By Eddie “Puffin” Cockfight
Semi-employed college football coach

During the college football season, King Cockfight has asked his much-closer-than-comfortable relative Eddie “Puffin” Cockfight to write a weekly column on the sport for his Weblog.

A former standout walk-on fullback at Jacksonville State, Puffin is head coach of the NAIA Division II Southwest New Mexico A&M Skeet-Shootin’ Owls — or, more popularly, “Skeet-Owls” for short. He is currently serving a 25-year ban from coaching at NCAA schools for recruiting violations stemming from an embarrassing incident in which he took an NCAA investigator to the same strip club in which he was (rightfully) accused of taking recruits and often their families.

With his column, Puffin hopes to regain his credibility as a coach, open conversation of a lesser sentence for his past wrongs, gain more visitation access to his eight illegitimate children, and spread awareness about the troubled and often tragic lives of men who find themselves addicted to the sight to half-nude women jiggling aimlessly to the folk-stylings of John Denver.

Take me home…

So Cousin King isn’t terribly happy with the direction of this column. He wanted this to broaden the appeal of his Webdoohickey or somethin’ and says that what I’m writin’ is “maybe a little too depraved” and “doesn’t seem to really have much to say about college football as it does about titties and. cocaine and violence and fucking.”

“I’m worried that by the time we reach the BCS title game this column is just going to be a bunch of clips of the Faces of Death movies with Tim Tebow juxtaposed underneath them,” he wrote in his e-mail and shit. “I get that exact kind of shit e-mailed to me by Uncle Carter every Sunday morning now, but I don’t put it on my Weblog.”

So I guess I can kind of see his point but I can’t help but feel a wee bit insulted: What the fuck’s so wrong with the Faces of Death movies?

I love those things! Watch ‘im on the motel pay-per-view all the time! There’s a surprising amount of time on recruitin’ trips when you’re disillusioned by your job and you don’t care about your family and shit, and when you’re used to the gals jigglin’ right in front of you on a nightly basis, porn just ain’t cuttin’ it no more.

Anyway, we’ll write on somethin’ Christian and football-like this week talkin’ about one of ‘em stories that drove me gator-fuckin’ insane last week: Why can’t Hawaii’s coach call Notre Dame faggots?

First of all, who says it ain’t true?  I mean, look at Jimmy Clausen — I ain’t sayin’ that boy’s queer and shit, but would you have really been surprised if he’d missed one of ‘em incomplete passes last weekend because some big ol’ dude was workin’ on makin’ a Chocolate Man-Sundae in his mouth?

(Those were really popular in the late ’80’s in Miami. Learned that while working for Denny Erickson. Was done sellin’ coke by then. For the most part.)

But what’s so wrong with using profanity to motivate your players and turn them against their opponents? I mean, no one finds it offensive to hate homosexuals, right?

But why stop at gay-bashin’? When Urbee Meyer went back in time to invent the spread option with Poppy Warner, he decided it was time for football to innovate and grow the fuck up — like that bitch I owe child support who calls me to scream the word “Buttfuck” at me for thirty minutes every week.

So that’s why me and my ex-wives — they yell things other than “buttfuck” at me from time to time — came up with a few of these terrible things that, much like the Florida offense, move fast, spread the pain,  and are probably operatin’ at their best when led by a thick ol’ white boy who’s had a brown-person’s dick in their hands in the recent past:

Ballsucklers: Now, you really have to enunciate if you got one of ‘em hoarse-assed bayou Southern accents like me — it’s hard to get the “suckle” out in a way that the boys can understand when you’re screamin’ loud in their ear durin’ an English class. Only time I got punched in the face by a player was when I yelled that ‘im. I got up and broke his fuckin’ legs to teach ‘im a question — don’t punch anybody in the face who will get up and immediately break your goddamned useless legs, you motherfuckin’ ballsuckler!

Cow-Fucker: See, I used to go with “horse-fucker,” but a few years ago I realized that unlike fuckin’ a cow, fuckin’ a horse is actually kind of impressive.

Horse’s got all that power in their legs, they’re really athletic, got lots of good upside — actually tried recruitin’ one a few years ago for that school in Louisiana but the NCAA Clearinghouse wouldn’t let them through. Fuckin’ Nazis.

Have I told y’all what I think about the death of Miles Brand?

(This section redacted in cooperation with an ongoing NCAA investigation.)

Fish-Smellin’ Dick-Tractor: I don’t know what the fuck this even means — came from an ex-wife — but I shouted that at our players before our first game and we beat The Tractors on a safety. So keep on winnin’ Fish-Smellin’ Dick-Tractors!

But yeah, that’s what yell at ‘im, and in NAIA Division II, it’s real important to yell offensive things at your players.

They’ve got to know how fuckin’ worthless they are and how they have no future at anythin’ in the world — least of which football.

Cow-Fuckers.

So here’s my picks. I got paid on Friday, so maybe I could put a few more hundred down on them this week. King says I oughtn’t say that, but until he learns to appreciate films of real death, I don’t give a flyin’ horse-fuck what that asshole thinks.

West Virginia at Auburn
You know, I really think that West Virginia is one class program: Their fans light shit on fire and like to get drunk. They dress up in a coonskin hat and play that John Denver song I like to see in the strip club so much. And they, uh … they light shit on fire and like to get drunk.

But I love the progression and shit they made by hirin’ a fella like ol’ Billy Stewart.

So nice to see a program with such confident leadership that they let an ol’ fuck with dementia be their head coach.

Just fuckin’ great to be an American — and not one of ‘em weird fuckin’ Haitians that like to carve weird voodoo symbols into their backs with Swiss Army knifes that I used to deal coke to back in the 1980’s.

Just a class fuckin’ school.

West Virginia.

North Texas at Alabama
I thought I told King that I don’t give a fuck about NAIA teams — even when Alabama plays ‘em!

Alabama

USC at Washington
You heard how Bill Withers came to USC to talk to ‘im about “Lean on Me”?

I tried to get that fucker to  do the same thing with us! Not with “Lean on Me” — who needs all that hopeful inspirin’, ass-magnet bullshit?! — but with “Ain’t No Sunshine.”

Bein’ in NAIA, my players need to learn that football ain’t gonna be in their lives and their lives are gonna be meaningless and empty and dark and cold.

So fuckin’ cold.

USC

NAIA Game of the Week: #19 Hastings (Nebraska) at #1 Sioux Falls
Go! Fight! Haste!

Hastings

Eddie “Puffin” Cockfight is the offensive-minded head coach of the Southwest New Mexico A&M Skeet-Owls.