So Houston is confirming what we all knew: They suck. As in they're really, really bad. Barring the unforeseeable, Houston is going to lose and that means we'll be playing #18 TCU in the Sugar Bowl.
I haven't watched much of TCU this season so I know nothing of their strengths or weaknesses. To those who have watched TCU this season, please elaborate on their playing style, what they're good at, what they're bad at, etc.
The UNLV-TCU game is on Versus. Here's a link for those without Versus: http://www.firstrowsports.tv/watch/95915/1/watch-unlv-vs-%2818%29-tcu.html
1. Wisconsin (by a lot) or MSU (by a lot)
3. Oklahoma State
4. Southern Miss
5. Iowa State
7. New Mexico
Your warrior-poets must defeat the dirty cheaters who wear different colors in order to ensure Michigan gets a Sugar Bowl slot.
Ed: Fixed the Rose Bowl typo.
Sorry about the beast of a title but any abbreviation I came up with offended the English language.
I don't regularly attend sporting events in which I could give a damn about who wins or loses. In fact tonight's Sugar Bowl may be the first time, but when offered good seats to a BCS game in a city in which I already live, I had to accept.
The problem is I have no idea what to do once inside the massive space ship of a dome.
I have no love for Florida although Michigan's 2-0 record against the Gators makes me feel warm and fuzzy, however Urban Meyer is a DB (yes, a defensive back) and the media-created superhero Tim Tebow is a creation as obnoxious as the Snuggie. And out of principle I never root for SEC teams, southern arrogance is quite possibly the worst kind.
The alternative? Cincinnati. No, I cannot, will not and shall not cheer on a team from the "Worst State Ever." Their only saving grace is that they are almost in Kentucky (maybe the first time that has ever been noted as a positive). I feel for their players having been unceremoniously Saban-ed by their head coach, but still . . .
I'm going with some Gator boosters who kindly, however misguided, brought extra Gator jerseys for everyone(!). So as a courtesy I guess I wear the funhouse colors of Florida? I'm not sure if this is sacrilege. How does the rest of the MGoblog community behave in these situations? I figure the game will be more interesting if I pick a side but I feel as dirty as the urine coated streets of the French Quarter.
Berets and Rednecks
Or, Hey, this is actually like a diary entry
The 1984 Sugar Bowl was one heck of a game and a bitter-sweet memory for me. My sister lived in New Orleans at the time, so I decided to make the journey. Almost everything worked out perfect. As I was flying down, sis was flying up. I had her apartment to myself and was met at the airport by one her friends—I’ll call her “Betty”. Well, Betty was one heck of a hostess. She took me to that famous New Orleans restaurant (a scene from “Pretty Girl” was shot there) where she worked part time and we ordered (literally) everything on the menu. All it cost us was the tip.
Attended the pep rally held at one of the ballrooms in the motel where the team was staying. Governor Blanchard was there and made a complete fool of himself when he admitted he went to Ohio State and his wife attended MSU. Everybody barraged him with chants of Recall Blanchard and Boo. (What a jerk. I actually sat in the row next to him on the plane ride home. He’s shorter than Mickey Rooney). Even cooler was the fact that I decided to hang out in the back of the room, and that is where all the players started showing up.
The night of the game we dined at Antoine’s before heading over to the Superdome. It was great. Auburn fans, at least back then, were great people. They would break out with chants and “War Eagle” and the Michigan fans would respond with “Hail to the Victors”. No one got vicious or too obnoxious. Walked to the Superdome after that with my little crew of hometown fans talking trash every step. Remember, you can walk down the street dranking in New Orleans for free. Watch out for the cops on horses though. Them horses can’t exactly stop on a dime.
And then there was the game. What a game it was. Talk about hitting! After the game Bo Jackson was quoted as saying—and I am paraphrasing her—that when the Auburn team looked over at the Wolverines before the game they couldn’t believe how small they were. They were sure they were going to whoop up on them big time. But after the game, Bo said he felt like he had just been in a heavy weight championship fight. Auburn knew they had escaped with a victory. Watch the game on the Classics channel if you can. That is truly vintage Bo Defense. It surely wasn’t one of Bo’s best teams, but that D was a monster that night. Bo Jackson was running for all he was worth that night, and was getting pounded for every yard. Regardless of the outcome, it was great to be a Michigan Wolverine in New Orleans New Year’s Eve 1984.
My seat was somewhere near the 10 yard line. In front of me were a couple of good old boys in flannel shirts, chewing Skoal, chain smoking and sharing a bottle of Jack Daniels. But, they were cool and well behaved and acting like good Auburn fans. In front of them was this old guy wearing beret and who was a member of the UM Alumni band. He was with his wife and both were resolute Wolverines.
After half time the announcer asked everyone to refrain from smoking. The accumulated smoke, which was thick as morning fog, was bothering the players on the field. Well, the two rednecks ignored the request, which apparently irked Mr. Beret who turned around and started chastising them. At first they just laughed the old guy off, but then Mr. Beret got stupid and reached over and slapped the cigarette out of one of the redneck’s hand. The rednecks were so stunned that they just couldn’t figure out what to do. Apparently, they had never had such an experience before. Thankfully, Beret’s wife reacted quickly and got control of her out of control husband. The rednecks said something like, “Sit your ass down, Old Man!”, and sat down. Beret guy pouted some, and then it was over. Saved by grandma.
Hooked up with some elated Auburn fans who bought me all the Black Russians I could drink and joined my little crew of Wolverine fans at Tippatina’s (when Tippatina’s was Tippatina’s) for the rest of the night.
At the airport, waiting to board the plane, I spotted Jerry Cooney trying to hustle some long-legged blonde at a bar. I cocked blocked the crap out of him begging him for an autograph—which he reluctantly gave me. He was a dang bum anyhow.
Hey, it’s the offseason. I’m posted up some junk.