I Showed Up At Stanford. No one else did.

This is probably a HUGE book

What happens on farms?  I'll tell you what happens on farms:

Eggs are laid, slaughterings occur, and smokings proceed; hell, I'm sure there are clocks cleaned and children spanked.  All of which happened Saturday night down at "The Farm," down at Stanford, where the better coached, more disciplined and physical Stanford Cardinal slaughtered, smoked, cleaned, and spanked the 'Cats.  Conversely, the 'Cats laid an egg.

I managed to observe this despite my intoxication levels and in spite of the underwhelming Stanford crowd.  I know the Cardinal fans didn't miss the memo on the smartphones they developed that their Cardinal were 7-1 and playing a top-15 opponent on national TV.  Damned wannabe Ivy League.  At least Arizona picked a make-believe creature for a mascot not a ripped off color and a tree who's M.O. is to get itself smacked..

Anyhow, if you're ever looking to go into "enemy territory" wearing the opposition's colors, but maybe you're just a wee bit timid to do it, go to Stanford.  The average tailgater is just under one-million years old and the average smile is just over one-billion kilowatts.  They're so damn nice.  I swear to god my cubicle is louder than a Stanford tailgate.  SHHH, you might be too loud reading this.

Let me ask you: at how many other schools would it take 30 MINUTES TO FIND LIQUOR?  That's right, once off Caltrain (which we could drink on), Hayley and I searched for a half-hour before finding an accommodating CVS (30-rack and a 12-rack, BL and Coors, respectively).

Booze in hand we met up with Timbo Fischer (my nickname for Tim) and merrily made our way through the tailgates.  We partied with the Arizona backup center's family and various other degrees of UA alum and enthusiasts.  Tailgating was highlighted by a friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend invite to a 35-foot RV camper.  A-mazing.

We Shotgun Saturdayed before heading into the masacre and that is where my story ends.  Not one Stanford fan spoke a single iota of trash.

Damn Cardinal.

The Wildcats Take Nerdville and Harbaugh Needs a Drink: I'll be there

Whatcha doin' Saturday?  Fun plans?  Exciting plans?  Big plans?

Because if it doesn't involve telling an underwhelming turnout of super nerds, trust fund babies, legacy admits, tech geeks, fans of an elitist coloure, goofy-ass-tree, this guy, and a team whose I-A opponents are a combined 24-32; that their football program is indeed a fluke; and stepping stone for their diarrhea-of-the-mouth leader--Jimmy Harbaugh--then I think my weekend has yours beat.

That's what I'll be doing.

I'll also remind them that they are the Ivy League's bastard reject and that it's called "The Farm" because it was indeed a farm and that the most famous athletic achievement is a band member getting tumbled by a Cal Bear and that Toby Gerhart is now receiving elicit texts from Brett Favre.

That's what I'll be doing.

It'd also be worth mentioning that Arizona leads 12-9 all-time and re-mentioning that the tree looks like the aptly-diagnosed-with-ADD love child of cookie monster and the lady who can pop her eyes out and that said love child didn't get his nap or his meds today. 

Look,  I don't hold that much animosity towards Stanford, probably really nice people, but let's get real: there's big stuff on the line, I'm heading into their "Farm," and I will be wearing my red shirt with a big fat "A" on it.  I'll have my visor on head and "Bear Down" on my lips (along with Bud Lite and an early bloody mary).


That's what I'll be doing.  Will you join me?

If I Were Mike Stoops.... (Oregon State Edition)

Tell you what, the Kool Aid tasted pretty good didn't it?  Ninth in the country, second best defense in FBS, ESPN filmin', Sports Illustrated writin', all of it.  Hell, the number nine national ranking.  The Kool Aid tasted great.


And I'm guilty.  I'm guilty of letting us all sip from that fat boy's jug.  Two weeks to prepare for a struggling offense and we let them march to the drum of 486 yards and 10/15 third down conversions.  That's not what the ninth best team in the country does.  That's not what championship teams do.


I'm going to wear this one boys.  I'm going to tell you that I let you down.  The staff and myself are going to wear this one and we're going to be the hardest working staff in football because that's what we're here to do and that's what you deserve.  Will you return that favor?


We recognize that we've got a special group here that can do special things.


We got punched in the mouth.  Yes, the proverbial punch in the mouth has left us a little shell shocked.  What now?  Welp, let's see what kinda character we've got.  Let's see what it means to us to have A-R-I-Z-O-N-A across our chest - or visor.

No one ever said it was going to be easy.  We're still going to play good football teams in tough places.  And we're going to have to stop people on third and louder-than-hell and we're going to have to score when the clock reads "impossible."


So let's get back to work, gentlemen, cause I'll be damned if a beaver's gonna ruin my season.

Yeah, I foresee a good weekend

Foresight is a great thing.  Just ask Steve Jobs, George Lucas, or Bernie Madoff.  Well scratch the third one, but nonetheless, the ability to see ahead of the curve is a lucrative and successful talent.  

Don't you effing do it Wildcats.  I swear to god you overlook these Cal Bears and I'm gonna be pissed.

In the meantime, I am going to look ahead to the Vampire Weekend concert which I will have the foresight to go ahead and say is going to be epic at the Greek Theater in Berkeley.  That's me Saturday night.

As the sequel to Oliver Stone's 1987 money hungry dialogue "Wall Street" is set to open this weekend, I will steal a line from that: Greed is good.  Yes, indeed.  It's good to be greedy for good concerts and Wildcat W's.  I'll run with that.

Disorganized, abstract, reaching post anyone?  Enjoy.