I’m not sure this is the point of pride Scott Frost thinks it is.
That kind of takes me back to the 2003 Georgia-Clemson game.
OK, folks, this is just gross. You want to know why Clemson quarterback Charlie Whitehurst fumbled one of those snaps in the Tigers’ 30-0 loss Saturday to Georgia? Center Tommy Sharpe had just vomited on the ball, then presented it between his legs to Whitehurst. Nice guy, right? It gets worse. After the series Sharpe went to the sideline and puked on coach Tommy Bowden’s shoes.
Get The Picture 
Also 15-20 concussions per practice b/c Raiola’s guys are running headfirst into an actual brick wall that Raiola has dubbed ‘The Great Wall of Nebraska.’ No helmets b/c helmets are ‘soft.’
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Hell, Senator…
You got more vomits than that from the picture of Corch you sprung on us this morning.
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post of the day!
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I gotta see if that is on video. Lol. Especially the part of puking on Bowden’s shoes.
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Quite a trip down memory lane. I well remember the 2003 opener, nauseating indeed for Clemson but a feast for our guys. Even with a mostly freshman O-line, who knows how far they might have gone if not for a mid-season wave of bites from the injury bug. BTW, scrolling down a little from Clemson’s digestive system gives the reader a peek at the gnats’ 2003 future, the one and only Reggie Ball. The writer was very disquieted, even at the dawn of his season. Meanwhile the prologue of 2022 is upon. Always fun to pull against the Huskers and their Boy-Wonder-Come-Home from UCF. Go Wildcats.
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That ’03 Clemson was one HOTassed game! My buddy crapped out in the stands and hadda go to the infirmary to cool down!!!!
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“We may not have had a winning season in six years, but at least we’re puking a ton” is one of the weirder flexes I’ve seen in quite a while.
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Feels like those student athletes are just sick of being under the current hc’s guidance…
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They need more salt tablets.
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Reminds me of Billy Bob! “Puke and rally!”
RIP Ron Lester.
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It’s late September, 1969. I begin my time as a student in Athens and at the time, PE was required. You had to take six quarters and then after that you could do all you wanted, but you had to do six, and that year all the incoming male freshmen had to take either 1) running, 2) weight lifting, or 3) ‘conditioning exercises’. We were told that we were essentially lab rats for a project a grad student in the PE department was conducting.
I wanted weightlifting first, then running, but got conditioning exercises. At 1:00 in the afternoon. And we had to do this on the outside of the old Stegeman Hall (which was adjacent to Clarke Howell at the intersection of Baxter and Lumpkin. I know, it’s all different now.
Conditioning exercises turned out to be calisthenics for 10 minutes, then run 3-4 laps around the building, then more calisthenics then more running until the hour had passed. About one-third of the guys in that class had to walk to the bushes and puke their guts out. The instructor would have made Scott Frost proud.
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Myrvous or Fales?
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Mrvos
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Wasn’t Mrvos. He did weightlifting that period. I don’t recall my instructor’s name but he wasn’t anyone famous in the PE department. I was told that he was a retired Marine drill sergeant, but that might be a supposition by someone that told me. We got our money’s worth from him, though.
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I had Mrvos for weightlifting in grad school.(needed to pay for thesis hours so I did so by taking a couple of PEs). I had to miss a class so his requirement was you went to his other class, which as the advanced class. I couldn’t move my arms and damned near puked in the shower afterwards. Never missed another class that quarter.
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Or Castronis (in 1968 at least)?
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I had Castronis for conditioning exercises in the middle 70s.
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1:00pm on a September afternoon perfect time for a little PT. 😇
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McNabb puked all the time during games.
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Everybody has a “Puke Story”. Here’s mine (with apologies).
Bootcamp San Diego 1968. Every morning after breakfast we stood personal inspection on the grinder. We were standing in formation at attention when the guy directly behind me puked, splatttering the back of my legs, my boondockers and the stock of my ’03 Springfield. He was ordered to “fall out” but he was too nauseated to move quickly so he was grabbed by the collar of his shirt and dragged out of formation by an instructor.
I was subsequently gigged for having puke on my clothes, boots and rifle (or “piece” in naval terminology) as if it were somehow my fault. (they loved to do crap like this to us. We had one sadistic CC that would bring bread from the mess hall with him and toss pieces of it over us as we stood in formation. The seagulls knew the drill and dozens would be flapping around just above our heads as we stood there helpless, hoping someone would get shit on, but hoping it wouldn’t be “me”. If you got shit on, you would be punished “for having seagull shit on you”. I remember thinking we should all just rush him and beat the hell out of him but it never happened.
The worst part was having to pick the piece up when we were ordered to present arms. It was slippery with undigested eggs, milk and half-cooked chunks of bacon. (Did anyone in the service ever get crisp bacon?) I’m sure this was all very funny to the instructors and CCs when they met to compare stories at the club that evening.
My prize for getting puked on was a two hour “marching party” (directed by sailor hating, sadistic jarheads at night) and the puker? Well, he went to sickbay, came back an hour or two later good as new and went unpunished.
The seagulls loved it when someone puked on the grinder. It was like Thanksgiving dinner for them.
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The great Ben Zambiasi would puke before every GA game. The team wouldn’t leave the locker room until he did – per :”100 Years Of Georgia Football.”
I think he is still our all-time leading tackler.
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Reminds me of the story told by John Madden of Fred Biletnikoff puking before every game. Everyone in the locker room could hear him, and when he finished, they knew it was time to go play. Having trouble with nerves doesn’t mean you can’t be great.
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I just came here to say I went out this morning to take my middle (7yo) son to breakfast and to do some shopping. When I sat down to eat I realized I was wearing the tennis shoes with the puke stains all over them —- stains from last summer when the same son projectile-vomited all over my shoes at a rest stop.
But at least it wasn’t while we were driving!
Funny how having kids just makes you shrug some things off.
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That was a hot day in 2003. I remember it well.
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I read a story a few years ago told by an aging broadway star. I can’t remember her name, but she was a big time broadway actress who everyone would be familiar with. She said she would get so nervous before a performance the she would puke every time before going on. That would be 6 times a week for like 30 years. Seems like she would have been comfortable enough after awhile. Or maybe that intensity is what made her great.
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Nebraska fans puke at least 15-20 times/game.
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I was at that game. Upper deck it was ridiculously hot.
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I was there. John Rocker sat next to us. He’s a large man. Barely sweated while wearing a Wick-away shirt. Of course everyone was standing. I was soaking. There was a pool of sweat at my feet that looked like I pissed myself.
I didn’t mind. 30-0.
Clemson sucks.
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It was a glorious day to be a Dawg! It seemed cooler inside from our upper upper deck seats only two rows beneath the sun than that breezeless humid swamp parking lot field where we set up our tailgate. I can still hear the jingling keys at halftime ya’ll come back for some more. Clemson sucks.
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The mention of Fred Biletnikoff triggered my memory of the 1964 UGA-FSU game (my freshman year) at Sanford Stadium. Steve Tensi and Fred Biletnikoff played pitch and catch all day – especially in the 4th quarter – and beat us 17-14. We had no answer for a good passing game.
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I was at a “teenage nightclub” in the Chicago burbs in the summer of 66. We were drinking rotgut in my buddies Virile Volks and went partying. The cops spotted me, took me around the side of the building and slammed me against the wall. I promptly unload a stream all officer the fine officer. He demanded my identification and I just handed him my wallet. Unfortunately I had the notorious set of fake ID’s that included a draft card. They said that was a “federal crime” and, that boys and girls, is how you end up in the US Army on your 17th birthday!
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