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Entries tagged as ‘Mississippi State’

2010 Football in Julypalooza

July 28, 2010 · 1 Comment

Quote of the Day:

“And we’re ready for the kickoff……the ball sails high into the air and the Bulldogs let it bounce (silence for several seconds). I can’t see who’s got it…..there may have been a whistle on the play……a Bulldog is holding the ball aloft in the Auburn End Zone area……it appears to be a touchdown…….It IS a touchdown. Touchdown, Mississippi State.” Jack Cristil (this is actually a paraphrased memory of his call of the opening kickoff returned for a touchdown by State against Auburn in the mid-90′s. Jack had lost his cool complaining that State had been penalized fifteen yards before even taking the field and was completely lost. I think Sweet was with me that day, though I doubt he remembers it).

BR’s “Freestyle” post about probable new Ole Miss quarterback Jeremiah Masoli reminded TB, and just in time, that I hadn’t posted my annual Football in Julypalooza. So here it is. This year, the Julypalooza looks at the approaching college football season through a deluxe crystal ball, one capable of seeing all, not merely the records of each team. But first things first–Mississippi State goes 7-5, Ole Miss 6-6, and USM 8-4. Alabama wins the SEC championship, but loses to Texas in the BCS Championship game.

More specifically, Mississippi State is a team on the rise. By Mississippi’s standards anyway. Here’s why–Dan Mullen is an impressive young coach. He is a future star in the SEC, ready to take over the leadership mantle from a peaking Nick Saban and the fading Urban Meyer (due to health), Les Miles (due to not having Saban’s players) and Steve Spurrier (because he’s old as hell). Don’t worry, I have only had a single cup of the Kool-Aid. He won’t do all that at MSU. But he will have two good seasons to prove to the big money folks at Florida that he’s ready to take over there. Then Meyer can retire and regain his health the way he wanted to last year. It’s in the league’s interest for the coaching transition to go down this way too. That’s why MSU will get just enough calls to go their way, and will stay off probation this year and next. I’ll even go so far as to say MSU will be relatively successful five years out since they will have the players Mullen brings in for awhile after he’s gone and because we won’t get nailed with probation until after Mullen’s golden-boy hands are completely washed of Starkville. Oh, and we’ll also have (relative) success because of improved quarterback play and a stout defense that Jackie Sherrill says will be as good as some of those he coached in the late 90′s.

Ole Miss is tougher to call. They have a strong defense and a weak schedule. They are coming off back-to-back Cotton Bowl winning seasons but they have no quarterback. The solution appears to have dropped into their soul-selling laps in the form of disgraced former Oregon quarterback Jeremiah Masoli. But will the Masoli pickup backfire? I say it depends. If the team believes in Nathan Stanley, Masoli will be an instant wedge, cleaving a deep and bitter division between factions. If Stanley sucks half as bad as he appeared to last season however, the team will rally around any chance to save them from that suckitude. I lean toward the latter probability. The Rebs will follow him to another bowl appearance, but they are destined for a stadium built back in the mid-twentieth century rather than a brand spankin’ new beauty. And they will struggle for a couple of years after this one, partly due to the fact that the SEC needs Mullen to spruce up his resume, and the league doesn’t take kindly to the two Mississippi schools stealing enough wins to make everyone in the Magnolia state happy.

Southern? Hell, I don’t know. They always win between 6 and 8 don’t they? They will be back in a bowl and….wait a minute….the clouds in my crystal ball are beginning to part…..I can see clearly now…..oh, it can’t be…..no, I’ve not lived a pure enough life to have something like this happen….but, if the crystal ball says it, it must be true. Southern will play Ole Miss in the Liberty Bowl. That’s gonna be fun.

What else? Tulane will suck. SMU will suck. Bama will win a lot, but they still suck.

More specifically, MSU will beat Auburn. Book it. Ole Miss will lose to Vandy. They are due. LSU will fire Les Miles at the end of the season. Spurrier will retire this year. Sweet will get killed in Thursday Pickin III (The Return of Thursday Pickin’). Feidt’s Follies too. Quail and Zeek will return to the TBU. Cowbells will be outlawed for good after this season, because Ole Miss is a bunch of pansies and they cry about them like clockwork every time MSU goes on the rise.

Categories: Sports
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We Wuz Robbed

March 19, 2010 · 18 Comments

Quote of the Day:

“I’ve been at this a long time, and one thing I’ve learned: At Mississippi State, you’re supposed to take it and be quiet. I had a hard time swallowing this pill because so much was at stake and my players were affected. When does the truth matter?” –MSU Basketball Coach Rick Stansbury, on being robbed

There was no special edition of Thursday Pickin’ for this year’s NCAA Basketball Tournament. I’m not even watching, save to catch the scores of SEC games in hopes all they all lose. TB just can’t enjoy it this year, not when my Bulldogs were, predictably, unfairly excluded. It is not a boycott or a protest of any sort, it’s just that with every instance of sporting injustice a little bit of the fan in me dies. I couldn’t conger up enough interest this year to even fill out a bracket. Every time I looked at one all I saw was Kentucky’s John Wall and his smirking, supremely talented mug dashing illegally through the lane to get the rebound that ultimately defeated Mississippi State in the SEC Tournament Championship and blocked them from participation in the Big Dance.

In sports, it is taboo to “blame the refs.” “One play” the logic goes, “doesn’t beat you.” You had many other opportunities to overcome a bad call and you made too many other mistakes to hang an outcome on the referee. All this is true. But its a fallacy, one we accept because sports are extremely difficult to officiate, mistakes are inevitable, and the consensus opinion is that the breaks even out in the long run. Thus, we should never blame the refs.

But one call, one play can beat you. The logic that a team should overcome a bad call or not be in a position to have a bad call beat them is faulty. I recall an instance when I was sixteen years old pitching in a baseball tournament in Pensacola, Florida, against a team of Washington all-staters. In the first inning I had a 2-2 count on their cleanup hitter with two men on and I put a fastball over the outside corner at the knees. The ump called a ball and I lost my cool. The next pitch was overthrown and sent right down the middle. That big hoss knocked the shit out of the ball, damn near gave me whiplash as I turned to see it sailing over the horizon. We were down 3-0. I got out of the inning without further damage and as I walked to the dugout I detoured toward the ump, pointing at him and yelling, “those three are on you.” He came toward me and for a second I thought I was to be ejected, but he simply leaned in and quietly said, “I blew the call.” We lost the game 4-3. We had 21 lost opportunities at the plate to score 5 but we didn’t. Or, I could’ve settled down and not served up a fat pitch. But no matter what, that first inning blown call cost us the game. And you know what, I’ve never been bitter about it. A call like that is part of the game. The ump wasn’t cheating, and the reason I’ve always remembered that game is not because “we was robbed” but because it was so classy of him to admit he missed the call in the face of a punk teenager who had just called him out in front of hundreds of adults and other kids. Still, to ignore that those three runs cost us the game is to ignore the facts.

In the same way, Wall’s lane violation led to his rebound that led to his shot that missed and bounced straight to Demarcus Cousins who tipped back in at the buzzer. The missed call cost State the game, the tournament and a spot in the Dance. I know it’s bad form to hang that on the refs, but when a championship is on the line, it ought not be so damn predictable which way the breaks are gonna go. And when it happens that a team gets robbed we ought not be afraid to call it out. And even with all that, I could live with the call if I hadn’t known beyond the shadow of a doubt that MSU would not get an at-large bid in defeat. The committee said we were the first team eliminated and it was a tough call and they took into account all sorts of factors against us, many of them opposite the factors they have used to exclude us in past bubble years. But they never mentioned the consideration of the fact that we should’ve been in except that we were robbed of the automatic bid by the refs. And ultimately, that is what burns my ass.

Categories: Philosobaen · Sports
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Gumbo

November 2, 2009 · 26 Comments

Quote of the Day:

“A large income is the best recipe for happiness I ever heard of.” –Jane Austen

The perfect recipe for a great Monday morning: the Bulldogs won this weekend, Halloween and the smiles it brought my little girl, and bright, crisp fall weather suitable for doing without the air conditioner, the heater and the bug spray. On top of that TB successfully executed Sweet’s red beans and rice recipe to add an essential new dish to my limited, but high quality kitchen repertoire. As if all that weren’t enough, the extra hour of sleep on Saturday/Sunday is still paying benefits. Some of you might think that the loss of the Rebels seasoned the cosmic dish a little, but you’d be wrong to thusly pigeonhole me. The truth is, as long as the Bullies win, I’m cool with Rebel success. However, when my team is losing, I want nothing more than to have you Rebs down in the dumps alongside me. Of course, I long for the day neither of those teams’ outcomes is part of the happiness recipe, but I’ve come to accept I’ll never outgrow it. One thing I have outgrown is using the extra hour with the time change for mischief instead of rest. But I’m not too old to recognize the poor judgment used by the powers that be in having the time change and the resulting 25 hour day occur on Halloween. I was more than a bit relieved to awaken to a TP/egg free house Sunday morn.

Speaking of Ole Miss, I thought the back who was involved in the collision that almost paralyzed an Auburn player made the play of the day Saturday. When the players collided the Auburn defender did not move, nor did the Ole Miss player. Replays showed nothing that made it look like the Reb should’ve been hurt. He wasn’t. He laid on the bottom of the pile virtually motionless for probably five minutes or more so as not to risk exacerbating the injury to the Tiger. When they finally moved the Auburn player, the guy hopped up and ran off the field unhurt. I don’t know his name, but he deserves a “well done” for his good sense and sportsmanship.

There was some commentary here last week about the new “Old South” controversy brewing up in Oxford. Specifically, the school administration is threatening to do away with Ole Miss’ treasured and inspiring “From Dixie With Love” fight song in order to stop the chants of “the south will rise again” at its conclusion. As a rival fan and as a radical, let me just say emphatically that I don’t give a damn one way or the other about this. I think its a little silly to be wrapped up in the mythology of the “lost cause” and equally silly to be offended by it. It was downright stupid for the school to attempt to change the chant to “go to hell LSU” or whatever. But TB is a solution suggester. How about “Ole Miss will rise again?” It evokes the old south slogan without the racial strife overtones, and is hopeful, positive and reminiscent of the glory days. Or do something else, what do I care. It’s amazing that this kind of thing makes news in Mississippi no matter what one thinks. PS, I think it is silly that Col Reb got canned too, but its not so bad because I see that suit around more now than I ever did back in the day.

I always thought Sweet should get into the bar and grill biz and have a menu that was original and inspired by our Saturdays watching football on Del Norte, then Scoop’s pads and finally over to Gautier. As I chopped up “the trinity” of onion, celery and bell pepper last week, in preparation for my effort at one of those well loved dishes, I had flashbacks to those days. Cooking isn’t a passion of mine, but when I do it, I like to work on something that doesn’t call for precise measurements, does allow for a beer (both in the recipe and in the hand) and involves a big pot. There used to be a Brit chef that had a travel show where he went around Europe recreating the dishes of the people. He’d throw in a handful of this, a pinch of that, a dash of wine all while drinking heavily and serving up one-liners. That’s the way it used to get done on those long gone football Saturdays and I enjoyed channeling the memories with both the cooking and the eating. It went so well I think I’ll try some other classic coastal fare soon. Hey Sweet, how about sending me your gumbo recipe?

Categories: Food · Life · Sports
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The Day the 240Z Died (and almost took TB with it)

October 14, 2009 · 17 Comments

We decided during the first few minutes of “Cheers”, I imagine, that it was a good night to go to Mack’s Supper Club. It was not a particularly difficult decision, nor hotly debated, just one of those where somebody might’ve said out of the blue, “I think we should cut class tomorrow and go to Mack’s.” And so by acclimation we settled on the plan, nodded admiringly at Sam Malone’s latest conquest and chuckled appreciatively with George, the thinking drunk’s humorist. At 8 30 we piled in to Greekson’s  RX7, TB in the passenger side rear seat as usual, oblivious that it was to be the little hot rod’s last run.

Macks ran an ad in the school newspaper every Wednesday. “We open up when everybody else closes down. BYOB.” The Landing closed at midnight or thereabouts. Down the highway a mile or so Doug’s usually stretched it to about 2 am. Technically Macks was open before then, but Mack wouldn’t sing til every cover possible had been collected and the pews were filled. And it was a good twenty miles south on Highway 45 from the crossroads, so you really had no reason to arrive until about 3 am. My friends, the hours between 8 30 pm and 3 am for a bunch of half educated crackers on a mid-semester Thursday evening are rarely empty ones, and for TB and his asshole runnin buddies the time between the making of the plan to go to Macks and the execution of said plan was filled this particular night with whisky.

Macks is no more. It is said the fires of hell itself rose up spontaneously one night in the mid 1990′s to consume the joint, Satan content no longer to leave a place so treasured in his black heart to the pleasures of mortals. When it was still standing the building appeared from the outside abandoned during daylight hours. There were no lights, no sign I can recall. A rickety, heavy door that never closed was the first thing you noticed upon arrival, and immediately thereafter the sign above the little box office–”Mack’s Supper Club–Members Only”. We all knew what that meant. Mack was a purebred sonofabitch. He made us think he hated everything and everybody and I’m sure he hated us college boys. But he’d take our money–wasn’t interested in a hippie’s or a homosexual’s or a Jew’s if he could tell and he damned sure wouldn’t take a black person’s money, at least that’s what they said. I suspected he probably had a black mistress at some point in life and maybe he even liked her, but she probably dumped his worthless ass and he used that to fuel his anger. Most anybody that went to school near Macks has great memories of the place, TB included, because it was fun to stay out all night and raise hell. And maybe he was just a politically incorrect country comedian, essentially harmless, but he seemed like a mean old bastard to me. Still, the songs were funny; funny to a sophomore for sure.

After you got in you saw the church pews that served as seating for his show. The show was Mack singing songs about sex mainly, raunchy and raw, just him and his guitar. He sat on a bar stool behind a chicken wire fence and in front of the biggest pair of red lace panties you ever saw, the ones Roberta put her big legs through. I don’t know if the chicken wire was to protect him or us but I do know when someone chunked a bottle at it that 70 year old cuss would come whip his ass if he saw who did it. There was a wood burnin stove that we’d huddle around on cold nights and when I was a freshman the boys bathroom was behind a piece of particle board stuck out from the wall. When you went around it you were outdoors. He put a gutter in over the next summer though and I thought the upgrade robbed the place of some of its charm. There were a couple of pool tables with missing balls and no chalk and tears in the fabric but nobody ever complained. It was something to do while waiting for everyone to make it over from Doug’s. And yes, there was sawdust on the concrete floor.

We were cruisin in darkness, Axl Rose wailin “Mr. Brownstone.”  I, the only one of us that knew exactly where we were going, was “resting.” And so it seems that Greekson thought we may have passed the place and so he wheeled around to make sure we hadn’t. Greekson was a 6 foot 2, 120 pound sack of driving greatness, sober or not. He liked to go fast. But on this night he was imperfect. The computations in his brain missed a decimal point somewhere among his instantaneous calculations. I came alert at the thump. That’s all it was.

There were four of us that night, Smily up front and I believe Quinn in back with me. Everybody froze. Without seeing a thing I knew we’d clipped another vehicle. I looked around and saw nothing but darkness. I assumed the other car had just kept going. “GREEKSON!” I jolted him, stunned and disbelieving back to reality. He turned a glazed countenance, or maybe it was a blank stare, toward my voice. “Hit the gas. Get us the hell out of here!” He faced forward but we didn’t move. “GREEKSON! GO SON, you got to get on the gas!” He was himself again, but there was confusion in his eyes. “I’m on the gas, the damned car won’t go.”

I figured the fender must be holding the tire in place, so Smily and I jumped out to go pull it away. We rushed around the front end of the car and froze. Greekson yelled at us to get movin, but we didn’t. I walked around to Greekson’s door and said “it’s gone.” Greekson said “I know he’s gone”, thinking of the other car. “No”, I said, “the front end. It’s gone.” Greekson got out and looked at his car, his treasure, his companion. Practically the whole front end was mashed up almost square to the windshield. It’s a miracle we lived, much less escaped without a bruise. Greekson was too much of a man to shed a tear, but I know it wasn’t easy to hold them back. The four of us were able somehow to shimmy the car a few feet over to get it off the road. I carefully hid the booze, thinking there was no sense in it going to waste and hoping we’d recover it tomorrow. We’d all seen too many movies and played too many video games I guess because we kept expecting a cop to pull up any moment even though we were miles away from nowhere and in the pre-cell phone era to boot. It was several minutes before a grizzled, unsteady pedestrian came jogging up instead, the guy we’d hit. Poor bastard thought he’d been the one that hit us. In his 18-wheeler.

The truck driver didn’t pull over for a quarter mile or so and he as much as told us he wasn’t sure he’d come back. He knew we’d be dead. Thankfully, he decided to come check before he sent out a call on his CB. As he drove Smily and me down to Macks to find a classmate I could tell he wasn’t right. Drugs, booze, or some combination of them were part of his night, part of his life. He didn’t want any part of reporting this accident, but then, he sure as hell was glad none of us had been hurt either, and not just because of his job. We all agreed to just go about our business. He let us off at Macks and disappeared with a cheerful blow of the horn into the night. We found a buddy who could get us home, but he wouldn’t leave just yet. He gave Smily and me a drink to steady our nerves while Smily and I uttered continual prayers and occasional exclamations of thanksgiving and we all waited until the old bastard played “Roberta”. I even sang along. I’ve always felt a little guilty about doing that while Greekson waited in the night on Sam Hill Road. That place was evil I tell you.

Quote of the Day:

“I used to work in Chicago, in a department store, I used to work in Chicago, I did but I don’t any more;

A lady came in she wanted some pumps, I said what you want is the door,

But pumps she wanted so pump her I did

And I don’t work there any more.”

–Mack Banks (one of the less offensive tunes–Smily don’t write out the ones you’re thinkin of either)


Categories: Life · Mississippi · Writing
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Football Season At Last

September 2, 2009 · 15 Comments

Quote of the Day:

“Time, as we age, is often damaging. But this was one of the Lord’s good days, resting for me forever in a kind of somnolent tenderness. I was thirteen and it was a golden, luminous November’s afternoon, my first Ole Miss-Mississippi State game in person.”     –Willie Morris, from the essay linked here, published several times over the years by the Clarion Ledger

As a kid, there were only two seasons to TB, football and baseball. Basketball was ok as a mid term diversion, and year round driveway sport, but each year was truly separated by a single bright line between the diamond and the gridiron. Since the cancellation of the 1995 Major League World Series, along with the way the pastime has changed due to steroids and other factors, I’ve lost interest in baseball altogether. Now, as a sports fan at least, there are still only two seasons–football and emptiness. And finally, football is back.

I don’t know why I haven’t given up on football. I am a Mississippi State fan and I can’t shake it. It’s not easy pulling for the Bulldogs. And that’s all I got to say about that, for now. Sundays are little better. The Dolphins broke my heart for years coming close to greatness, but never achieving it, then plummeted to the bottom of the League and became all but irrelevant. And the Saints……hopeless.  Yet for no rational reason, I always cling to hope for all of my teams.

My earliest memory of football is of an afternoon game between the Vikings and the Bills and snow on the field and brightly colored uniforms and OJ Simpson. The memory is only a grainy picture in my mind’s eye, one I can not even swear is true. But when I call that picture up, I feel the excitement and joy first experienced at probably two or three years of age. The memories of Super Bowls X and XI are a little more in focus. I can recall rooting for the doomed Cowboys but loving Lynn Swann and trying to recreate his famous reception from X in my front yard for days weeks years after. What I recall from XI is mainly  that the pregame show seemed interminable. It probably went on for an hour.

I loved the uniforms from those games, and all games and still do. And as a small kid I recall choosing my team each game based on the jerseys, never pulling for the white shirts. Imagine young TB’s distress in having to choose between blue jerseyed UCLA or crimson Alabama in the 1976 Liberty Bowl. Thanks to the Google, I was actually able to confirm that hazy memory was true! Though the recollection doesn’t cover it, I have little doubt I liked the UCLA blue better and true to my football fandom lifetime, the blue fell to the red that night 36 to 6.

The first real college game I ever saw live was Mississippi State at Auburn in 1977 in Auburn. I recall very little about the game itself, only that the Bulldogs won but that it didn’t matter because they would have to forfeit for using an ineligible player. But the experience left an impression. It’s funny what I do recall from that day–learning about interstate mile markers, seeing Pat Sullivan’s Heisman trophy, walking on Auburn’s basketball floor, loving the way Auburn fans intoned “Warrrrr Eagle” for kickoffs and, tragicomically, firmly deciding I was a Bulldog fan, uniforms be damned.

Before and after that Auburn-State game, my exposure to college football came mainly from the Senior Bowl, played each January in Mobile, Alabama. Again, the things that stand out from these early trips are random and inexplicable. Stopping on the side of the road to eat cold sausage and biscuits left over from breakfast, burgers with only mustard, collecting a new pennant for my bedroom wall to go with those inherited from my brother from his trips as a little kid, freezing, brutal cold all come to mind. I learned at these games that southerners used college football to re-fight the Civil War. And far too often we lost again, at least it seemed so in those early years. On my first Senior Bowl trip, I remember crying when all hope was lost. And I recall that my Dad didn’t care for that at all.

As I complete this abbreviated tour with the ghost of football seasons past, I am confronted with a bitter truth. My love of football season is unrequited. Or is it? What stands out as I look over my recollections is that the scores are mostly forgotten. The excitement remains. The experience endures. And I still have hope. And a good 40 more chances, give or take, to see the Saints in the Super Bowl and dare I say, the Bulldogs in the Sug–nah, I daren’t.

Categories: Life · Sports
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Football in Julypalooza (sponsored by Q and Z)

July 17, 2009 · 65 Comments

Quote of the Day:

“In the East, college football is a cultural exercise. On the West Coast, it is a tourist attraction. In the Midwest it is cannibalism. But in the South it is religion. And Saturday is the holy day.”     –former Alcorn State Head Coach, Marino “the Godfather” Casem

Ah, the smells of freshly mowed grass after a rogue summer thundershower. The sound of the air conditioner’s never ceasing drone. The sight of shoe polish painted on SUV rear windows boasting “Little League World Series Bound!”. It must be time for football.

It is July in Mississippi. Thus, it is time for the annual statewide debate on whether Mississippi State and Ole Miss should play Southern Miss in football. Short answer, “of course.”

The excuses for the “Big Three” not playing one another are legion, but basically it all boils down to the fact that in the late 1970′s and 1980′s USM won too many times against their in-state SEC affiliated opponents. As a State fan, its embarrassing to not play Southern because they will beat us more often than we like. I realize that most State and Ole Miss fans disagree with my contention, and if you are one of them feel free to state your case below. Here is TB’s epistle on why they should play.

  1. Currently Ole Miss and State play four non-conference games. One is generally against a lower division team, one against a regional opponent such as Memphis or Tulane, one is typically a power conference foe and one is a wild card or a “buy” game. In recent years that wild card game has been difficult to schedule. Teams like UAB  that were formerly willing to travel to Starkville or Oxford in exchange for a one time check are now demanding 2 for 1 deals where our schools have to play road games in places like Murfreesboro, TN. College football games are big time economic events, not only in ticket sales but in gas, food, beer, hotel and merchandise sales and in the services associated with putting on a large social gathering. According to one article I found, the economic impact of a football game at Southern is about 2 million dollars, so I’ll use that number. If State and Ole Miss made their “buy” game a home and home with USM, there would be two additional big time games in state each year–a 4 million dollar per year economic boost to a state that needs it, and I think that is conservative. Let’s take it a step further. If instead of paying an out of state lower level team to come to Mississippi each year the big three all rotated playing a SWAC school a conservative guess is another 3 million per year would stay in state that would’ve otherwise gone out. It is a certainty ticket sales for all these games would exceed the games they are replacing, so the numbers could well be higher. And with good scheduling–early season dates or Thursday nights– and the proliferation of televised games in 2009, there is a much higher likelihood now than there was back in 1988 that a MSU/USM or OM/USM game would be televised. I think it is reasonable to expect an economic impact to the state of Mississippi at somewhere between 70 and 100 million dollars per decade. We could use it.
  2. It would be a helluva lot of fun.

Categories: Mississippi · Sports
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Spotlight on the Commenters–Smiley’s Story, and A Conversation From 1990

May 8, 2009 · 28 Comments

Quote of the Day:     “Better belly burst than good liquor be lost.”     –Jonathon Swift

TB gets a lot of pleasure from reading the commentary that appears below my posts. About a week ago I put out a plea for reminders of old ARB stories that need to be recorded in letters in addition to the oral tradition. That post by the way will remain open and when an ARB thinks of another to add, don’t hesitate just because we’ve moved on to something new. 

I’ve also been thinking of a way to show appreciation for your participation and being that the TB balance sheet is in a state of equilibrium (a nice way of saying zero) I thought I’d institute a “Comment of the Week” feature rather than doling out some major award that would throw my ledger out of balance. Just don’t necessarily expect to see it every week. But this week, the award goes to Smily for his reminder of a funny but embarrassing episode from our college days. Smily takes pride in telling the story linked here (14th comment) because it is one of the only times in his half decade of college attendance that he was (relatively) sober, trying to impress a high school aged girlfriend that day with his college maturity and sophistication. Still, its all true as he relates, and pretty funny to boot. Lest anyone who doesn’t know Smily get the wrong idea about his role in our college runnin days, I submit for your enjoyment the text of a conversation we had one night circa 1990.

First, a little background. In those days Smily and TB along with Greekson were in school at Mississippi State. None of us had joined frats so there was only one option for weekend activities (defined as Wed night through Sunday afternoon) for underage punks and that was to drink in our dorms/apartments until time to go to The Landing twenty miles away to shoot pool, then up to Doug’s another mile back toward campus for late night bands and girl chasin. Most people didn’t go out until Doug’s got crankin, typically around 10:30. However, by that time you had to pay a cover charge, probably three to five bucks, or in terms we could better understand at the time, more than a six pack. Once inside, beers were another buck and a half. High cotton indeed. None of us had much in the way of spending money and when it came to booze we were quite protective of our purchases. Often we would pool our money but with the clear understanding that we each would get beers or drinks in direct proportion to how much we contributed and not a sip more. It’s not that we were stingy; it was just the law of the jungle.

But there was a way around spending too much money, especially on Thursdays. From 7:00 to 8:00 pm Doug’s had no cover and nickel beer. Now, this beer was god-awful lukewarm Beast lite, but then again, it was a nickel. Alone that probably wouldn’t have attracted us but what sealed the deal was we could get a stamp at 8 allowing us back in for the rest of the night so we could avoid the cover charge. We would leave Doug’s after getting stamped and drive over to the Landing which never charged cover. Still, they did want that buck and a half for beer and nobody really got there until around 9. So we’d sit in the car shooting the breeze and listening to classic rock and drinking our Miller Lite from Sack and Save (3 bucks per 6). Finally in to The Landing, then over to Doug’s later on and occasionally all the way to Crawford to Mack’s Supper Club (“we open up when everybody else shuts down”–but a story for another day.)

One night for some reason we were drinking 7&7′s instead of beer and were parked at Doug’s instead of The Landing diggin on tunes and arguin about anything. I liked to sit in the back seat and be in charge of the drinks and on this night I was doing the mixing and serving from my usual place. Greekson always drove and Smily had shotgun. That fact isn’t pertinent to this story but it was an extremely important accord we’d reached in those days so I include it to give a more complete sense of that time and place. Anyway, I fixed myself a drink, then one for Greekson and Smily and passed them forward. We’d already had a few drinks, but weren’t overserved so what follows cannot be excused by drunkenness. It’s just Smily bein Smily.

Greekson–Hey man, hurry up with that drink. I ain’t got all night to sit here being sober.

TB–Don’t make me kick your ass again Greekson. Here, enjoy. Here’s yours too Smily.

Smily–Why do I get the smallest cup?

TB–Because I always use this one-it’s my lucky cup and Greekson already drank out of his.

Smily–That’s BS, you gave me the smallest cup on purpose.

TB–What difference does it make?

Smily–MY DRINK IS WEAKER ASSHOLE!

TB–What?

Smily–Y’all are gonna get more liquor.

TB–How so? I’ll just pour you another drink sooner than I will for us.

Smily–Y’all are gonna get more. My drink isn’t as strong as yours.

Greekson–(staring incredulously)

TB–Say that again.

Smily–Y’ALL’S DRINKS ARE STRONGER!

TB–SMILY YOU’RE A DAMN IDIOT! THE SIZE OF THE CUP MAKES NO DIFFERENCE IN THE STRENGTH OF THE DRINK! (the music was turned up really loud)

Smily–Greekson, tell him what I’m talkin about.

Greekson–I have no idea what you’re talkin about.

Smily–Y’all are tryin to screw me.

TB–Listen, the strength of the drink has nothing to do with the size of the cup. It’s all about the proportion of 7 up to liquor. I made everybody’s half and half. As soon as you finish yours I’ll make you another one.

Smily–Right. But mine will be weaker.

TB–Greekson, can you help me out here.

Greekson–(launches in to a scientist’s explanation of the principle of size vs strength, Smily and TB’s eyes glazing over, and ending with) So just shut up for once and drink!

Smily–Don’t make me kick your ass again Greekson.

Greekson–(muttering to self)

TB–Dude, you’re not really serious about this one are you?

Smily–Y’all are screwin me.

TB–Well, you’re stuck with that cup and I’m never gonna let you live this down. I swear to God you can argue with a brick wall.

Smily–Fine

<ten seconds of silence, except for AC/DC>

Smily–Since when is that your lucky cup????

Categories: Humor · People
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Why It’s Great to Be a Mississippi State Bulldog Fan…..today

March 16, 2009 · 13 Comments

Quote of the Day:    (click below, courtesy of Six Pack Speak)

Jack Cristil, \”Wrap it in maroon and white!\”

TB can describe in tearjerking comical detail the pain and misery that is the life of the Mississippi State Bulldog fan. A much more difficult task is explaining just why in the hell anyone would choose such a life. If there is one certainty for a Bulldog’s, its that the ‘dogs will screw it up somehow.  Even cognizant of this fact of life, if you are a Bulldog fan you believe deep down, way down below the scar tissue of eleven plays inside the ten, past the Tech and ten layer and beyond the memory of the windblown field goal deflection, in your hear of hearts, there will be good days. You see the twenty point line favoring our evil rivals and you think its about right; right up until kickoff or tipoff when suddenly you think “maybe today’s our day.” It happens every time and almost always, it ain’t our day. Worse still, our Dogs, no matter the sport, regularly play above their heads and get a game or a season close enough to success that we can hang our future hopes and continued allegiance on the fact we almost won but for cheatin refs, the hated NCAA investigators or just a few inches here and there during the course of a contest. We’re often close. We know that tomorrow we will be better; next year will be the year.

Ahhhhh, but sometimes, especially in basketball, tomorrow shows up when we least expect it. Today is that tomorrow. MY Bulldogs are basking in a four day glow of success and glory after defeating Georgia, South Carolina, LSU, and finally Tennessee over a long weekend in Tampa. WE are the Southeastern Conference Champions and have the trophy to prove it. No matter that I’ve not been able to gin up enough interest in hoops this year to even update my “Life as a Bulldog” page. No matter that I haven’t been to the Hump in over a decade. It’s US, my Bullies. A fair weathered, bandwagon fan some may call me. To these folks I simply say, there is no such thing as a fair weathered Bulldog fan. If we bleed maroon, we have all suffered enough, we’ve paid our dues many times over, we get to celebrate the “tomorrow’s” whenever they come around.

And a day like today is what keeps us going. We may limp out of the big dance before most people even get a chance to turn on the tube. We’ll hear all about how we didn’t belong and we stole an at large bid from Creighton. But forever more, that SEC trophy stays in Starkville. Florida, Alabama, Tennessee and the other Big Boys’ fans may feel blessed to have grown up pulling for a powerhouse program. Often, I’m jealous of those guys. I’m even sometimes green-eyed toward the Rebels. But those other guys get to celebrate too often and they expect to take regular victory laps. At State, we hope, but never expect. So I say with confidence, no supporters of any other school in America can appreciate success more than we do. And that’s why it’s great to be a Bulldog. Today.

SWAT

Categories: Mississippi · Sports
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Dogs Win Egg Bowl!

December 10, 2008 · 5 Comments

Since I don’t update the “My Life as a Bulldog” page every day, I know many of you may not check it regularly. So I wanted to let you know I finally got around to posting after the debacle that was the 2008 Egg Bowl. I’ve been waiting on an opportunity to declare victory, and with today’s announcement of our new coach, that opportunity is knocking.

Categories: Mississippi · Sports
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Travellinbaen’s High Wealth Spending Consulting Service

December 1, 2008 · 20 Comments

Quote of the Day     “What difference does it make how much you have? What you do not have amounts to much more.”     –Seneca, 1st century Roman philosopher

Over the course of Third Week and Thanksgiving Holidays, TB had occasion to observe the spending habits of some wealthy folks. What I saw was as perplexing as it was astonishing. The rich really don’t know have a clue about how to effectively spend their money. They need help. They need a purchasing department. They need TB’s years of experience in the fields of yearning, avarice and envy to better capitalize on their good fortunes. Here are some of the heartbreaking examples of the plight these people face at which I’ve marvelled over the last several days:

  • A southern man transplanted to New York City likes to travel and likes to return to Mississippi quite often. He flies in to Memphis on commercial airlines and rents a car to drive to his home, purchased in recent years for money that could’ve put him slopeside in Colorado. For just a small amount more, in relative terms, TB could put him in that slopeside condo, get him a nice place in Mississippi and buy him a part interest in a private airplane. The investments would have greater long term value than his current spending provides, and the time savings alone would make the airplane worthwhile. TB could get all this done in exchange for a couple of weeks usage of that Colorado real estate and a few sky rides to get me there. I even have leads on a couple of pilots he could hire at a discount rate.
  • A professional athlete, also residing in New York City, likes to go out on the town. As a well known and sometimes controversial personality, he’s aware that he could be accosted from time to time. So he buys a gun and carries it with him to the club. Yadda yadda yadda, his leg gets a hole in it and his pro career may be down the drain. While there’s not much I can do for this particular ig-no-ramus, I can help others similarly situated. I figure a pro football salary for someone in actual danger of being recognized is around three million a year, not counting endorsements. For about two hundred grand a year, TB will buy your gun for you. Then I’ll put it in the hands of someone who is not a mo-ron and pay them to follow your sorry ass valuable assets around town. As a bonus, I can probably get you a good deal on a condo rental in either Colorado or Mississippi.
  • This one may be my favorite. It happens all over the country, but I’ve been closely following the situation involving Mississippi State’s football team. The Bulldogs found themselves in the position of needing to say goodbye to their football coach. As a fan of the Bullies, I was pleased to hear that some wealthy fan, or small group of fans, decided to put up enough money (3 million dollars) to buy out the fired coach’s contract. And to get a new coach, they’ve guaranteed the athletic director another couple of million a year for the next ten years or so. But as a “high wealth spending consultant” I have to say, “are you out of you’re freakin mind?” Hey I get it. It sucks to have a bad football team. It really sucks to lose 45-0 to Ole Miss. And its gonna really suck if you have to do it all over again in five years. There has got to be a better way to spend your money. Setting aside the millions of ways to spend your millions that make more sense than being obsessed over a low level college football program (as your “high wealth spending consultant” I’m trained to indulge your eccentricities), you’re strategy is far too simplistic. There’s a better way to direct your largesse. Go ahead and sell a little more GM stock, or outsource a couple hundred more jobs to China, or do whatever the hell it is you do to raise petty cash, and give me the jack you’d normally be spending on the next buyout. With that, I’m going to buy season tickets for about 5000 people who live in places like Batesville, Meridian and Tupelo. This is going to help your team’s home field advantage, reputation, and presence in key talent rich communities and could potentially lead to a bigger stadium to go along with that 6 million dollar scoreboard you just bought (oh how I could’ve helped you with that money). All those folks will buy their own chickens-on-a-stick so the program will generate additional revenue on its own. With the rest of your buyout money, I’m gonna hire a team of gun-totin baby-sitters to follow around your team’s prima donnas scholar athletes to keep them out of trouble and on the field. This alone should ensure no more defeats to the likes of Louisiana Tech and Maine. Throw in another million or two and I’ll make Stark Vegas glitter. Have you seen all the celebs that hang out at USC games? Think recruits don’t dig that? Look, everybody loves seeing Harvey Hull and his maroon blazer wearing brethren being honored before gametime. But the kids, and you’ll have to trust me on this one, would be a little more impressed with someone a little more famous with the under 70 crowd, a lot younger, a lot prettier, and with a lot less clothes. I’ll use those bonus funds to get some starlets on the sidelines. Hell I bet Brittany Spears and her kid sister would do it on the cheap.

As anyone who’s not rich can attest, the wealthy need help. They need more imagination and innovation, apparantly having used up their allotment attaining wealth in the first place. They need Travellinbaen’s High Wealth Spending Consulting Service. Won’t you help them? TB’s always here.

Categories: Humor · Life · Sports
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