Coaches' timeouts are worse. Basketball teams should get one, full stop.
Oh. My. God.
Ok, I shamelessly stole this from The Victors, but it must be shown to all. In fact, since the NDNation BoardOps (heil!) have a tendency to nuke the entire board periodically, I'm going to copy and paste it here, so it remains for all time as a tribute to the lunacy of NDNation in general and "BeijingIrish" in particular. Before we get started, one final note: this guy's profile states he graduated college in 1968. The author of what follows is in his mid-50s.
And... ALLEZ CUISINE!
October 20, 2007
As he trudged off the field in the light rain, Brian thought it wasn't supposed to be like this. He could hear the "We're Number 1" chant from the Notre Dame student section, but it was muted. He still had the ringing in his ears from early in the game when he tried to tackle Schwapp, the guy they call "The Human Bowling Ball".
He thought the near turnover on the kickoff might work to SC's advantage. Following ND's recovery of its own fumbled kickoff, the Irish were pinned down at the 11. Not for long. The perfectly camoflaged draw play to Schwapp yielded 30 yards and a day-long headache for Brian. On the next play, Heisman candidate Walker went for 8 yards, and Brian got blind-sided by Incarnato. Hord's catch for a TD on the next play was the first of three for the day, and the resurgent Irish were off and running.
"We're number 1", We're number 1" followed him into the tunnel. He escaped the bedlam in the stadium only to find a tomblike atmosphere in the Trojan locker room. Lying amidst the discarded tape and bandages, Sanchez did not appear to respond to the smelling salts. No wonder. As he ran on to the field following Mark's fumble, he remembered Zbikowski hovering over the fallen Trojan qb, yelling, "Get up bitch". The trainers allowed as how a night at St. Joe's might be prudent. The young junior could fly back tomorrow.
No such luck for me, Brian thought, wincing as he pulled off his white away jersey, now soiled with grass stains, drops of blood, and tiny flecks of gold paint. I've got the long plane ride home, then I have to study for my "History of Cartoons" midterm. Then, practice. No rest for the weary. They had Ty's Dawgs coming into the Coliseum next Saturday.
As he packed his bag, he thought back 2 years when he made his decision to attend USC. He remembered how it was sort of fun toying with Charlie. Now, he wondered if that was wise. He had an inkling during warmups when he approached Weis. "Hey Coach", he said in his best Jersey accent. The eyes said it all. He did not have to wait for the "who the fuck are you?".
I am speechless.