What’s the first thing that pops into your mind after reading Marc Weiszer’s post about Georgia dropping Dexter Moody’s scholarship?
Go ahead. Say it.
“I’m sure there will be other folks interested,” Turner said.
You know you’re thinking it. C’mon. It’s OK.
Maybe Moody needs to consult with an expert about his decision. Fortunately, there’s someone in a perfect position to help: Bryce Brown.
… Brown also could help college football in general, and he plans to. “I think I can help other recruits out,” Brown told SI.com Monday. “I’ve come up with some goals and plans for the future. I plan on holding seminars where I can talk to recruits and help them make spiritual decisions.”
C’mon, Dexter, at least flirt with Coach O. Pleeeze. Trust me, it’ll be worth it.
Get The Picture 
I heard it was a little more serious than “fussing” with the chemistry teacher. This article makes it sound like this one incident was the only one. Bryce Brown & Kiffie are perfect for each other. They are both quote machines. In another article on the Vol’s board, Brown said God lead him to Tennessee and he got “a sign” while he was there. Was that “sign” in the form of cash or check?
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Guess Mr. O wasn’t sent to consult him and his grandmother
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Escalade.
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Global War on Lane (GWOL), Friday the Thirteenth continuation (R-rated for adults eyes’ only extended version):
Practice field, Green Zone, Knoxville:
After getting the latest morning intel from the Senator on her Blackberry while she zooming to the practice field in her 911 twin-turbo, Layla Two knew that as soon as she reported it to Monte, Monte would get all antsy and want to dispatch Lane and Coach O on the Gulfstream to Valdosta or some other damn place in Georgia to meet and greet some All-Star who had just dropped Georgia.
Two knew that Monte would tell Lane and O that someone had dug under and crawled out through Richt’s fence in Georgia and that this was a further showing that Richt couldn’t even keep the best players in Georgia.
Two knew that this kid would be an ideal roomie for Bryce and knew that not only Monte, but Lemming too, would be excited for Lane and O to once again be together for the the first time combining all of their collective years of relentless recruiting to work their magic on an eighteen year old high school kid and his grandmother.
Johnny Majors, his twelve gauge and his posthole diggers were propped on his F-150. Johnny had on overalls, the top of which were dropped to show off his “I Hate Phil!” shirt. Johnny had just taken another dip of snuff and propped his foot on a roll of rusty barbed wire outside the F-150. When Johnny saw Two leap General Lee style out of her 911, he thought that these coeds look better and better each year. He noticed the pockets sticking out below Two’s short shorts. Who wouldn’t?
Two got her LiLo’s from Lindsay when Lindsay and her girlfriend of the day were in the same shop on Duval where Two just so happened to be.
All the hotties in town were getting their tops painted for Fantasy Fest in Key West last October. Two couldn’t help but notice that Lindsay kept batting her eyelashes at Two.
Finally, when the paint jobs were complete, Lindsay asked Two if she would like to ride on the lead float and then join Lindsay and friend back at her penthouse suite after the parade that night. LiLo was grand marshall or something like that.
Two knew well since junior high that two guys and a girl was called a menage a trois because that’s what the two guys told her. Some in Tennessee also called it an abbreviated family reunion.
Two was not sure what they called three girls together without a guy but some drag queen told her that down here it was just called three girls and two di!dos, or in the Keys, business as usual.
Two was okay with that. She liked to try new things. By the time the great party was over, Lindsay’s other girlfriend was jealous and threatening to cut Two, so Two grabbed a handful of clothes and split from the penthouse suite.
Two ended up with LiLo’s cutoff denim short shorts but liked the way they fit so she wore them for the big event today. Two had slipped on her bondage thong up high and tight under the LiLo’s and had on rhinestone Kinos to match her halter top.
Two upsized Monte’s usual Grande Vanilla Latte from Starbucks to a Venti and had them squirt in two extra shots of expresso because she knew that Monte would need that extra dose of caffeine for today’s three-ringer.
The latte was even hotter than usual because Two had to put it between her legs to carry it from the drive-through to the practice field. Two knew that there must be some fine print in the Marshall Plan that kept the Germans from putting cup holders in their cars.
The assistant coach troopers were wandering around with their hands in their pockets at the newly re-sodded practice field. They could hardly remember the bombing range it looked like after the Friday theThirteenth attack in February.
The studio musicians were already set up on the newly built band platform in the endzone on the Tennessee River side of the practice field. The UT Pep Band was also there sitting in Samsonite folding chairs off to the side of the bandstand.
Most of the assistant coach troopers had on camo outfits, bicycle helmets and running shoes. They remembered what happened last month. But not Lane. He arrived at the field and chained up his Segway. Someone, and Lane expects that’s it’s one or more of the other assistant coach troopers, keep stealing Lane’s Segway and Hamilton was getting tired of replacing it.
In a bit of unsolicited advice, Hamilton told Lane that Hamilton, if he had to take a wild guess, would say it is not a good show of manliness in Tennessee to turn down a NASCAR pace-car invite to Bristol and then ride around in the Green Zone on an upright bike. Lane was unconcerned.
In an inspiring show of leadership genius, Lane had outfitted himself a la Lt. Dangle from Reno 911.
Well, at least the bottom part: khaki short shorts with pockets hanging out and visible from the bottom, hairless legs and spit-shined black cleatless tie-on Corfam shoes. Topside, Lane was wearing a short sleeve khaki Panzer Division junior officer’s shirt and a shoulder-holstered Lugar less magazine. Some of the boosters had picked these little babies up at a Knoxville White Power Militia rummage sale and gifted them to the athletic department.
They were vintage collector’s items but sold for a steep discount because the Militia had to purge itself of certain select items and throw away clothes like the fat girls had to do on “What Not to Wear” to enable the Militia to get bailout money from D.C. for infrastructure cross construction in East Tennessee.
As headgear, Lane was wearing a Predator’s goalie mask. Lane was marching around like he knew what was going on. Monte saw and shook his head. He thought back to the day when Lane would seem to be happy playing ball outside with the other boys but seemed much happier looking at himself in a mirror and striking a pose. And not a Heisman pose at that.
All of Lane’s peer assistant coach troopers were laughing and making fun of him. The studio musicians heard and saw what was going on, started laughing too and launched into a little Marshall Tucker Band, “I’m strutting my stuff y’all, boom diddy boom, I’m strutting my stuff y’all…”. After that they segued in Beck’s “Loser.”
Lane thought to himself that this cannot be, I am the lead dog assistant coach trooper and these guys have to realize that. Lane yelled at the troopers, told them to stop laughing and said, “How about a little respect guys? Were it not for me and Daddy, all of you would be still stuck in the podunks with low pay instead of this podunk with high pay!”
Monte, on first hearing of the sound of chopper blades in the distance, grabbed his bullhorn before everybody scattered again like they did last time and commanded,
“No Incoming Fire! No Incoming Fire! Stand Fast! Don’t Scatter! I repeat, Don’t Scatter! The choppers are going to drop off a little pre-practice entertainment that I think you all will like!”
First in was a Blackhawk which landed, dropped hatch and offloaded two Starstreak surface-to-air missile shoulder launchers and two M-80 anti-tank weapons. The Blackhawk took off and a Coast Guard search and rescue chopper pulled in and hovered over the bandstand. Two heavily armed Xe mercenaries expertly dropped down on separate lines and hit the stage.
One Xe locks and loads and yells at the assistant coach troopers, “If any of you come any closer to the stage, I’ll blow your ******* heads off. Stay the **** away from the stage, assho!es!” Monte wonders if this is what a younger, heavily armed version of a Bobby Knight would have sounded like.
The assistant coach troopers, the studio musians, the Pep Band, Johnny Majors and Tom Lemming are going absolutely bull**** crazy. Two looks relaxed. Johnny’s spitting snuff all over everyone around him. Lemming is furiously texting his boss at the Fightin’ Irish of Weiss. Monte grabbed his bullhorn and yelled for all of them to quiet down, the entertainment phase of the program has not even started yet, calm down.
Then a rope ladder drops down from the helo to the stage. Johnny and Lemming yell, “Hey, Monte what the Hell is up next?”
Monte grabs one of his assistant coach troopers and slams the trooper’s head into the bandstand, smiles and replies,
“To tell you the truth, in all of this excitement, I’ve kind of lost track myself…”
(…to be continued)
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