score: Florida 28, Alabama 21

(17) Boston College vs (25) Virginia Tech - ACC Championship
The ACC Championship game features two teams outside the top 15, something that rarely happens for a BCS Conference. The Hokies would like another shot at a BCS game after their last trip resulted in a loss to Kansas. Boston College would like to prove that they can win a conference title without Wonderboy Matt Ryan. NOt a high scoring game, as the ACC Title game usually isn't.
Final Score: Boston College 17, Virginia Tech 14

(20) Missouri vs. (2) Oklahoma - Big XII Championship
For the second straight year Oklahoma and Missouri face off for the Big XII Championship. This game is swirling with controversy. Oklahoma jumped Texas in the last BCS rankings, putting the Sooners at No. 2 and the Longhorns at No. 3. They have indentical records, and Texas actually beat Oklahoma by 10 points on a neutral field. Yet Oklahoma, by virtue of the "what-have-you-done-for-me-lately" clause that the voters have in place, jumped Texas and landed in the Big XII Championship Game. This means that Sooners will once again go to a BCS Bowl, and we all know that Bob Stoops, loving nicknamed Spongebob Bowlflop, will lead them to another disappointing loss.
Final Score: Oklahoma 38, Missouri 17

(5) USC at UCLA
This game is for all the marbles in the PAC-10, and it really shouldn't be. Oregon State, by virtue of losing to Oregon, opened the door to the Rose Bowl wide for USC. All the Trojans have to do is beat UCLA and they'll go to Pasadena, at worse. The nightmare scenario is still in place that would put USC in the National Title Game, possibly against Texas. I know, it's crap. UCLA is all that stands between USC and another BCS game.
Final Score: USC 45, UCLA 17


Bowl Projections (We Stand By These)

BCS National Championship Game: Florida vs. Oklahoma
Rose Bowl: USC vs. Penn State
Sugar Bowl: Alabama vs. Utah
Fiesta Bowl: Texas vs. Ohio State
Orange Bowl: Boston College vs. Cincinnati
Capital One Bowl: Georgia vs. Michigan State
Gator Bowl: Nebraska vs. Virginia Tech
Outback Bowl: LSU vs. Iowa
Cotton Bowl: Mississippi vs. Texas Tech
Chick-fil-A Bowl: Georgia Tech vs. South Carolina

The Nightmare Scenario:

A Poem in Non-Rhyming Verse

If Alabama falls to Florida in a very close game,
anything within three points,
and Missouri beats Oklahoma to claim the Big XII title,
then USC, if they beat UCLA soundly,
and Texas, because they're no. 3,
will jump them all and play each other,
and the fans of the SEC will rise as one, and slay the BCS,
because last year they told Georgia that,
even though you're ranked ahead of both teams,
that can play for your conference title,
you cannot play for the National Title,
and the BCS continued by saying,
I know we let Oklahoma play for it one year after losing 35-7,
to a Kansas State team in the conference title game,
and we let Nebraska play for the National Title once,
even though they didn't reach the conference title game,
but they are Big XII, and therefore we like them better as a whole,
and the SEC fans will slay them,
because the winner of the SEC Title should play for the national title,
because they will have only one loss,
and one loss in the SEC is the same as undefeated in any other conference,
for the winner of the SEC should play in the National Title Game,
It will make the Lord grin,
Amen.

It's Finally Over...

Thankfully, the 2008 campaign season in Georgia came to an end last night, with Incumbent Senator Saxby Chambliss staving off Democratic challenger Jim Martin in a run-off election. Chambliss had 57.4% of the vote with 99% of precincts reporting as of this morning. To me, this shows the value of the Libertarian Party in Georgia. Because there was no Libertarian candidate on the ballot in the run-off, most Libertarians (I say most, not all) likely switched their vote to Chambliss, as the Republicans are the closest ideologically to the Libertarians. In the General Election in November, Chambliss netted just under 50% of the vote. Considering that he came close to 4 million votes then, the nearly 8% more he gained this time out just shows the growing popularity of the Libertarian cause.

But that's not what this post is about. Your intrepid Right Wing reporter went out and obtained transcripts of two commercials, one from each candidate, that never hit the air waves.

The first commercial, from the Jim Martin campaign, reveals the depths of depravity these candidates were willing to go to in an effort to gain power. (Trust me, Chambliss doesn't fair any better.)

Saxby Chambliss doesn't have the best interests of Georgians at heart. He voted eighteen times to destroy the ocean. He supported George W. Bush's attempt at drilling for oil in space. He even voted to colonize Pluto, saying that a colony on a Disney character was alright with him. So please, on December 2nd, tell Saxby Chambliss that we don't need his stupidity in Washington. I'm Jim Martin and I approve this message.

Now, from the Chambliss campaign:

Jim Martin's record proves that he is wrong for Georgia. He voted to give himself a $35 million dollar per year pay raise, and he wanted to raise taxes on Middle Class Georgians by over $27 Gajillion dollars. Jim Martin has even gone on record saying that he doesn't believe it's wrong to beat kittens with sticks. And what's with his hair? Honestly, it looks like a squirrel died on his head. I'm Saxby Chambliss and I approve this message.

I gotta tell you, after seeing those transcripts, I'm glad we're not having another run-off.

Joking...

Why did the monkey fall out of the tree?
Because it was dead.
But why did the second monkey fall out of the tree?
Because it was stapled to the first monkey.
So why did the third monkey fall out of the tree?
Peer pressure.

A little boy goes up to his daddy and says "Daddy, is God a man or a woman?"
"God is both," the dad replies.
"Is God black or white?"
"God is both," the dad replies again.
"Is God Michael Jackson?"

Did you hear about the guy who got the entire left half of his body cut off?
Yeah, but he's all right now.

I wish to die peacefully in my sleep, like my grandfather, not panicking, like his passengers.

How many surrealists does it take to change a light bulb?
Fish.

How many psychologists does it take to change a light bulb?
One, but the light bulb has to want to change.

Two fish are in a tank and one fish says to the other, "Do you know how to drive this thing?"

What is the difference between a writer and a park bench?
A park bench can support a family.

Historia, Part X

Clifford walked for three hours before deciding to stop for the night. According to the moon, there was about four hours of darkness left. He dug into his old travel bag and found a think blanket. Nestling against a fallen tree, he covered himself up and went to sleep. Schrodinger sat up as a watch against whatever animal or man might try to interfere in Clifford’s slumber.

Clifford stirred at first light. He brought out some of the remaining turkey meat he had, and ate that cold with some cheese, drinking water from the uphill-flowing river. He gathered his things, the guitar, old travel bag, and, with bundle shouldered, he started walking again. Schrodinger slept most of the time in the bundle.

Clifford walked, leaving Brigadier General Israel Putnam and the mysterious King’s Valley far behind. The land he traveled through gradually changed. The semi-desert-forest he’d encountered when he’d met Putnam (felt like days ago, was only the night before) gave way to a full-fledged forest. The Forest, after only an hour’s walk, became sparse and Clifford Jenkins, no longer sure if he was anywhere near as sensible as any man of 40 years, found himself in a meadow.

He crossed it at a brisk pace, wanting to reach Historia as soon as possible. Glancing behind him, toward the Mountains of Antiquity, he saw the snow-capped peaks rising above the forest. Somewhere back there was his family, wondering where he’d gone. Luckily he’d never married. Just never felt like it. He could see the sun glistening off the icy white tops of the mountains, and he was glad he’d come the way he had. The King’s Valley was infinitely easier to cross than the mountain pass would ever have been.

It was midday when Clifford tapped the bundle-stick and caused the mouse to scamper out, “What?”

“Look.”

They stood atop a high hill, and below them, in the dale, was a large farm, windmill turning slowly in the breeze, green grass turning to brown before their eyes. Schrodinger gasped. Clifford glanced at him, and then looked back at the farm.

The mouse jumped off the stick and onto Clifford’s shoulder, “This must be the farm of Pepperidge.”

Clifford unshouldered the bundle, dropped his old travel bag, and sat down in the grass, ready to play guitar for a bit and break the monotony of his journey, “You know, this land keeps getting stranger and stranger.”

Schrodinger settled onto his haunches next to Clifford and grinned (I know, I’ve told you that a sighing mouse is hilarious, a grinning mouse, though, is quite possibly the most serious thing ever seen. It’s anti-hilarity.) The mouse ran a fore-paw through his whiskers, “So what’re you going to play? Know anything Celtic?”

Clifford blinked, searching his own mind, “What’s Celtic?”

Schrodinger waved him off, “Nevermind. Play, my boy. Play.”

Clifford strummed once, a D-minor, and then began singing softly,
“Fill to me the parting glass,
And drink to health, what may befall,
Then gently rise, and softly call,
goodnight and joy be to you all.”

Schrodinger sat in silence until Clifford’s chorus was over, “You know that’s Celtic, right?”

Clifford leveled the guitar in his lap, “I know that it’s how we say goodbye to those we lose in Nostalgia. Tradition, I guess.”

Schrodinger laughed, “I think we should get going, Clifford. We can probably get some food at Pepperidge. Historia isn’t much farther.”

Clifford stood up, got up his things, and started walking again. His path took him to the farm, just as he knew it would. Somehow, he knew deep in his mind, he couldn’t avoid the farm. He could walk all the way around it, and over the next hill, and there the farm would be, waiting for him. Strange land.

On the porch of the farmhouse sat an older white man, “You need somethin’, boy?”

Clifford frowned, “Why does everyone keep calling me boy, I’m forty years old.”

The old man stood, grabbed a cane, and hobbled to him, “I’m Henry, but you can call me Hank if you want to. Some do, some don’t.”

“Clifford Jenkins, from Nostalgia.”

The old man grinned brightly, “Nostalgia, huh? Margaret, did you hear that? Nostalgia!”

A woman who looked to be in her late sixties came out on the porch, “You’re from Nostalgia? You have to eat with us tonight and tell us about it? Last I heard Nostalgia was a ghost town. That’s what Jamie said, and he’s a mail-boy from Historia, he wouldn’t lie.”

Clifford sat his travel bag on the porch, “The town isn’t deserted, trust me. I won’t say your mail-boy lied to you, though. He may have been told wrong.”

Henry looked at Margaret (Clifford assumed they were married) and said, “Go on and fix supper. I’m gonna show the boy around, then we’ll eat. Make some cookies too.”

She retreated back into the house. Clifford stepped back, leaving his travel bag and bundle on the porch, but keeping his guitar on his back. He looked up at the house, a two-story white building with little doghouses on the roof. Henry stepped off the porch and took Clifford by the elbow, “You didn’t run into Old Put, did you?”

“Who is Old Put?” Clifford, asked, realizing halfway through his question that Henry was referring to Israel Putnam, “Oh yes, I did.”

Henry stepped forward heavily, his cane sinking into the think grass, “He tried to recruit you for his war against the Valley, didn’t he? Took two of my boys out there. Said Historia needed them to fight back the outside, whatever that means.”

Clifford nodded, “We passed through the King’s Valley, and got no trouble while we were there.”

“Who’s we?” Henry asked.

Clifford suddenly thought of the bundle, and was about to move for it, when Schrodinger moved, revealing himself to be on Clifford’s shoulder. Clifford pointed up, “This is Schrodinger, the mouse.”

Henry offered a polite wave, then pointed to the guitar, “You play that thing, Cliff?”

Clifford nodded, “Yup. Been playing since I was nine.”

Henry smiled, “Great. That’s our after-supper music, then. Now, let me show you the rest of the farm. Oh, and you’re mouse may want to hide when we reach the barn. I got eighteen barn-cats would love him for dinner.”

Clifford chuckled and looked over at Schrodinger, who wore a horrified expression. Clifford lifted a finger and lightly poked the mouse on the side, “What’s wrong, Schrodinger? Cat got your tongue?”

Schrodinger’s expression went from horrified to downright offended, “That’s a horrible thing to say, Clifford Jenkins. A cat actually got my uncle’s tongue. It’s not a pretty sight. He can’t talk now.”

Henry was tapping his cane on the ground, “Did your mouse just talk?”

“He’s not exactly mine, if you take my meaning,” Clifford said, “And yeah, I was shocked when I found out. Turns out he’s pretty smart.”

Henry pointed to the barn, “Don’t I know it? All eighteen of my cats can talk.”

37 Posts in November

It's certainly been a banner month here at the Right Wing. We've clocked out at a whopping 37 blog posts for the month. That's including the one you're reading now.

37.

That's a lot. It far and away breaks any heretofore records we held for blogging proficiency. Robert over at Skewed came in at 32, I think. Either way, we kind of pushed each other along on this wild and wacky month of blogging. I churned out 5 posts on nothing but Formula 1, something I had never blogged about before this year. That's roughly one out of every sevens posts. Not even Robert has ever written so much about Formula 1.

And of course we had the unmitigated disaster of failing to go 5-0 on the Football Future-see for the entire month, nay, the entire season. One more week to get it right.

So, 37 posts. You'll probably never see this much writing on this blog ever again. I hope you enjoyed it.

Robert, I'm basically talking to you, I think you're my only reader at this point.

Historia, Part IX

The fact that he hadn’t heard an explosion since leaving Carnacabidos didn’t cross Clifford’s mind until an explosion went off about five hundred feet to his left. He was nearly to the high rock wall that marked the western end of the King’s Valley. (It also never crossed his mind that he had followed the river then entire way and had yet to come across any of the buildings he’d seen upon entering the Valley. He would remember this one afternoon sitting on a park bench in Historia, facing a thirty foot section of railroad track that was in the middle of a grassy field, unconnected to any other track.)

He rushed for the wall and found cover under it as another explosion went off near where he’d been standing moments before. Schrodinger scampered out of the bundle, “Was that more explosions?”

Clifford glanced sideways at the mouse, “I thought you said that humans couldn’t blow stuff up anymore?”

The mouse looked to be in deep thought for a brief moment, “Well, obviously I was wrong.”

Clifford waited for the explosions to stop, and then began looking for a way to climb the rock wall. He found what looked like rough-hewn steps leading in a haphazard way up the cliff face and a bit on an angle. The climb didn’t take as long as Clifford had figured it would, and he credited that to the Historians, whatever the crap they were doing.

At the top he found himself confronted by four men carrying guns. At least, Clifford thought they were guns. He’d seen pictures at the University of guns from different time periods, but these were either older or newer, Clifford couldn’t tell which.

“Stop! Who are you?”

Clifford looked at the man who spoke. His uniform differed a bit from the others. (I forgot to mention, they’re all in uniforms. We would instantly recognize them as the ragtag uniforms of soldiers in General Washington’s Continental Army, but Clifford didn’t know what the Continental Army was, or who General Washington was.)

“I’m Clifford Jenkins, and I’m going to Historia. Who are you?”

The man drew himself up into a regality that Clifford knew he did not possess, but was merely able to replicate by imitation, “I am Brigadier General Israel Putnam. I am tasked with war.”

Clifford pulled himself the rest of the way up off the stairs, hands raised to show he was not a threat. He took a quick inventory of his situation. It was suddenly night, when three feet below him it was bright as mid-afternoon. He looked at the tired-looking, rugged soldiers of Putnam’s camp. “And who are you at war with?”

Putnam looked indignant, “That Valley, obviously.”

“Well, I’d say you’re winning. The sand won’t put up much of a fight.”

A tiny voice sounded in Clifford’s ear, and he realized that Schrodinger was once again on his shoulder, “Um, Clifford, look behind you.”

Clifford turned and saw that the Valley below was lined with encampments. The soldier below wielded clubs, spears and swords, and were dressed in simple skirts and what looked like elaborate headdresses.

“Oh,” Clifford muttered, “That’s who you’re fighting.” He maintained his gaze at the valley, but spoke only loud enough for Schrodinger to hear him, “How did we not see any of that?”

The mouse replied, “I wish I could tell you.”

As Clifford turned around, he heard Brigadier General Putnam begin to bellow orders, “Alright boys! Load up another IckBem, let’s give those sandies what they deserve!”

Clifford watched as a cylinder was loaded onto a catapult. Along the side, in bright blue letters, was written ICBM. The catapult released and flung the cylinder far out into the Valley. When it struck the ground a plume of dust and sand shot up, but nothing else happened.

“Crap!” Putnam screamed, “Another dud.”

Then the explosion hit. The IckBem went off with terrifying brightness. Bodies flew into the air and sand went in all directions. Clifford even noticed the Evergreen tree he’d been sitting under earlier eating the turkey fly off into the night.

Schrodinger spoke, “I think we need to leave, Clifford. This is not a place we need to be.”

“I agree.”

Putnam spun on his heels, “You agree with who, Jenkins? Don’t think you’re leaving. You’re not a sandie, that means you fight with us.”

Clifford shook his head, “Oh, no! I’m not a sandie, but I’m not one of you either. I’m from Nostalgia, on the eastern side of the King’s Valley, unaffiliated with any but their own.”

Putnam picked up a gun and shoved it into Clifford’s hands, “I’d like to believe you, Jenkins, I really would. But we can’t let those sandies get out of the Valley.”

Clifford deftly avoided the gun, “But they can just leave out of the Eastern side, can’t they?”

Brigadier General Israel Putnam paused for a moment, “By golly, you’re right. We’ll need to form an expeditionary force to go to the east side and give those sandies the whuppin’ they deserve.”

Clifford blinked, “What did they do to deserve such a beating?”

The General laughed, “You don’t know? They walk funny, son. They walk funny.”

Clifford turned and walked away. The General’s face turned bright red, “Hey! No one walks away from Brigadier General Israel Putnam! No one!”

Clifford offered a genteel wave, which further incensed the General.

Putnam screamed, “I’ll see you again, Jenkins!”

Clifford kept walking, “And when you do I’ll be the one with the talking mouse.”

Putnam turned back to his battle, “Talking mouse? Gall-dang, that is one stupid boy.”

Football Future-see Week 14 Recap

Record
Week 1 .... 6-1
Week 2 .... 4-1
Week 3 .... 3-2
Week 4 .... 4-1
Week 5 .... 3-3
Week 6 .... 3-2
Week 7 .... 4-2
Week 8 .... 4-1
Week 9 .... 4-1
Week 10 ... 4-1
Week 11 ... 4-1
Week 12 ... 4-1
Week 13 ... 4-1
Week 14 ... 3-2
Overall .... 54-20

We just can't do it. We cannot have a perfect week. We feel even farther this time around, dropping two games instead of just one. After watching this last week, I'm beginning to wonder about a few things:

1. Apparently, no one besides Alabama wanted to play defense last week.
2. Can anyone tell me how Georgia Tech lost three games this year? Their offense is one of the most impressive things I've ever seen. They threw the ball three times, and racked up 45 points on Georgia.
3. I'm losing faith in the PAC-10.
4. I never had faith in the Big East.
5. If USC makes the National Title game over the SEC Champion of the Big XII Champion, I'll probably stop watching college football.

Week 15 Games

(12) Ball State vs. Buffalo - MAC Championship

(1) Alabama vs. (4) Florida - SEC Championship

(17) Boston College vs (25) Virginia Tech - ACC Championship

(20) Missouri vs. (2) Oklahoma - Big XII Championship

(5) USC at UCLA

Historia, Part VIII

Clifford gathered his things, hoisted the guitar and strapped it to his back, and then shouldered the bundle, complete with Schrodinger inside. As they started once again walking toward Historia, Schrodinger scurried down the bundle-stick and landed on Clifford’s shoulder, near his ear.

“What now?” Clifford asked, a trifle annoyed.

“I just want you to think about something that just happened.”

“What? The old guy... er, woman... crone... thing? The fireplace? The sandstorm?”

Schrodinger gave an exasperated sigh (I’m telling you, a mouse sighing, funniest thing on the planet), “You asked the person how they knew your name before they had said it.”

Clifford paused, then kept walking, “What about it?”

Schrodinger tapped on his shoulder with a rapidly moving paw, and for a moment Clifford couldn’t tell if the mouse was annoyed or it was scratching, “Clifford, how could he or she have known your name? And how could you know that they knew your name?”

Clifford Jenkins, probably a little less sensible now than most men of 40 years, tapped a finger on the bundle-stick, “I’m more concerned with you, my friend. Why was that person so afraid?”

Schrodinger started back up the bundle-stick and toward his makeshift home, “Stop under the tree over this next sand dune. We’ll talk in the shade.”

Clifford shook his head and began the climb up the fairly imposing sand dune. As he crested it, he saw the tree Schrodinger was referring to, a monstrous Evergreen, the sand around it littered with pine cones and needles.

He sat his belongings down and made his way to the river. He gathered some water in a canteen he’d brought along. Looking slightly up river (or is it down river... river’s aren’t supposed to run uphill, how the crap is one supposed to know where to go?) Clifford saw a bird drinking water. Clifford’s first thought was a brief thanks to whatever god or gods had seen fit to put a bird in his path.

It took a moment for him to catch the bird, which he realized was a turkey. (Let me say here that if you’ve never seen a 40-year-old man wrestle a turkey to the death, well, it’s on par funny with a sighing mouse.) It took him the better part of two hours to de-feather and clean the bird, before using the dried pine-needles to start a fire. He took the feathers and entrails (I know, ick!) and tossed them in the river, where they flowed downhill while the water continued flowing uphill. He thought this odd for only a second until his hunger got the better of his curiosity. He cooked the turkey and, using the block of cheese and the dried meat jerky he’d brought, prepared himself a small feast.

“What?” Schrodinger said, scampering from the bundle, “You’re not going to share?”

Clifford cocked his head to the side, more puzzled than ever, “If I know anything, I know that mice don’t eat meat.”

“And I can talk, something else mice can’t do. What does that tell you about me?”

Clifford nodded and slid some of the cooked meat over to his mousy friend, “So let’s talk?”

Schrodinger swallowed a bite of the turkey meat and rested back on his haunches, “Look around you, Clifford Jenkins. You are from the town of Nostalgia, which is in a mountainous area, trees like this, right? So how is it that a desert valley is less than a day’s walk away from you? How is a pine tree in the desert? How does a river run uphill?”

Clifford had stopped eating when Schrodinger started talking, “I don’t know. I mean, I’m trying to figure out what the gall-dang crap I’m doing out here. One night I’m sitting in Timey’s bar, playing guitar like usual, the next morning I’ve decided that I have to reach Historia come Hell or high water. I packed a bunch of crap that’ll run out in about two days.”

Schrodinger laughed (again, hilarious), “Have you not also noticed that this is still the same day as when you entered the King’s Valley? We’ve traveled probably eighty miles, three days walking, carrying the amount you’re carrying, and yet it’s only taken us a day and a half. We entered the King’s Valley only three hours ago, as the Sun reckons.”

Clifford looked up for the first time since entering the Valley and saw rain clouds overhead, “It feels like we’ve been here for days.”

Schrodinger quickly swallowed another bite of turkey meat, “Historia is in chaos. The parts of the city are rebelling against themselves. The Vikings keep pushing Guevara’s guerillas even farther back, the Inquisition has actually reached the Smithsonian, and the Vatican has been turned into a giant gift shop. Father Time is ill, he’ll probably die soon.”

Clifford finally broke from his thoughtful reverie (he didn’t know who the Vikings or the Guevara’s gorilla’s were, nor did he have any idea about an Inquisition, a Smith’s On Yan, or the Vat-a-Can, but he did know what a gift shop was) and grabbed another bite of the turkey before Schrodinger ate it all, “And that has what to do with me?”

Schrodinger popped another bit of cheese into his mouth, and after seconds of chewing, spoke around the bits still in his mouth, “Clifford, I have no idea. But if I had my guess, I’d say you’re not the only one making a journey to Historia for no apparent reason.”

Clifford leaned back against the tree and instantly regretted it, the sap momentarily gluing him to the trunk, “So let’s get back to you. What are you?”

Schrodinger had already started withdrawing to the bundle, “Me? I’m a mouse. Just a mouse. Oh, and I can talk. Big whoop. Let’s go. We’ll be out of the King’s Valley soon. Don’t be surprised if time goes all wibbly-wobbly on you.”

Clifford took the pseudo-warning in stride and began cleaning up his temporary campsite. The rainclouds finally broke into a torrential downpour that made walking along the sandy valley floor even harder. Clifford stopped at a rocky outcropping and rummaged through his old travel bag for a moment. He pulled out a hat with the letters NY on it, something his granpappy had given him years ago. Another talisman.

He trudged on through the mud. After hours of walking, he finally saw the high rock wall that made up the west end of the King’s Valley.

Turkey Day 2008: a Smorgasbord

Synopsis of the Year:
Thanksgiving this year crept up on me. Seriously, two days ago I'm at work, talking to my boss, and I look over at the calendar and say "Holy crap, Thanksgiving is Thursday! Where did the year go?"

This year has flown by. Granted, they say time flies when you're having fun, and while some parts of this year were fun, others downright sucked. I've been on the cusp of greatness, only to be pulled back into the miry abyss that is life in North Georgia.

This year I started my final semester of my undergraduate career and subsequently graduated college with a Bachelor of Arts in English Writing. Then I decided that Grad School would be a fantastic thing. So I signed up for the GRE, took the test, and knocked it out of the park. Since then, I've been brought down a few levels thanks to a sucky economy in which someone who blatantly plans to screw the system can get by with it, but the people who are honestly trying to make it in life can't.

Yeah, it's been a crazy year.

Along with the academic changes, I've found my taste in pretty much everything changing. From sports to politics, music to books, I can actually say that I feel like I've grown this year.

Random Points: (this is the smorgasbord part)
1. Thanksgiving, in terms of sports, is supposed to offer good NFL football. Every year the Detroit Lions and the Dallas Cowboys play host to another team on Thanksgiving day. Problem is, Detroit sucks. They were 0-11 going into today's game against 10-1 Tennessee. Detroit accordingly got blown out 47-10. Dallas, who was 7-4 going into their game against 2-9 Seattle, dismantled the Seahawk defense, winning 34-9.

2. I saw that the federal government was preparing to inject $20 Billion into Citigroup. That's $20,000,000,000 for those of you playing the home game. Citigroup, though is preparing to layoff 53,000 people nationwide. The government's giving them $20 Billion, and they're laying people off. The worst part is this: Citi is receiving $20 Billion from the fed, but they're still planning to pay $400 million (that's $400,000,000) to get the naming rights to the new baseball stadium for the New York Mets. All I'm saying is, if the government is giving you $20 billion, then you should at least withdraw your name from buying $400 million worth of naming rights.

3. A few points on the rule changes for Formula 1.
a. With the new front wing design, drivers will be allowed twice per lap to change the angle of the wing.
b. The KERS system will be used to recycle kinetic energy from braking back into the engine. By using a "boost button" the driver can unleash this energy and gain 80 additional horsepower for 7 seconds. It doesn't sound like much, but it can mean a difference of tenths of a second in time, which is huge in F1
c. The new car design will lessen down force. The cars might not run as fast, but it should make overtaking a little easier, or at least a more regular occurrence.
d. Bernie Eccelstone's idea of awarding medals to the winners of races is preposterous. Former team owner Eddie Jordan has roundly criticized the idea, saying it would be the deathknell of the smaller teams, like Force India and (at this point) Williams.

4. Barack Obama has created the Office of the President Elect. I'm trying to give him the benefit of the doubt, but doing stuff like this is very egomaniacal.

That's it kids! Have a great Thanksgiving evening. Avoid all that Post-Turkey Day Exertion. Pray for those who will be out and about on Black Friday.

Until next time...

A Possible Travesty...

Something horrible is shaping up in college football this season. The USC Trojans have a chance to play for the National Title. Normally, this wouldn’t bother me so much, but as it stands now, USC cannot win the PAC-10.

You see, last season Georgia was the hottest team in the country. After early season losses to South Carolina and Tennessee, Georgia dominated every game they played, and they were ranked higher than LSU and Tennessee, who would meet for the SEC Championship. Georgia was told that, because they would not be playing for their Conference Championship, they could not play for the National Championship, which to me makes sense, I can understand that.

But now, USC is ranked higher than Oregon State. If Oregon State wins out, they win the PAC-10 and play in the Rose Bowl against Penn State. But a nightmare situation exists where Alabama loses the SEC Championship to Florida, and the Big XII South winner (most likely Oklahoma) loses the Big XII Championship to Missouri. Should these things happen, and we all know that they can, the National Title Game would conceivably feature USC against Florida.

Don’t get me wrong, USC/Florida would be a fabulous game, but I believe it would seriously damage the integrity of NCAA Football to tell a team one year that, because you didn’t win your conference you cannot play for the National Championship, and then the next year a team is rewarded for not winning their conference.

Football Future-See Week 14

This whole constant denial of perfection thing is really beginning to wear thin. C’mon, another 4-1 week. What do we have to do?

Notre Dame at (5) USC
Notre Dame just lost to Syracuse, the first time ever that the Irish have lost to a team with 8 losses. The initial points spread for this game is 29 in favor of USC. That seems about right. The Trojans are trying to make a case that they belong in the National Title game, or at least in a BCS Bowl. You’ll see no mercy from the men of Troy in this game.
Final Score: USC 48, Notre Dame 10

(3) Oklahoma at (12) Oklahoma State
Oklahoma dismantled Texas Tech last week, hanging 65 points on the Red Raiders, a team that beat Oklahoma State 55-20. Oklahoma is looking for the top spot in the BCS come bowl time, and a win over the Cowboys would put them over the top. Sam Bradford needs a big game to propel his Heisman hopes.
Final Score: Oklahoma 42, Oklahoma State 21

(22) Georgia Tech at (11) Georgia
Recently a friend asked me if I was afraid of the Tech game, and I said, “Well… I am, and I’m not.” Georgia Tech played like a team possessed against Miami, racking up 472 rushing yards. Their only problem is that one week Tech will look masterful on the field, and the next week they look like a typical ACC team, on-again-off-again. Georgia, meanwhile, has had two weeks to recuperate, getting healthy for the final game. Georgia is poised for a Capital One Bowl berth, likely against Ohio State, which would fulfill part of our prophecy (we predicted Georgia over Ohio State, just not in the Capital One Bowl).
Final Score: Georgia 24, Georgia Tech 21

(23) Oregon at (17) Oregon State
Oregon State needs to win out to play in the Rose Bowl against Penn State. They got a chance, playing rival Oregon at home. The Badgers running back, Jacquizz Rodgers, is electrifying to watch. The ground game will be of utmost importance to Oregon State, if they want the PAC-10 Title.
Final Score: Oregon State 20, Oregon 14

Auburn at (1) Alabama
The Iron Bowl. Auburn has won five straight meetings, but Alabama has been setting the pace for football teams this year. Auburn might be looking for a new coach, as Tommy Tuberville’s future with the team is uncertain. Coach Saban has Alabama controlling its own destiny concerning the BCS National Championship Game. The Crimson Tide will control both sides of the line in this contest.
Final Score: Alabama 38, Auburn 13

Historia, Part VII

The most surprising aspect of the sandstorm was the suddenness of its arrival. Clifford took shelter in one of the ruined buildings. He could see nothing beyond the old glass windows except a sand-colored wall. For all he knew, the sand had completely covered the ruined city.

Schrodinger had left the bundle, and Clifford’s presence, presumably to handle his business, as Clifford knew a mouse would have to do. He decided, while waiting, to explore the building.

The first floor was empty, and the creaking wooden stairs that led to the second floor gave Clifford an incredibly uncomfortable feeling. He reached the top, and realized he could smell smoke, something that he hadn’t smelled since the campfire that... well, it seemed like a long time ago, but it was just last night. Come to think of it, the day hadn’t changed since he’d reached the King’s Valley. What were those Historians up to this time?

The smoke had to be investigated. One couldn’t stay in a burning building. He found a small fire burning in a fireplace, and before wondering who had built it, he wondered what fuel they had used. The only wood he’d seen was the stairs, wooden in a stone building, and they were intact.

“Hey!” The voice came from behind him. “What’re you doing here? The Valley’s closed. No one should be here!”

Clifford had spun upon hearing the voice, “I’m going to Historia.”

The voice belonged to a wretched old being, aged beyond the ability to distinguish male or female features. It pointed a fragile finger at Clifford, “You have to leave! The Valley is closed.”

Clifford scoffed, “It’s not a shop, old one. I can come and go as I please. How do you know my name?”

The old thing laughed, “I know much, Clifford Jenkins. Much that you cannot comprehend. I know that once great wars were fought across the entire world. I know that science once understood that everything came from nothing in one moment of pure explosive exquisiteness.”

Clifford shook his head, “Yeah, I learned those things at University. World Wars One through Eight, Creation. I know it all. Now I need to get back downstairs, get my things, and get ready to leave.”

“And go where, Clifford Jenkins?”

Clifford, who had already turned to leave, spun back around, “I told you, I’m going to Historia.”

The elder raised both hands, trying to scare Clifford into retreat, “No! Historia is closed to you. You must run away, Clifford Jenkins. You cannot stay here. The Valley is not yours.”

“Right, and who exactly is going to stop me from passing through the valley?”

The ancient thing moved closer, “You have no weapon to threaten me, Clifford Jenkins. Your Swedish Navy Knife is naught but a trinket.”

“He has me!” Schrodinger shouted, (again, a mouse vocalizing anything is funny, a mouse shouting, darned hilarious) leaping up onto Clifford’s shoulder.

The thing withdrew in abject terror, “A mouse. Progenitor of the Experiment.”

Clifford tilted his head like he’d once seen his pet dog Scruffy do. He was puzzled.

The ancient being continued talking, “I’ve read of you, demon mouse. In the Book Place of Alex and Rhea. One wrote of you, the genesis of the great experiment. You’re to blame, demon!”

Clifford left the thing to writhe in its own fear. He walked back down the steps, trying to figure out how to ask Schrodinger about that last exchange.

“Before you ask,” Schrodinger said, saving him the trouble of asking, “I know what that person was talking about. Years upon untold years ago, a fiction was writ about mice, stating that we had created all things as an experiment.”

Clifford nodded, “Makes sense.”

Schrodinger gave him the most puzzled look a mouse could muster, “Seriously?”

“No, not seriously! You’re a mouse, a gall-danged mouse! How is that supposed to make any sense?”

Schrodinger shrugged a little mousy shrug, “The Book Place of Alex and Rhea. Must be local gods, and the Book Place is what you would call a Library. But no book has been written for centuries.”

Clifford sighed, and looked outside. The sandstorm had passed. But the river still flowed uphill, he was still traveling with a talking mouse, and he still, for some ungodly reason, had to reach Historia.

Historia, Part VI

The plume of smoke rose from a few miles down river from where Clifford stood on a rocky ledge. Schrodinger poked his head out of the bundle, “What was that?”

“An explosion.”

Schrodinger gave a puzzled sigh, “Right, you people haven’t been able to blow anything up for the last three hundred years.”

Clifford looked over at his furry companion, “And you know that how?”

The mouse withdrew into the bundle and Clifford began the slow, somewhat agonizing climb to the valley floor. They reached the bottom fairly quickly, and when Clifford looked back up the way they had come, he saw a rock wall far steeper than what they had climbed down. Just what were those Historians up to?

The sandy floor of the King’s Valley was, as Clifford noted upon reaching it, was a gradual incline, which surprise him, because the river ran uphill. He reshouldered his bundle and began trudging through the sand. The heat on the valley floor was oppressive, and the sun glare from the crystalline sand-grain was blinding.

It was quiet also, so quiet that Clifford thought he could hear his guitar strings contracting under the burdensome heat.

Ahead stood the ruins of Carnacabidos, once great city of the King’s Valley. Once ruled by the Historians, but free from their tyranny by a rebel leader the elders called Pharaoh. No other name was given for this ruler. Well, that’s how Clifford had leaned it at the only school in Nostalgia, The University.

Trick with the University was that there were no grade-levels. The youngest classmate Clifford had while attending had been four years old, the eldest thirty-two. You left the University when the teacher declared you ready to enter the real world.

Clifford Jenkins stopped on the outskirts of Carnacabidos, kneeling beneath a palm tree. He pulled some of the dried meat, the jerky, from his old travel bag and chewed on it vigorously. He drank water from the river, and sliced off some cheese for Schrodinger, who at least had the sheltering shade of the bundle to stay cool.

After this brief respite, Clifford began moving again, this time into the heart of the old ruins. He thought back to his life in Nostalgia, a life he’d left for no reason other than a sudden desire to go to Historia. He thought of his home. His mother and father, both still living, and probably wondering just where on God’s green earth their son had gone.

“I probably should’ve left a note, or something,” Clifford thought aloud. His statement responded to by none.

From far away, far beyond where Clifford Jenkins could see, another explosion echoed across the valley.

“What was that?” Schrodinger cried, emerging from the bundle and scampering to Clifford’s shoulder.

“Another explosion.”

“I’m telling you, Cliff, that’s impossible. Explosives are gone, dried up, kapoof under the sun.”

Clifford paused and examined the mouse out of the corner of his eye, “And I’m telling you that no mouse can talk, so what are you?”

Schrodinger snickered, “I... I am going back to the bundle. Have fun with your walk.”

Clifford waited patiently as the mouse clambered back into the bundle, “How did I end up with you? Little furry freak.”

“I heard that!”

Football Future-see Week 13 Recap

Record
Week 1 .... 6-1
Week 2 .... 4-1
Week 3 .... 3-2
Week 4 .... 4-1
Week 5 .... 3-3
Week 6 .... 3-2
Week 7 .... 4-2
Week 8 .... 4-1
Week 9 .... 4-1
Week 10 ... 4-1
Week 11 ... 4-1
Week 12 ... 4-1
Week 13 ... 4-1
Overall .... 51-18

Week 14 Games
Notre Dame at (5) USC
(3) Oklahoma at (12) Oklahoma State
(22) Georgia Tech at (11) Georgia
(23) Oregon at (17) Oregon State
Auburn at (1) Alabama

Here comes more of that F1 crap again...

I was perusing a site Robert recommended to me, when I came across a story claiming that Formula 1 was looking at a new qualifying structure for next season. Let me first describe how the drivers qualified in 2008. Qualifying Session 1 (Q1) would see all twenty drivers on the track, with the slowest five eliminated after a set period of time. These drivers would, barring penalty to any of the non-eliminated drivers, claim the bottom five starting spots on the grid. Q2 saw the next five slowest drivers eliminated, and these drivers took spots 11-15. Q3 saw the last ten drivers battle it out for the pole position. I think this system far outweighs the NASCAR style of qualifying, where a driver goes out and gets two laps to score the fastest time. No traffic to contend with, just the driver, car, and track. At least F1 makes the driver work a little harder for position.

But now I read that the governing body of Formula 1 is considering a change to qualifying, where all twenty drivers would go out under the same fuel loads, with the slower drivers being eliminated until the last six remained. Then those six drivers would pit, take on new tyres and fuel, and go back out to battle for the pole. Along with this rule change, is the suggestion that a driver should be award one point in the championship standings just for winning the pole. Much like the new Aero Package, I think I'd have to see this in practice to know if I like it or not.

As for the proposed F1 rule that I can't stand, I have one thing to say: What the crap is Bernie Eccelstone smoking?

Bernie wants to award medals next season to the podium drivers. Winner gets gold, second get silver, etc. much like the Olympics. At the end of the season, the driver with the most gold medals is the World Champion. If we did this in other sports, well last year's NFL champion would've been New England, the MLB champion would've been the Los Angeles Angels, and the NCAA football champion would've been the Hawai'i Warriors (they were the best undefeated team).

Let's call this what it is: stupidty. Bernie's plan awards flash and pizzaz, and if that is what F1 wants to be about then no one else should be allowed to drive other than Fernando Alonso. Kimi Raikkonen, (Mumbles) would never be allowed near a track again.

No, the points system doesn't need to change. The current structure rewards consistency throughout a season, not just winning. That's what racing is about, consistency and stamina.

Historia, Part V

“What’s the matter with you?” Schrodinger said.

“You can talk?” Clifford stammered, the Swedish Navy knife shaking clumsily in his hand.

“Yeah, well imagine our surprise at finding out humans could talk...” the mouse trailed of and turned his attention back to the cheese sliver before him.

Clifford stared off toward where the constellation Hendrix was crashing into the horizon, “A talking mouse,” he repeated several times, each in a slightly higher pitch of voice than the last.

Schrodinger scampered up onto Clifford’s knee after finishing his cheese, “Look, Cliff, we both know you’re shocked. But the King’s Valley isn’t getting any closer with us sitting here.”

Clifford swallowed and looked down at the mouse, “Yeah... you’re right... so, let’s... oh, for Pete’s sake! For a gall-dang talkin’ mouse!”

Schrodinger sighed (and let me just say that if you’ve never heard a mouse sigh, you have no idea how funny it actually is) and jumped off Clifford’s knee, “Look, I’m getting back in the bundle, mostly ‘cause it’s warm. Now get up! We’ve got ground to cover.”

Clifford Jenkins, sensible as any man of 40 years, forced himself up from his sitting position and gathered his goods. The King’s Valley was a day’s walk if he maintained a reasonable pace.

* * * *

Clifford kept a less-than-reasonable pace, mostly because he was still reeling from the talking mouse episode, but he reached the entrance to the King’s Valley by mid-afternoon. Maybe those Historians were helping him out.

But as he looked out across the valley entrance, and the city of Carnacabidos (Anyone familiar with Egyptian history will know the names Karnak and Abydos, but let’s not kid ourselves, when the crapper-crashing world needed to scapegoat Columbus, they probably invented Egypt out of spite. Honestly, who in their right mind builds an empire in the desert?) Clifford Jenkins realized that it was likely that the Historians were rushing him toward his doom.

The valley wasn’t so much the lush oasis he’d envisioned from the stories of the old timers, of which only his Granpappy had been leery of the inhabitants thereof. The King’s Valley was a desert. Oddly enough, a dark blue ribbon ran through the desert. That’s the river, Clifford thought, Granpappy always said that the river lead to Historia.

Small cubes dotted the valley floor along both sides of the river, and it took Clifford’s brain a moment to work out the scale and realize that these small cubes were actually buildings. Some glittering in the mid-afternoon sun, gold plated if the ancient tales were true. (Who knew if any tales were true in these days.)

Clifford began to climb down the sidewall of the valley entrance. He could see the city of Carnacabidos, or rather what looked like the ruins of the city, below him probably three hundred feet, that would at least get him to the valley floor and further along his journey.

He stopped on a ledge, and just stood admiring the ancient craftsmanship that had built the city of Carnacabidos, and after a moment Clifford realized something that had yet to occur to him: there was no sound.

No people. No animals. No boats on the river. No birds. The King’s Valley was dead.

That’s when he heard the first explosion.

Historia, Part IV

Clifford awoke about an hour before sunrise, but it felt like a much longer night. As he shook his head to ward of sleep, he felt strands of matted hair hit the sides of his face. Perhaps the night had been years long, dang the Historians!

Time was when the people of Nostalgia never had to worry about Father Time and his minions causing trouble. They were, so the elders said, once a group of monks who just stared at clocks all day. The higher level masters of the order, it was said, could cause a clock to run backward just by looking at it.

Clifford had once caused a clock to run backward, but it was more the result of playing catch in the house with his older brother. And dang had his granpappy been mad about that. This was, obviously, before ‘the cough’ ever claimed Granpappy and forced Clifford into his ‘death watch.’

Clifford Jenkins pushed himself up off the dead tree stump and walked over to a small row of bushes. It was there that he did his business, as any man would in the wild. He walked back to his makeshift camp and sat close to the remnants of the fire. A little stoking and prodding brought forth a small flame, and Clifford warmed his hands over it before deciding what route to take that day. The mountain pass would be difficult, as the snows were already falling. The King’s Valley would be the easiest way, but Clifford really didn’t like the people who lived there. They walked funny, or at least that’s how is Granpappy had put it.

He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and brought out two dice. He looked over that the fire again, “Alright, little flame, you’re my witness. Evens and I go to the mountain pass, odds and I take the King’s Valley.” He blew on the dice three times for luck and blessing, then cast them over against the dead tree stump.

Nine. King’s Valley it was.

Clifford stood and brushed off his pants. He pulled the jacket tighter around himself, forcefully thinking away the cool morning air.

He looked off to the west and saw the constellation Hendrix dipping to the horizon. Of course, in our time we didn’t call it Hendrix, we called it Orion, but mythology had be rewritten, lost, written, and then replaced by the people many times over from the time we first chronicled it to the time Clifford Jenkins awoke from a long slumber against a dead tree stump. The night couldn’t have been too long, because as he stirred Schrodinger the mouse scurried out of the bundle and looked on, anticipating a cheesy breakfast.

“Dang, you’re hungry, mouse,” Clifford mused, using the Swedish Navy knife to cut small slivers from the cheese block.

“Of course,” Schrodinger replied.

Clifford froze.

Bored with Bourdais?

Another day, another Formula 1 post from the guy who once likened this sport to having dry spaghetti shoved under your fingernails.

The season is over (and what a season it was) and testing has already begun for the next tour of tracks. Many of the F1 teams found themselves in Barcelona for three days of testing. Some teams, like BMW Sauber, were trying out the new Aero Package. Others, like Honda, were testing the new package against the 2008 set-up, along with testing drivers to fill out roster spots.

And that brings us to the title of this entry: Bored with Bourdais?

Sebastien Bourdais handled the wheel for Scuderia Toro Rosso last season, teaming with Sebastian Vettel to create one of the most intriguing storylines of the '08 campaign. No other team did more with less than Scuderia Toro Rosso. Halfway through the 2008 season Sebastian Vettel had 5 points. At the season's end he'd tacked on 30 more, impressive for a rookie on a "B" team, although they'd never call themselves the "B" team to Red Bull. Toro Rosso beat the crap out of Mark Webber and David Coulthard throughout the season. Vettel even won at Monza, which is no easy feat.

But his counterpart on Scuderia Toro Rosso, Sebastien Bourdais, failed to make the waves that Vettel did. Bourdais's background counts him as one of the most successful drivers ever in the Champ Car Series. He entered the Champ Car series in 2003, claiming the pole in the first race he ever competed in. During his Champ Car run, he won the Championship in 2004, 2005, 2006, and 2007, scoring 31 wins and 39 podium finishes in 72 races.

In August of 2007, Scuderia Toro Rosso announced that Bourdais would be one of their drivers in 2008 (pictured above at the 2008 Canadian Grand Prix). Admittedly, this seems a little early to be announcing a driver lineup, but then again, Bourdais had dominated the Champ Car series. Plus, this was a huge gamble for Bourdais, as his Champ Car career was flying high. But I think, if given the same chance, I'd probably jump at an F1 ride myself.

Flaws by both team and driver marked an otherwise average first season in F1, the high point being that, although he finished a lap behind Sebastian Vettel at Monza, Bourdais did set fast lap at the Italian track.

Now, roughly a month after the end of the season, and with testing underway at Barcelona, Sebastien Bourdais stands as a man without a ride. The Official Formula 1 website has an interesting interview with the French driver. Initial reports said that Bourdais's deal with Scuderia Toro Rosso was only a one year deal, but Bourdais himself admits that the contract was for three seasons, but he also admits that every contract has a line allowing the employer to get rid of you if they aren't happy with your performance.

I earnestly hope that Bourdais is driving for Toro Rosso next year. Sebastian Vettel garnered a lot of attention this season, and not just from fans. Rumors ran rampant throughout the paddock that Vettel was getting more of Scuderia Toro Rosso's attention (and money) than Bourdais was. Part owner, and former F1 driver, Gerhard Berger has yet to either confirm or deny this rumor.

I think that one more season, with the attention now on his car (Vettel is jumping to Team Red Bull) Bourdais should appear far more impressive, and could be a contender week in and week out. Especially with the rumors flying about who is teammate could be (we're hearing everything from Bruno Senna to Rubens Barrichello to Pedro de la Rosa).

And if we have to start a petition to keep Bourdais in a Scuderia Toro Rosso, then we just might. I hope you're listening, Gerhard Berger and Toro Rosso:

Keep Sebastien Bourdais!

Historia, Part III

***This is a continuation of the story I posted last night. Any feedback is more than welcome.***

Clifford Jenkins slumped against the stump of a felled tree. The gnarled stump was dead, and would make good tender, but Clifford had built his fire from the dying grasses and weeds. Autumn was closing and becoming winter, making him rethink his decision to strike out for Historia when he did.

As he looked at the smoldering remnants of his fire, and began plucking Auld Lang Syne on his guitar, Clifford found his mind wandering back to when he was ten years old, and he pulled his first “death watch.”

In Nostalgia, it was tradition for a child to face a familial “death watch” as early as possible. The old timers said that it ‘toughened’ a child, and readied him for the world. And with Historia at their doorstep, the children of Nostalgia has to be toughened as soon as possible.

And so it was, that at the tender age of ten, Clifford’s granpappy had fallen ill of ‘the cough.’ Timey the Bar Owner had been an intermittent figure during that awful week, coming in and going out while Granpappy had grown steadily worse.

Clifford, looking at the smoldering fire, could see it as the fire in the small furnace in his granpappy’s death chamber, a small room on the back of every house in Nostalgia, furnished much the same, each with a mirror in it, most with a word inlaid into the mirror-sheen surface, usually Budweiser, a talisman of the old days used to ward off the evil encroaching from Historia like a disease. Like granpappy’s cough.

The bed was nothing more than a cot built up with a light mattress and pillows to make the dying as comfortable as possible. The old timers of Nostalgia had found chairs at some time in the distant past, each with a brightly colored emblem on it, most now sun-faded to the point of obscurity, but some could still be made out. Atlanta Falcons, Chicago Bears, Detroit Tigers. Clifford’s own granpappy, before ‘the cough’ had ravaged him, said that these were once great cities, and that the animals were the spiritual protectors of these thriving metropolises.

Granpappy coughed, a hacking, wheezing cough that brought a light spittle of blood to his lips. Clifford knew that the time was soon. Timey had returned with a pail of cool water and some dried meat.

“’Twont be long, Cliff,” he had said, putting a weather-worn hand on the boy’s shoulder.

From the kitchen of the house, Clifford heard his mother yelling at his father, “No boy should have to do this! He’s watching his granpap, your dad, die, and you’re sitting in here staring at the fireplace!” (Staring at fires was a habit of the Jenkins family.)

Clifford didn’t think twice about it. He had to ‘death watch.’ It was proper for a boy his age. It was the essence of Nostalgia, to strengthen against the blight of the Historians.

Clifford realized he’d long since stopped plucking the guitar and he had to almost physically remove himself from the twilight reverie. He reached for the bundle and pulled the block of cheese from it. With the Swedish Navy knife he cut off a chunk for himself and a sliver for Schrodinger the Mouse.

He pulled his collar up tight around his neck and scrunched as low as he could to protect against the cool of the night. He made it to the foothills on the first day. No small feat, considering that, with those idiots in Historia constantly futzing with the natural order, time was a lost concept.

He waited for Schrodinger to finish the cheese sliver, and while he waited he returned everything to its proper place in the bundle. Once the mouse was finished eating, Clifford lifted it up by the tail (he could sware that made the mouse giggle) and dropped it onto the stick-and-bundle. Schrodinger scurried up into the bundle and nestled between the cheese block and an envelope that Clifford carried at all times.

Clifford Jenkins, sensible as any man of 40 years, leaned further against the old, dead tree, and curled over for some sleep. He wanted to make it to the city of Historia by Boxing Day, which would be no easy task, as snow was already falling in the Antique Mountains overhead.

Football Future-see Week 13

Michigan at (10)Ohio State
The Big Game pits a dismal Wolverine squad against an Ohio State team with Rose Bowl aspirations. Truthfully, this game shouldn't even be close. But, it's a rivalry game, and we all know that rivalry games have a tendency to throw track records out the window. A mere two years ago I was saying that these two teams deserved to play each other for the National Title, they were that good. Michigan has since fallen off the radar, and Ohio State was stomped by the SEC twice.
Final Score: Ohio State 35, Michigan 14

Citadel at (4)Florida
Some teams put a weak non-conference opponent at the front of their schedule, hoping to pad the resume come end of the season. Florida is taking the opposite direction with this game, putting Citadel at the tail-end of their home schedule before Florida State and the SEC Championship Game. For all intents and purposes, this is a week off for the Gators. For the record, this is the first time we've ever predicted a shutout.
Final Score: Florida 77, Citadel 0

(15)Michigan State at (8)Penn State
Penn State wins this game and they go to the Rose Bowl, it's as simple as that for the Nittany Lions. Michigan State can go to the Rose Bowl if they knock off Penn State, and if Michigan miraculously beats the Buckeyes. In other words, Michigan State should go on and make travel plans for the Outback Bowl.
Final Score: Penn State 27, Michigan State 17

(2) Texas Tech at (5)Oklahoma
It seems that every week produces the biggest game of the century in the Big XII, which is what happens when you have a whole lot of offense and very little in the way of defense. Texas Tech is averaging around 50 points per game, and Oklahoma is doing the same. I really think that if a team can bring a decent defense against either of these opponents, they can win, because neither OU or the Red Raiders are likely to shut down an opponent. Graham Harrell should have another big day, as he tried to lead Texas Tech to a National Championship Game.
Final Score: Texas Tech 42, Oklahoma 37

(21)Oregon State at Arizona
Every egg is in the basket for Oregon State in this game. If they can find a way to win out, they will go to the Rose Bowl over a far more impressive USC team, solely because back in week 2 or 3, Oregon State shocked the Trojans. Arizona is well aware of the plans of Beaver Nation, and they will do all they can to stop them from coming to fruition. Watch for Oregon State running back Jacquizz Rodgers to smoke the Wildcat defense.
Final Score: Oregon State 28, Arizona 20

Historia, Parts I & II

I've never posted a true work of fiction on this blog, and by that I mean a story that I'm writing, but I'm going to give it a shot with this one. I just started it tonight, and I figured I'd try it out on a few internet forums to see what kind of reaction it gets. Enjoy.
*****************

Clifford Jenkins, like any sensible man of 40 years, knew for a certainty that the world had been flat until the moment Columbus had jumped on board the HMS Beagle and set sail from Plymouth. Columbus, of course, could be blamed for pretty much every problem that plagued mankind. He’d introduced disease, war, and nihilistic Euro-fashion to the Japanese.

But Clifford Jenkins also knew that every ounce of that history was, well, just that: history. That was life, living in the small town of Nostalgia, a border province of Historia. Everything was over, and nothing could be done to change it. At least, that’s how it was in Nostalgia.

Over the mountains, in Historia, it was said, history was a living thing that constantly changed. Word had reached Nostalgia just that morning that the Vikings had launched an assault on Guevara’s guerillas. Of course, Clifford, like any sensible man of 40 years, doubted if Columbus or Europe had ever existed to begin with. Sometimes, when the world was crashing down the crapper, the people needed a scapegoat. Just so happens they made up Columbus.

And we all know that any good scapegoat needs a land to come from. The mythical Plymouth, smack in the heart of Germanic Europe (don’t ask me how a ship set sail from the heart of a continent, much less how the people knew that Europe was Germanic at the time, or even how they knew Europe was a continent) was created in turn, and had been home port to the HMS Beagle, the HMS standing, of course, for Huge, Massive Ship.

Clifford leaned against the high-backed chair that sat at the corner of the piano. He was playing guitar, strumming out the chorus to Auld Lang Syne, but singing the words to Silent Night, a local favorite. Timey’s Bar was crowded for a Wednesday night. Or maybe it was Friday, one could never tell what those idiots in Historia had done to the week.

“Cliff, play Old Man River!” That was Timey himself, of course he was more than intoxicated (a condition the locals called kershnockered).

“And what should I sing, oh great Timey?” Clifford Jenkins called back.

“Try Yellow Submarine...” Timey trailed off, a tendency among the kershnockered, especially at this late hour (4:15 p.m.) of the night.

Clifford began an upbeat “Old Man River” and through in Yellow Submarine, with a short chorus of Lucy in the Sky, just to please the patrons. He looked outside and watched the sun setting over the mountains that separated Historia from the everything else. And it was at that moment that Clifford Jenkins, sensible as any man of 40 years, realized that he had to leave Nostalgia behind and journey to Historia.
***

The next morning, or night, again, you never knew what those idiots in Historia were doing, Clifford Jenkins gathered up his things. He packed the old travel bag (it had Samsonite imprinted on the latch, but that word had long since left the language) with a few changes of clothes, the necessary toiletries, and some assorted canned foods and dried meats. Like any traveler on the road in these days, he bundled a towel onto the end of a stick (he’d seen pictures of what the old timers called hobos carrying them, and then he noticed every traveler through Nostalgia had one, so he made himself one). In this bundle he stuffed a few extra guitar strings, a block of cheese wrapped in leafy-paper, and a pocket knife that had all kinds of extra do-dads on it. The elders called it a Swedish Navy Knife, or something to that effect.

He thought more than once about carrying the knife in his pocket, as it’s description would imply should be done, but then he wouldn’t have had room for Schrodinger, his mouse.

And so, with travel bag in one hand, stick-and-bundle across one shoulder, and guitar strapped to one back, Clifford Jenkins began walking toward the Mountain Pass that led from Nostalgia, through the Antique Mountains, and into the land of Historia.

So it’s here that you, the reader, should be told about Historia.

Historia rests between two mountain ranges, the Antiques to the East, and the Conveniences to the West. It is an arid rain forest whose capital is a pyramid crowned with what we know of as the Statue of Liberty. Of course, the Statue’s upheld arm was replaced with a cannon long ago, and it’s head no longer looks like a woman, but more like a fictional villain of some science fiction story (a black helmet, I think that gives it away with breaking copyright laws).

Around this pyramid is a city that looks like someone from our time chopped up a map of London, New York City, Washington DC, the Vatican, Ancient Nineveh, New Nineveh, and the small town of Buford, Georgia, United States (circa 2008), and then spliced bits and pieces of them together, radiating out from the statue-topped structure.

Historia was founded sometime before Europe realized that they had feet, or so said the Historians, as they called themselves. Their ruler called himself Father Time, but everyone knew his real name was Ted. Of that everyone, only a select few knew that Father Time was dying. Old age was ruled out immediately, as Father Time is only 42 years old.

But I’ve drifted away from telling you about Historia. The land of Historia is bordered on the south by a great Ocean (some say it was once the Gulf of Mexico, but no one knows if Mexico was a real place or not) and to the north by the glaciers. Historia is the name of the land, but also of the city itself.

Clifford Jenkins will eventually find himself in the city. And yeah, I know that takes away a lot of the suspense of his journey, and I could probably skip over that part in the telling now, but it would cause you, the reader, to miss out on a few fun and interesting people that Clifford meets along the way. And, I never said if Schrodinger the mouse reaches Historia safely or not. You’ll have to read on to find out.

Randomocity Part 42

1. Earlier this year a cat took up residence at my Grandmother's house. She soon had kittens, and then disappeared, leaving the kittens behind. Well, they're now essentially full grown cats. We called Animal Control and the Humane Society about taking them away, because we were worried that they would trip up my grandparents. Animal Control said that it would be $20 per cat to remove them, and that if they were not unique, they would likely be euthanized. I figured their would be a little more outrage about something like that. What if we did that as humans.

"Well, Mr. and Mrs. Johnson, you have a normal, average baby."
"That's great."
"Not so fast, skippy, I'm the doctor here. Can your kid do tricks?"
"Well, no, he's only a couple of months..."
"Well, you might want to teach him to tap dance or something, otherwise we'll have to put him down. We can't have normal kids, Mr. Johnson, we need them unique."

2. NASCAR is over. Big whoop.

3. The run-off election for the Georgia Senatorial seat should, I think, be decided in a steel-cage death match. More people would watch, and we wouldn't have to worry about voting. It would be Darwinian politics.

4. Why is the stock market still going down? I thought Barack Obama was going to fix all our problems.

5. Formula 1, as Robert put it over at Skewed, has made some rather drastic changes to the Aero package for the 2009 season. You can see them below. I know we both used the BMW Sauber pictures. I'm not trying to copy him or anything, but these are just the most readily available picture online.

The change is almost overwhelming, and this coming from someone who has only been a fan of the sport for the last half of last season. Granted, I became a fanatic rather quickly, so much so that when Robert called me to say that they had changed the Areo Package, I was immediately curious. And then, upon seeing the pictures, I found myself in a state of indecision. I'll have to see them in action before I make a decision on them. As a point of clarification, on the left is the 2009 Aero Package, the 2008 set up is on the right.

(By the way, if you go to the Formula 1 website, there's a good picture of a Vodafone McLaren Mercedes with the slick tyres. Beautiful picture.)

Football Future-see Week 12 Recap

Record
Week 1 .... 6-1
Week 2 .... 4-1
Week 3 .... 3-2
Week 4 .... 4-1
Week 5 .... 3-3
Week 6 .... 3-2
Week 7 .... 4-2
Week 8 .... 4-1
Week 9 .... 4-1
Week 10 ... 4-1
Week 11 ... 4-1
Week 12 ... 4-1
Overall .... 47-17
*Winning Percentage of .734


Well, Florida State did it to us again. Once more the Prediction Staff fails to go 5-0 for a week. I think the only way Florida State shows up in the predictions again is if they somehow reach the ACC Title Game. Otherwise, sorry 'Noles, but you had your chance, and you cost me twice. Go ahead, look at all those "4-1" marks up there. Go ahead, look! Do you know how many times you guys were the "1" in the "4-1", huh? That's right, enough to lose your spot.

So now we've entered the home stretch. Georgia gets a week off before the Ramblin' Wreck of Georgia Tech comes to Athens. We're two weeks away from a fantastic rivalry weekend. November 29th features Georgia vs. Georgia Tech, Florida vs. Florida State, Oklahoma vs Oklahoma State, and Auburn vs. Alabama. That'll be a week where everything goes. So the way we see it, this might be our last chance at perfection this season.


Week 13 Games
Michigan at (10)Ohio State
Citadel at (4)Florida
(15)Michigan State at (8)Penn State
(2) Texas Tech at (5)Oklahoma
(21)Oregon State at Arizona

A Brief Sports Post

The Right Wing would like to admit error in the following sports related topics:

We were WRONG about:
1. Wisconsin
2. South Florida
2a. Matt Groethe's break-out season
3. Clemson (but then again, who wasn't wrong about Clemson)
4. Auburn
5. Pretty much every single Bowl Prediction we made before the season started

Hey, at least we're big enough to admit when we're wrong.