The Goat Pen

Gruden is all about ego. Add in the fact he can make more in 5 years guaranteed than 10 calling games plus part ownership and it's a no brainer. Plus he's stealing old time Bengal coaches which is a good thing.

Tennessee went for Gruden hard last December.

Question - if the 2017 Cleveland Browns play the 1985 Chicago Bears, are the Browns winning by enough to rest their starters in the 3rd quarter or 4th quarter?

If the ‘85 Bears played the ‘17 Brown’s, the Bears would put so many Browns in the hospital there wouldn’t be enough Browns left to field a legal team b the 3rd or 4th quarter.

This is a highlight clip of my favorite NFL game of all time. I was living in Dallas at the time, and had come to despise “America’s Team.” I watched this in awe and became a Bears fan then and there, and have been ever since. Little did I know 10 years later I would move near Chicago and stay there 16 years:

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You underestimate how much better the modern football player is than the 1985 version. Jimbo Covert is a friend of mind and, last summer, we were talking about this topic (the superior modern athlete). He said that he thought very few of his teammates from that team would be able to play in the current NFL. He said that most would be unable to make a roster and the rest would struggle to play. A few would be ok (McMahon, Payton, Marshall, and Dent) but most would struggle because they weren't big enough. I'm sure you know better than Covert but I'll go with him on this one. They would get killed.

What about The Fridge?

I don't think he said anything about him. But, he's the perfect example of how much things have changed. He was the biggest person anyone had ever seen in 1985. Now, he's undersized.

The Fridge is in bad shape. Michael Dean Perry (younger brother who played for the Browns) is the Fridge's guardian.

I'm sure the The Fridge graduated Summa Cum Laude from that shithole in the Upstate.

He's not undersized anymore. He may have lost a step or two, though.

It's hard to understand how players have gotten that much bigger in what amounts to one generation. I'm not saying they haven't, but it's hard to see how players have swoll up that much in such a short span of time...

Better training, more emphasis on getting big at a young age, better identification of players at a young age, and drugs/supplements (legal or otherwise).

A retired Ty Cobb was once asked asked what he thought his batting average would be if he played against players of that day. He said about .350. He was asked how many batting titles he would get. He answered, about 9 or 10. When asked why he thought he would that well against modern competition, he said, "Because I'm 72 years old."

FWIW........

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This was Saban's finest hour. Terrible in the first half and not much better in the second. Yanked his starting QB for a true freshman. Survived a soul-crushing missed chip shot at the end of regulation and then a drive-killing sack in OT only to call the right play to beat a UGA D that was gaining momentum.

He really is Satan.

Roll Tide

I guess the morning paper hasn't come yet, nor the coffee prepared. Anticipation...

This morning a damp wind rushed in through my partially opened bedroom window and ruffled the crumpled cotton sheets. The early morning sun struggled to break through ominous gray clouds in a weak attempt to top the dark hills that roughly frame my land. The neighbors’ dogs yelped and howled at the distant claps of thunder over the cacophonous soundtrack of an old riding lawnmower. The squeaky hinge of a storm-loosened shutter screamed for oil. This harsh and obnoxious clatter finally forced an unwilling Morpheus to relinquish his control of my dream-like, semiconscious state.

I am now awake, but I certainly don’t want to be.

Against my will - and much like a junkie driven by an irrepressible jones - the smell of freshly brewed coffee pulls me from my bed and I lumber to the kitchen to pour myself a cup of hot comfort. Groggily, I drink, rub my aching brow, and yawn. Time is in limbo. With the kitchen window closed the sounds that so rudely pulled me from my deep slumber are now inaudible. It is quiet - almost reverent. All is calm until the memory of yesterday wrestles my thoughts from me.

Did it really happen? Could it be true? I have to know for sure.

The cup is now empty but my dealer, Mr. Coffee, is beckoning me to return for another dose. Summoning my dubious willpower, I ignore its siren song and open my front door and proceed to trip through the cool morning dew of my yard to retrieve the chronicle of the previous day’s events: the Tuesday morning paper.

Upon return, and with the second cup of coffee in hand, I quickly discard the unnecessary and wholly irrelevant front-page and classifieds. Sales papers and obituaries are cast asunder and festooned around my living room. With malice, the travel and business sections are quickly dispatched as I secure the object of my frantic search: The sports page. My mind is racing: Did I dream it? Was it a figment of my imagination? Was my drunken state responsible for conjuring some joyous memory of yore and superimposing it on my present-day reality? Did the University of Alabama really win the national championship? Was fitting tribute once again placed at the recently defiled Altar of Bryant?

The Truth is confirmed: Alabama did post a glorious and valiant victory in the battle with the evil canine marauders and their amoral leader. The taste of my coffee sweetens with the thought. I quickly read and re-read the article as if the box score would transmogrify in front of my sleepy eyes and betray my now contented mind. To my nervous relief the words hold true to their original message and the cosmic change on my surroundings is instantly palpable.

Like the promise of a rainbow after a storm, the day begins to take on a warm luster. The Earth is now a better, happier place. The foreboding heavens follow suit as the storm clouds hurriedly retreat from view and give way to a vibrant and intense sunlight that shines more vividly than anytime in recent memory. The visual rapture of that brightness overflows onto the surrounding hills and bathes the entire area with a divine brilliance that provides a shimmering, iridescent halo to all that it touches.

This breathtaking and spiritually reborn vista is joined in perfect accompaniment by the clean, sweet scent of my once dying - now thriving - magnolia trees. The recently blighted, brown-leafed trees now proudly flaunt healthy hues of rich forest green. Birds return to their nests and squirrels zigzag across the plush lawn. Children laugh and play and run and sing the happy songs of youth and innocence again. Like dominoes, one positive turn leads to another as happiness spreads from house to house; from neighborhood to neighborhood; from city to city; and, ultimately, the entire Earth returns to its correct axis and orbit.

I am now comforted and my psyche healed. I am whole. And like the Israelites, after wandering in the wilderness for years, I will take this miraculous manna from heaven and nourish myself until completely sated. The villainous usurper is banished and contentment and joy - rapturous joy - are scepter and orb symbols of the returned and rightful King.

Above, heaven and gods blush with obvious envy at their worldly superiors. Truly, this game was the salve and nectar that my battered soul craved.

and I get to spend this weekend in Tuscaloosa

Leave off "symbols" after "scepter and orb"...

That account is fiction, AA. No newspaper in the land would have had such a narrative since earlier deadlines have rendered print obsolete in the sports world. You could have only read that online. Why do you lie?