[Jack Swarbrick and Brian Kelly stand in the hallway of a four-star hotel in downtown Chicago, outside the double doors of a large banquet hall.]

KELLY: Look, Jack, I'm very busy this week, and I really need to get back to planning for the Purd--

SWARBRICK: Now, Coach, as I explained when I hired you, these events are part of your job as Head Coach of the University of Notre Dame. It's not hard; just smile, answer some softball questions, say "Go Irish," and take the checks. You'll do great.

[Swarbrick sprints off down the hall and around the corner with surprising speed for a man his age. The double doors of the banquet hall open, and Kelly slowly walks in. As he enters, the screeching of a fiddle suddenly stops. Kelly steps up to the podium at the front of the room.]

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Truly, the Blind Oracle astounds and amazes. Despite Zeus' most vexing interference last week, the Oracle's trendy frames saw that which was destined. But Lo! The Oracle does not shy from a challenge, even one so mighty as to confound his Transitions® Lenses.

Now, prepare as the Blind Oracle enters his trance for all of Saturn's Day, whether you like it or not...

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Hark, lowborn mortals, for the Blind Oracle at Bristol has returned!

We assume you foolishly thought that the Blind Oracle perished at the end of last season, as is your wont, but no! The Oracle's ability to cheat death is second only to his ability to ignore gaping plot holes. Not only has the Oracle returned unto you, he has also procured new mystical eyewear to enhance his already astounding foresight, on the suggestion of the young McCarron the Southron, Arbiter of Cool.

Silence your incessant rabbling, now, as the Oracle enters his mysterious trance one again... 

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Do you like baseball? Do you like exciting offense? Clutch pitching? Two powerhouses battling for first place in a midseason rivalry matchup?

Too bad. Join me for a NL Central Pillowfight of epic proportions, a glass of fine St. Louis air, and ALL THE EVERYTHING. Perhaps there will be various glowing Victorybeasts. Probably. Hopefully. Maybe. This is your weekend open thread, and I expect plenty of owls out of you people. Fuck the Cubs, fuck the NBA, and FUCK CLEMSON.

The commentariat in this corner of the interwebs contains quite a collection of unapologetic beer snobs, among whom I am happy to count myself. Our threads are filled with discussions of local, esoteric and expensive beers, beers in which the notes of black pepper perfectly complement the hints of fresh citrus. An entire universe of complex, fascinating beers exists for our exploration.

Well, fuck that noise. Sometimes, we bohemian intellectuals (read: broke-ass debt pits) like to indulge in somewhat less refined beers. Beers that never promised you a goddamn thing, because that's not what they're here for. They don't owe you shit but extreme drunkenness and hangovers of staggering intensity. Go ahead, drink 18 of them. They don't care, and neither do you.

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[It is a cold, quiet night. Between the clouds, the weak light of the moon shines on a McMansion with a staggering number of rooflines, set back far from the road. The lights of a large city glow in the distance.]

[A man sits in the study of the house, alone with his thoughts and the distant ticking of a clock. He sips from a glass of Gatorade.]

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What fools these mortals be! Just as they thought Notre Dame was doomed for Christmas in Detroit, so they thought the Blind Oracle at Bristol's mystic powers left him back in October. But nay! The All-Seeing One merely needed to find his AAA card so he could get his discount at Lenscrafters. Silence, now, as the Oracle enters his trance-like state for the last time this season...

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[A courtroom, veiled in shadow and filled with the whispers of tense spectators. The BAILIFF enters silently through a side door, and a hush falls over the room.]

BAILIFF: Hear ye, hear ye! Now before the court: the matter of the People of Notre Dame versus Brian Kelly. All rise for the honorable Judge Baghead.

[Torches at the front of the courtroom flare to life. BAGHEAD THE ADJUDICATOR sits atop a tennis umpire's chair.]

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Foolish mortals. For weeks, you mocked the Blind Oracle at Bristol with your "spreads" and your "obscure Dune references." But the Oracle will always get the last laugh, for he sees what you never will, and last week he foresaw with absolute clarity the horrors that abounded in the Lands of the Meadow. Silence now, as the Oracle enters his trance-like state to pronounce even more doom upon those whom the gods mock...

"The end draws nigh, and signs and portents abound. Tigers devour tigers, oranges are found in bowls, and hurricanes that rain gold emerge from the desert. The mighty are cast into the abyss, and the meek rule the world of men. Your enemies veer against you, and you are powerless to stop them. Bottom line, the Irish lack the team speed to keep up with the Golden Hurricane. Tulsa beats Notre Dame, 35-10."

The Blind Oracle at Bristol may be a bit late to join you Saturday morning, for even the most divinely inspired of prophets must journey to the local Jewel-Osco to acquire the nectar of the gods. 

Silence, now, for the Jewel employees are on their break, and the Oracle enters his trance-like state once again...

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SOUTH BEND, IN - Notre Dame Athletic Director Jack Swarbrick announced the finalized schedules for upcoming football seasons in a press conference Wednesday afternoon.  We now bring you an exclusive preview of the exciting Fighting Irish football schedules of the future!

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Back when Ancient Chinese Secret was six months old, a strange intersection of fate and coincidence took place one November night in Miami. Fortunately, Brunt Mashbanger was there to capture it for us.

Who is this "Charles" guy?

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All right, so the Blind Oracle at Bristol has been a little off lately. No matter! If you mortals are too dense to correctly interpret his prophetic visions, that's really not his problem.

Now be silent and listen very carefully to the Oracle's mysterious words as he enters his trance-like state once again...

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The Blind Oracle at Bristol cackles with glee at you mortals, who foolishly believed his prediction last week. Alas for you, that prophecy was but a test of your faith, and you have failed. Or passed. Or something. No matter! Tremble with fear and awe as the Blind Oracle casts his mysterious gaze toward the desolate plains of Indiana...

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[Alumni Stadium, Chestnut Hill, Massachusetts, 11:03 P.M. Notre Dame has a comfortable lead over Boston College late in the game, but Irish quarterback Dayne Crist has just thrown an ugly interception. He jogs off the field toward COACH KELLY.]

KELLY: YOU GOTTA BE SHITTING ME! GOD DAMMIT, CRIST, HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I TOLD YOU THAT THE LIBRARY BUILDING IS NOT A CHECKDOWN!? 

CRIST: Sorry, Coach, I didn't see Rudolph in the corner-

KELLY: SORRY DOESN'T CUT IT! IF YOU DON'T START MAKING BETTER DECISIONS, I'M GOING TO GAMBLE MY JOB ON SOME KID NAMED TOMMY REES! HE'S ON THE DEPTH CHART BUT I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHICH ONE HE IS!

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[Campus of the University of Notre Dame, South Bend, Indiana, 10:14 A.M., Monday. A Finance 301 class meets in DeBartolo Hall. The PROFESSOR teaches with the aid of a PowerPoint presentation.]

PROFESSOR: So today we'll be moving on to the Capital Assets Pricing Model. We use this to determine the required rate of return on-

[The classroom door flies open with a bang.]

KELLY: OH JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, CAPM!? THIS BULLSHIT HORSEPISS MODEL HAS NO RELATION TO REALITY WHATSOEVER AND YOU FUCKING KNOW IT! WHY DO YOU TEACH THIS COCKWAFFLE OF A THEORY!? GOD DAMMIT I ALREADY TOLD YOU THAT NOT ALL INVESTORS HAVE ACCESS TO THE SAME INFORMATION HOW THE FUCK DO YOU THINK FINANCE WORKS IN THE REAL WORLD DUMBASS!?

[KELLY rips down the projector screen and storms out of the room. The PROFESSOR starts weeping softly.]

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[Subway in the Student Union, 12:11 P.M. The SANDWICH LADY works though a long line of customers.]
SANDWICH LADY: Yees sir welcome Subway can I help ju?

KELLY: HOLY SHITBALLS AND FUCK A DUCK, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU PEOPLE DOING BACK THERE!? IT'S NOT HARD, GOD DAMMIT, JUST STICK TO THE PROCESS! YOU PUT THE MEAT ON THE BREAD, AND THEN YOU TOAST IT, THEN YOU DO THE TOPPINGS, THEN YOU RING THE CUSTOMER UP! IT'S FOUR FUCKING STEPS AND YOU'RE ALL TRIPPING OVER YOUR OWN DICKS TRYING TO GET THE CHIPOTLE SAUCE WHICH IS JUST SPICY FUCKING RANCH DRESSING!

[KELLY turns to the student standing next to him in line.]

KELLY: AND YOU! WHO THE FUCK GETS THE TUNA SALAD!? IT'S FUCKING CAT FOOD, DON'T YOU KNOW THAT!?

[He knocks the sandwich out of the student's hand and storms off.]

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[An off-campus student house, 12:03 A.M. A party has been busted by the South Bend Police, who are now loading students into the paddywagon to take them downtown. A shadowed figure comes down the street.]

KELLY: HEY! HEY! WHAT THE FUCK? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU THINKING!? YOU'VE GOT TWICE THE NATIONAL VIOLENT FUCKING CRIME RATE IN THIS CITY AND YOU CALLED ALL UNITS TO THIS SAUSAGEFEST!? I KNOW THIS PLACE IS A FROZEN PISSHOLE BUT DO YOU REALLY GET YOUR SICK JOLLIES CRACKING DOWN ON SCUMPISS BEER!?

[He turns to a handcuffed student.]

KELLY: YOU! WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT YOUR BEER PONG SHOTS, YOU TAINTTOWEL!? ARC! MORE ARC! YOU'RE FUCKING SHORTER THAN ME AND YOU'RE TRYING TO THROW LINE DRIVES! HOLY BITCHSHIT I BET THE DRUNK CHICK OVER THERE WOULD SKUNK YOU!

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Woe, woe to the unbelievers! With each passing week, the Blind Oracle at Bristol's powers grow stronger and more accurate. Small wonder, then, that the Council of Old Men wishes him to drink hemlock post-haste. 

Now, mortals, pahk the cah and be silent as the Oracle enters his trance-like state...

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What say you now, foolish mortals, that the Blind Oracle's prophecies have been proven true two weeks in a row? The Oracle cares nothing for this "exacta" of which you speak, for he sees the deeper truths which are beyond your comprehension.

Silence, now, as the Oracle peers deep into the sacred grove...

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Woe and ill tidings to those who doubt the the prophetic powers of the Blind Oracle at Bristol!  Silence, peons, as he enters his trance-like state once again...

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The Blind Oracle at Bristol is 0-1 on prophesies so far this year, but no matter! A hush falls over those gathered around his sacred desk as he enters his trance-like state once again!

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SOUTH BEND, IN - In a stunning development on Saturday, the University of Notre Dame (IN) football team engaged Purdue University's team in a game of American tackle football. The team arrived at Notre Dame Stadium on time, properly dressed, with all of their shoes on the correct feet. Aghast witnesses report that the players appeared to be conditioned for athletic activity, and the coaches resembled normal human beings.

Stunned onlookers report that coach Brian Kelly is of approximately average height and weight for an adult male human.

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The Blue-Gray Sky was, hands down, the best Notre Dame football blog until it closed its gilded doors earlier this year. Their brilliant long-form posts form what is probably the best documentation and analysis of the Charlie Weis era that will ever be compiled.  So in tribute to BGS, I thought I'd bring back one of my favorite features of theirs.

Lo, signs and wonders! The Blind Oracle at Bristol enters his trance-like state to pronounce the doom of the Irish once again! Hark!

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Does it ever seem like things in your college football life are just going too well?  Did you recently hire a shiny new coach?

Did your biggest rival get Fingagunz'd?

Did you recently avoid Integerization?

Are you signing up new and interesting opponents?

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