The Alphabetical, Week 13: In Which Florida Is Taken Out Back To Be Butchered

A is for Abattoir. The inside of the Georgia Dome looked like someone had been killed inside it, so much so that the mere sight of the carnage hospitalized those who witnessed the sight. Every good thing that happened to me at the SEC Championship Game happened before it even started.

...and after that is was all downhill from there, or if downhill is too gentle a word for you, let's try "bound in a sack, thrown into a mining cart, and sent deep into a mining shaft before having thousands of tons of thrown on to you in an cave-in."

Alabama had one penalty on Saturday. Besides that one meaningless mistake, they played a perfect game with maximum effort: 490 yards and 32 points on offense, 13 points total allowed to Florida, and a scoreless second half where the offense held the ball for a greedy 21 minutes and twelve seconds. There are no adjustments to be made when the other team has talent as good or better than yours and decides to destroy you. The only thing to do is smile when the hammer meets your teeth, and come back next time.

B is for Beast. The blue fur would fit. Ndamukong Suh isn't even supposed to be getting the sacks where he tosses Colt McCoy out of the way like a pesky sandbag. By design the tackles in a Bo Pelini defense are space-eaters, not unstoppable pass-rushers capable of blowing up double-teams, falling into pass coverage to make interceptions, or side-to-side run stoppers bringing down tacklers on the edge. Ndamukong Suh horrifies and astonishes in equal parts: versus Texas he made one sack of Colt McCoy while engaged with another blocker, simply sticking his right arm out despite being held by the offensive line and bringing McCoy down with one arm. If he's not the leading cause of death in Nebraska, he should be because he would be swift, decisive, and mostly painless.

The House of Spears is through with you, sir. Please leave the premises.

(None of these words describe watching Nebraska's offense, where Shawn Watson may best defend his job by saying that his attack is so bad they actually come full circle and make a form of football so bad it's compelling. He'd be right, too.)

C is for Charity. Charlie Weis lets the door hit himself in the ass on the way out, tries to swing it back in Pete Carroll's face, and then has it hit him on the rebound. He says his comments about Pete Carroll living with a grad student out in Malibu were "taken out of context," and may have been, but let it never be said that Charlie doesn't know how to exit a room without style. Additionally: if Pete Carroll is really living with a grad student out in Maliibu and not with his wife, who cares? Pete Carroll is a beautiful, be-abbed six-pack havin' shaft of heavenly light beaming on us all at all times. How do you know he's not serving as guardian angel to this possibly nonexistent young lady?

D is for DOT. The favorite source of obstruction in Georgia, fond of closing seven lanes of the eight-lane 75/85 connector in Georgia and raising its hands in a taunting pose while asking "WHAT NOW, MORTALS?? The DOT came second this weekend next to Alabama's defense, a unit that allowed no points in the second half of the SEC strangulation. When did we know that Football Jesus had indeed arrived at his own personal college football Calvary? When Florida went three-and-out on its first series, and the routes looked the same on every pass play: two deep receivers covered down the sidelines, one guy muddling around in the middle, and a wide receiver standing in the flat waving his hands. After that everything else was mummery: Florida could not answer with points and could not stop Alabama from advancing like a creeping glacier of red down the field. 

E is for Ergometer. A device measuring work, and one that would have been smoking and catching fire if used to measure Mardy Gilyard's day against Pitt and his opponent Dion Lewis. Lewis' cells may have more mitochondria than the normal human being: he carried the ball an unheard of 47 times for 194 yards and 3 TDs, while Gilyard returned a kickoff 99 yards to spark the rally down 31-10, caught 5 balls for 118 yards and a score in the 45-44 stunner against Pitt. Dion Lewis should be carried in a sedan chair for the next week for that effort, and also because his legs likely seized up for two days afterward.

Gilyard, however, gets the sweet taste of victory and the award for classy thank yous to fans (because it's cold as hell out here).

F is for Filigree. As in the lettering on the invitations to bowls, which went out in various pulses throughout the day on Sunday. The most bizarre: USF getting and accepting the invite to the International Bowl in Toronto over a bid from the St. Pete Bowl, which sits just a few miles over the Howard Frankland Bridge from their campus.

G is for Gravity. Gravity either is or isn't interlinked with time, depending on your alignment in the great Newtonian/Einsteinian split between those who believe the two are completely separate, and those who say they are intextricably linked. i like the latter of the two, because it pleases me to imagine that as a game gathers momentum and becomes a heavier, more important event, it gains its own gravity and slows down. If you watched the end of the Cincy/Pitt game, it certainly felt like the Einsteinian rule was in effect, a kind of grand slowness as time slowed down around the dense drama of the game. Armon Binn's final catch felt like it took days, and I watched it on replay. Live must have felt like slow geology in motion.

H is for Haine. French for "hate" and the emotion covering an entirely different kind of slowness in football. I walked out of the Auburn 2006 game in a fit of disgust, thus marking the only time I've ever left a game early. It is my only superstition and rule: you have to stay to double zeroes no matter how horrid the results, no matter how agonizing whatever you're watching on the field might be. I held onto the streak here, but it took conscious physical effort not to walk out at the four minute mark when Alabama got the ball back after Florida's last gasp and proceeded to grind out the last four minutes in slow, pure tortuous fashion. You might be wondering: does this mean you missed Alabama's infamous taunting "Rammer Jammer" cheer? No: it cranked up with about ten seconds left on the clock, and our scorched ears heard the whole thing.

I is or Independence. The finale of the Independence Bowl's long and fitful romance with the SEC this year will feature Georgia versus Texas A&M. Georgia will coach the game without a defensive staff, since they have not hired a replacement for Willie Martinez and several assistants fired along with Martinez at the end of the season. Bet the over, because A&M will be coaching with a full defensive staff but no defensive players on the field HEY-OOOO!!! 

J is for Journeyman. The modern coach is a journeyman, with no established residence, home, or place of employ. Brian Kelly is a cellphone, a resume, and a record, and one currently employed by Cincinnati, a place that would like him and that enviable record and resume to stay.

Kelly said his future will be determined by Saturday. So will Cincy's, though not necessarily Notre Dame's, who if Kelly refuses the offer will fall a long way from the "Meyer/Stoops/Kelly" trio to the next tier of coaches.

K is for Knocked Out. LeGarrette Blount provided an appropriate circularity to Oregon's season. His post-game tirade and the loss to Boise State prompted the dramatic reformation of the Ducks, a team that staggered back from an early flirtation with the brink and went on to clinch the Rose Bowl berth against Ohio State. Blount began it with a mistake, and finished it by adding a crucial late score and yards down the stretch for the Ducks, though LaMichael James was the bigger set of wings (get it because they're ducks QUACKING ME UP!) on the night, running 25 times for 166 yards and 3 scores. Oh, and Jeremiah Masoli deeeestroyed someone on a 4th and 3, but that kind of brutality is customary for him now.

L is for La Terrecita. Todd Blackledge at La Teresita, and for the first time in Todd's long, face-sfuffing journey on "Todd's Taste of the Town," I was jealous of him. Usually he's just at some family owned place of age and renown specializing in huge steaks, or huge omelets, or something else huge stuffed within something else huge and inedible. (Example: "Mrs. Spucklebottom's here in Morgantown has been making their special pizza waffle tacos for years now, and college students can't get enough of them!" Read: "because they're drunk when they order them.") La Teresita is a classic, though Blackledge didn't finish the meal with cafe con leche, a must in order to stay awake after eating four varieties of fried starch. I'd love to show you the video here, but ESPN still thinks it's 1999 and doesn't understand viral content.

M is for Monkey Steals Peach. The other metaphor for what Alabama did to Florida this weekend.

N is for Nebraska. It is nearly impossible to read this account of Nebraska's post-game without getting a queasy knot of sympathy in your stomach. 

[H]e went back toward the locker room, where he saw Marc Boehm, NU assistant athletic director.

"Marc, I want to see (Big 12 head of officiating) Walt Anderson in there right (expletive) now!" Pelini shouted.

"BCS!" Pelini said as he entered the locker room. "That's why they make that call!"

Reading it you'll get the familiar, sickening feeling of seeing someone who has just watched something horrible happen, really can't believe it, sees the evidence, re-examines it, and decides not to believe it anyway. It is a feeling reserved for when loved ones die, houses burn, and you miss winning a championship by a single second. (There was a second on the clock, but if you don't see it that's fine: for Nebraska fans an event like this rewires the brain to the point where there can be no debate. )

O is for Oh Come On THAT'S NOT EVEN FAIR.

P is for Pause. If the clock had run out on Texas on the final play of the game, two things would have happened. First, Mack Brown would have grown a new pair of Lesticles, something helpful for making ballsy fourth down decisions, and something not so helpful for end of the game clock management.

Watch Suh close on McCoy there: he's that close to getting to him even on the final play of the game. Second, according to the computers, Cincy would have been the proper pick to face Alabama in the national title title game. 

Q is for Quincy, Michigan. Okay, it starts with Q and it's in the same state as Dan LeFevour, who can't properly be called the Rust Belt Tebow anymore thanks to his record 147th TD scored in Central Michigan's victory over Ohio in their 20-10 victory in the MAC Championship. He deserves his own nickname that doesn't use "LeFevour" ... HI I'M CHRIS BERMAN AND I'M GOING TO CALL HIM DAN "SATURDAY NIGHT" LEFEVOUR GET IT--

R is for Redaction. Take the entire season off the books: Western Kentucky, up 20-10 over Arkansas State, going into the fourth quarter and looking for their first win in the final game of the season, spit the bit and ran back into a burning barn of pure flaming loss. WKU surrendered 14 points, scored none, and kept the golden donut of a winless season alive (or undead, depending on your perspective) in losing to ASU 24-20. Surprisingly, they are not bowl eligible even with the extremely low standards of the current bowl system.

S is for Sour. The UCLA Bruins have to root for an Army loss to Navy in order to secure an EagleBank Bowl bid. Why do you hate America, Rick Neuheisel?

T is for The Blue Collar Comedy Tour Bowl GIT 'ER DONE. Mock Bill Stewart all you like, but he's the one with a 9-3 regular season and a Gator Bowl berth. Stewart will face off against Bobby Bowden in the folksiest bowl you've ever seen in the Gator, and what should be an interesting match of movable objects (Florida State's defense) and West Virginia's offense (the periodically resistable object.)

U is for Underutilized, Again. Yes, they won, but teleportin' Noel Devine still got only 16 carries in the 24-21 victory over Rutgers on Saturday. If he got as many carries as Dion Lewis the Heisman discussion would not be this, what you call it...a "discussion." Mr Devine would have sole ownership of it. Upside: low mileage for the NFL draft! Georgia Tech also went its second straight game without using its punter.

V is for Voltron. If you don't find CJ Spiller just walking around campus, it is because he is actually five mechanical lions that meet, transform, and become what you call CJ Spiller. Clemson lost, but not before putting Spiller out for his best performance in a valiant effort: 20 carries, 233 yards, and 4 TDs on the ground in total. Watching him cut through Tech's porous defense was cruel, but if you're wondering why Tech won look no further than the complete lack of punting by either team. The last bullet was the fatal wound, and Clemson ran out of bullets first.

W is for Wilted. USC passed out several miles before the finish line in losing a 21-17 game to Arizona, who now gets to play for the Whale Trophy in the Pacific Life Holiday Bowl. This would have been a lot cooler for Arizona had they not been fourth in line to beat a wilting USC team struggling on offense and defense, but kicking a bully while they're bleeding and prostrate on the ground is satisfying no matter the occasion.

X is for Xhosa. Speakers of the Bantu language in southeast Africa whose tongue, though inscrutable, is still more comprehensible than anything INSIDEtheBCS has posted on their Twitter feed. Ari Fleischer: money well spent, gentlemen!

Y is for Ye Be the Champions. East Carolina cinched the C-USA championship by upsetting Houston 38-34 by forcing four turnovers. This column credits pirate talking and having an actual defense for their success against their opponent, meaning Texas Tech is halfway there in terms of the winning formula. Take notes, Cap'n Leach.

Z is for Zook'd. If you want the definition of getting Zook'd, it's here: allowing a game-winning two-point conversion for a loss to Fresno State.