The Back Alley Archives

4. Yes, Les, we as red-blooded Americans all agree that there is nowhere else we would want to be. It's also insane how much you are the demento Patton of the SEC, capable at any moment of framing yourself dramatically against an electric blue sky. An American flag may drop behind him at any point during this moment. Anything's possible with Les, really, save for quality quarterback play and tiny, well-proportioned headgear.

5. Also, you were wearing a jacket on a scorching day in the Swamp. You're just bizarre in so many ways, most especially your total lack of functioning sweat glands. (This is why Les Miles pants constantly and spends hours a day conducting business submerged in University Lake on the campus of LSU.)


6. Red-blooded is relevant phrase here, and literally so, because my god, the blood. Six points in a first half, relentless violence, Jeff Driskel hitting the turf like a narcoleptic at 8 frames a second, and Matt Elam flooding entire zones of the defense with angry wasps he was excreting from his pores spelled nothing fun for either offense or the viewer. It would be dishonest to say that LSU/Florida 2012 was "fun" in any sense for an uninterested viewer, the same viewer who probably got much more out of watching Texas WVU or the first hellacious quarter of UGA/South Carolina.


7. It would also be equally dishonest to say that for those interested, watching two teams agreeing to strangle each other and wait for one to pass out wasn't totally gripping. Thus the total lack of panic at the half, when Florida trailed 6-0. In a game testing the ability to function without oxygen, Florida and LSU were both at the bottom of the pool looking happily at their watches and shooting each other the finger.


8. And before we get to who ran out of breath first--and that was LSU--salute the defeated by acknowledging Kevin Minter of LSU, the linebacker who tallied 17 solo tackles and 3 assists on the day. He was less linebacker than a Stanley Cup playoffs goalie having his own series, dragging down Mike Gillislee and eating pulling guards for three hours in between tackling Jeff Driskel before he even had a proper chance to finish his drop. Minter was unholy and unblockable in a losing effort, making him the defensive Nick Foles* of this week. That is a high compliment, even if it doesn't sound like it at all.


*The Arizona Wildcats QB who always, in losing efforts, posted phenomenal numbers and made tremendous and valiant efforts to keep his team in the game. They rarely worked, but that's the point.


9. Minter was partially to credit for the unreal split between Florida's yardage and first downs: 237 total yards yielding 22 first downs, with 134 of those yards coming on two drives in the second half. Offensive numbers this strange are always a compliment of one sort or another to the opposing defense, and in this case in particular to LSU's defensive line. Once Driskel spent the entire first half admiring the cloudless sky, Brent Pease just shut down the passing game and started piling in as many offensive linemen and tight ends as the law would allow. That number of linemen on one play: seven.

...
14. When you remember this game, you will remember how ugly, how reminiscent of Auburn/LSU games of the mid-2000s it was with zero offense, pounding rushing attacks, warped facemasks at every turn, but remember this, too: this was the day Matt Elam became the Apocalypse Chief of this Florida team.



Elam even tried to kill his own teammates, and played in a haze of barely contained rage and naked aggression. Seven tackles, a forced fumble, a late hit penalty, and miming CM Punk were enough, but that forced fumble? That forced fumble saved the game on what could best be described as "some George Teague shit there."



...

15. In terms of what you could have plausibly learned that was new about this team from watching the game, there's little. Florida remains a second half team with a primeval passing game, brutal run attack, and a defense that in quarters numbered three and four will negate everything you do and turn it into sad, voided effort. Mike Gillislee is the war-armadillo we always believed him to be, and Charlie Weis is terrible at his job. We already knew all of these things.


...