… you’re faced with having to replace both your coordinators and everyone still thinks your team will be the best in the country this season.
Daily Archives: January 14, 2018
Interesting stat, no?
Four of those five in the East, to boot. (Not to mention Georgia will face every one of the QBs not named Fromm.)
As I drove back from Athens after yesterday’s root canal of a basketball game — how on earth do you lose a home game to a team that shot 27% from the floor? — I pondered the meaning of the moment when the home crowd cheered the longest and hardest, which was when Kirby Smart’s mug went up on the big screen and everyone there realized he was in da’ house.
And I realized it simply boils down to this: Greg McGarity is finally on easy street. Nobody cares that Mark Fox is on track to take yet another underachieving team to the NITs, or that women’s gymnastics is a shell of its former self. (Feel free to continue the litany here; I’m too depressed.) Sure, there’s just enough of the old guard left around in places like men’s tennis and swimming/diving to keep those Director’s Cup rankings from tanking. When you get down to it, though, nobody gives a rat’s ass about that stuff when the football team is rolling.
Hell, McGarity himself doesn’t even care enough to make sure the basketball team can make it to and from Missouri smoothly, which I suspect is part of how a team can look so flat at home against an inferior opponent.
And why should he? At this point, his job responsibilities boil down to two: maximize the incoming revenue stream and give Kirby Smart whatever he wants, both of which happen to be right in his wheelhouse. He can do those in his sleep. In fact, that might be preferable in that he can’t be interviewed while napping.
It’s great to be a Georgia Bulldog. Especially when you’re a Georgia Bulldog who can trot Smart out at any other sporting venue to get a big cheer. The man ought to pinch himself every day over his good luck… although I suspect there are days when he grumbles about not getting the lion’s share of the credit for something his boosters pushed him into.
In the meantime, folks, remember those Hartman Fund contributions don’t send themselves.
Depending on your point of view, this news has been greeted with a range of responses running from amazement to amusement.
Pete Carroll is apparently banking on third times being charms this coming year for the Seahawks’ offense — specifically with their new offensive coordinator.
Seattle is expected to hire Indianapolis Colts quarterbacks coach Brian Schottenheimer as the third play caller Carroll has had since he arrived to run the franchise in 2010. That is according to multiple national reports, the first Saturday by ESPN’s Adam Schefter.
I probably fall into the latter group, based simply on Carroll’s thought process.
Carroll has stated his primary goal to get his fallen Seahawks back soaring in 2018 is to run the ball, like his teams used to.
Schottenheimer fits that aim.
I probably need to trademark “Run the damned ball, Schotty” before t-shirt sales take off in Seattle. Y’all enjoy him.
I suspect the passing of Keith Jackson is such a generational thing. That probably saddens me as much as anything does about his death.
For example, this seems almost quaint:
Even after decades in the job, Mr. Jackson retained an old-fashioned, wide-eyed love for the college game.
“The N.C.A.A. can make anybody cynical,” Mr. Jackson once told Sports Illustrated. “But I’m not. It’s still fun to see new generations enjoy the game peaceably. I get there an hour and a half before the game and watch the bands rehearse, the people carry on. You let it seep into you.”
I said “almost”, because damned if I don’t feel the exact same way every time I step inside a college football stadium. (Although I have to admit it gets harder to capture that feeling with every passing year of greed.)
If that sentiment seems a touch out of place, this part is downright alien to today’s broadcasting standards.
He prided himself on being concise and loath to steal the spotlight from the players.
“This is not my stage,” he said. “The stage belongs to the athletes and coaches who play the game. People don’t throw down 1,000 bucks for a TV to hear me talk.”
That’s the real generational thing that’s dying off — hell, dead already. He’s the anti-Jesse Palmer. I miss that approach more than anything these days. If that solidifies my being an old fart, I’ll wear that badge with pride in this case.
Make sure you read this remembrance, too. The man was college football.