Were the shizzle. I was just sitting here at lunch pondering that we could be reading something like this:
"First thing to notice about Notre Dame’s starting left cornerback. He’s tall. Really tall. Pine forest tall.
But that don’t mean shit. I ain’t tall, but I spent a lot of time hunting in the Pine Forests of East Texas. Because I was brought up by my Daddy, who expected me to pull myself up by my bootstraps.
The starting cornerbacks for Notre Dame were brought up licking their daddy’s bootstraps. They suck.
Doesn’t mean it’s all going to be peaches and cream for the longhorn receivers though. Those front seven for the domers are some seriously big dudes. Just like the women of the Midwest, they didn’t grow up with a shortage of meat on the table. They fought for the scraps. And we start two freshmen olinemen against these bulls. Now I figure we ain’t going to be scared of a scrap, but be ready to see some buckin’ and kickin’ at this rodeo.
Speaking of which, let me make one point about their quarterback. He’s got potential.
You know what? In fourth grade, I had potential. I was a star, because I was a Texan, a man forged from a hotter furnace. Sadly, all that heat stunted my growth. All that potential didn’t mean shit when I topped out a frog’s hair taller than an eighth grader wearing flip flops. And all that potential doesn’t mean shit for the Notre Dame qb either, let me tell you why. My great granddaddy invented the phrase Put Up or Shut Up. Did I tell you that? Of course I did, just now. You think Charlie Strong is going to allow a big slab of uncooked potential to emerge as a delicious prime rib on his watch? Heck no you don’t. I don’t either. He’s going to slam the shut up right right up their put up. See what I did there? Dime to a dollar we put the T back in Texas on Saturday. Might put a few T’s back in Texas. Maybe we will have so many extra T’s our band will storm the field and spell “Texas Tattas!”. Make Touchdown Jesus blush.
By the way, have you seen our defensive line? We have more horses than a Sante Fe Pony Express waystation, and they come at you like they have rabies. Which they might. Did I tell you I got rabies? Caught it from a fat rattler while I was hand wrestling wild hogs in West Texas. See, I had this hog all wrapped up – I could have porked him right there if I wanted to. But I didn’t. But I could have – just slammed that 400 pound beast down and hammerjacked him right there, which would have made my daddy proud and really disgusted. And right when I was going to wrap him up for the grill – want the wild game taste out of a hog? Cook em live. Eat em live if you can – he pushed me back into a scrub brush where that fat angry rattler got plum upset with my wrangler clad backside and bit it. Hard. Deep. I left him and his fangs hangng in my torn wrangler clad jeans all the way to the hospital, which I only went to because I wasn’t limber enough to get my own lips on my ass, and I didn’t have a domer cornerback around to suck the venom out for me. Because – did I mention? – they suck.
Anyway, we have a bunch of rabid horses, and being from Texas – let’s just spell it TTTexas this week for emphasis - they are going to get after that Domer QB who is all hat and no boots, and they are going to ring his bell like Paul Revere if he was in Philadelphia that dark Boston night. And not in Boston. At night.
Speaking of bells, the Notre Dame band is a bunch of wimps. I intend to kick their ass.
Anyway, all that is a prescription for a Longhorn victory on Saturday. Who needs a ride?"
Good times.
"First thing to notice about Notre Dame’s starting left cornerback. He’s tall. Really tall. Pine forest tall.
But that don’t mean shit. I ain’t tall, but I spent a lot of time hunting in the Pine Forests of East Texas. Because I was brought up by my Daddy, who expected me to pull myself up by my bootstraps.
The starting cornerbacks for Notre Dame were brought up licking their daddy’s bootstraps. They suck.
Doesn’t mean it’s all going to be peaches and cream for the longhorn receivers though. Those front seven for the domers are some seriously big dudes. Just like the women of the Midwest, they didn’t grow up with a shortage of meat on the table. They fought for the scraps. And we start two freshmen olinemen against these bulls. Now I figure we ain’t going to be scared of a scrap, but be ready to see some buckin’ and kickin’ at this rodeo.
Speaking of which, let me make one point about their quarterback. He’s got potential.
You know what? In fourth grade, I had potential. I was a star, because I was a Texan, a man forged from a hotter furnace. Sadly, all that heat stunted my growth. All that potential didn’t mean shit when I topped out a frog’s hair taller than an eighth grader wearing flip flops. And all that potential doesn’t mean shit for the Notre Dame qb either, let me tell you why. My great granddaddy invented the phrase Put Up or Shut Up. Did I tell you that? Of course I did, just now. You think Charlie Strong is going to allow a big slab of uncooked potential to emerge as a delicious prime rib on his watch? Heck no you don’t. I don’t either. He’s going to slam the shut up right right up their put up. See what I did there? Dime to a dollar we put the T back in Texas on Saturday. Might put a few T’s back in Texas. Maybe we will have so many extra T’s our band will storm the field and spell “Texas Tattas!”. Make Touchdown Jesus blush.
By the way, have you seen our defensive line? We have more horses than a Sante Fe Pony Express waystation, and they come at you like they have rabies. Which they might. Did I tell you I got rabies? Caught it from a fat rattler while I was hand wrestling wild hogs in West Texas. See, I had this hog all wrapped up – I could have porked him right there if I wanted to. But I didn’t. But I could have – just slammed that 400 pound beast down and hammerjacked him right there, which would have made my daddy proud and really disgusted. And right when I was going to wrap him up for the grill – want the wild game taste out of a hog? Cook em live. Eat em live if you can – he pushed me back into a scrub brush where that fat angry rattler got plum upset with my wrangler clad backside and bit it. Hard. Deep. I left him and his fangs hangng in my torn wrangler clad jeans all the way to the hospital, which I only went to because I wasn’t limber enough to get my own lips on my ass, and I didn’t have a domer cornerback around to suck the venom out for me. Because – did I mention? – they suck.
Anyway, we have a bunch of rabid horses, and being from Texas – let’s just spell it TTTexas this week for emphasis - they are going to get after that Domer QB who is all hat and no boots, and they are going to ring his bell like Paul Revere if he was in Philadelphia that dark Boston night. And not in Boston. At night.
Speaking of bells, the Notre Dame band is a bunch of wimps. I intend to kick their ass.
Anyway, all that is a prescription for a Longhorn victory on Saturday. Who needs a ride?"
Good times.
