Positional struggles of impending DOOM
From the depths of darkest Hades, I had been summoned by the Dark Lord Saban to devour one Trev Alberts, He who mocked the Dark Lord, commissioning internet implications that the Dark Lord was, for lack of a better word, a poofter. Upon reaching the pre-fab gates of this modern-day cubicle-shaped dominion, I was greeted warmly by a a festering pile of the primordial and handed a nice saucer of warm cream. Although I am lactose intolerant, I enjoyed it immensely as both a token of gratitude and for its dairy delectableness, garnished with some nice coconut shavings, but I digress. Having entered the inner sanctum of the one they call Alberts, I found him boorishly dozing on a fold-a-way cot, still sullied with the stenches of an unsavory evening and senses dulled by such. As wrenching one's soul from their slumber is most unhonorable, I calmly waited like an agile hunter, preparing for my dutiful strike while my prey broke free of his chains of bourbon and rye. The minutes turned to hours, and the hours turned into quite a time stealing afternoon. Busying myself with inspecting his office, I realized that his earthly domain was truly foul, fit to be a country home for myself, a break from the daily toils of Hades for the mere light-hearted masochism of this internet punditry.
Caught unawares in my daydream haze, He who is Trev blindsided me with praise, some informal grooming, and a thorough game of That Which You Call Frisbee. You are a pernicious lot of beggars, thieves, sloths, and other ne'er do wells here, and you shave a fine coconut. Make me a doghouse in the style of He Who Is Snoopy, The Dog Who Walks, and you shall have my services.
Now, with that infernal segued introduction firmly in my past, I bring to you, oh handful of obsessive electronic fanatics, the positional struggles of impending DOOM! Yay, these struggles are sure to tear your carefully crafted predictions asunder. Your hopes and dreams crash upon the rocky crags of uncertainty with every stumble of your alma mater. Look, thee, into the abyss. (As is your heathen custom, I tip my proverbial hat to Rivals.com)
Southern Cal running back: CJ Gable, Chauncey Washington, Emanuel Moody, and Joe McKnight-
The unending list of touted running talent knows no bounds in Heritage Hall. In truth, the list is infinite, as the position is truly a Hydra. Strike down one back, and two spring up in his place, an endless cycle of controversy. On and on, the mobius strip of pain and HB Wham shall turn, and a silver poodle shall yip wildly in the blackest of the moonless nights over Englewood. The bodies of the also-rans shall rise so high, the clamoring for playing time so intense, eventually the fields will run red with blood, as practices cull the weak. Unfortunately, the surviving victors shall be horribly stricken in the melees, unable to perform. SO IT IS WRITTEN! DOOM! DOOM UNTO THEM!
Notre Dame Quarterback: Evan Sharpley, Demetrius Jones, and Jimmy Clausen-
A truly biblical struggle as the entire Fighting Irish team is shrouded in mystery this season. The guise of rebuilding clouds all judgment, and the always enigmatic offense of the obese robotic man further muddles the picture. Each man has a unique skill package that completely transforms the team's identity, from dual-threat madness to austere pocket efficiency, causing all outcomes to be both possible, yet impossible. The howls from South Bend following every practice report will fall deaf to the unending screams of horror should the first anointed QB fail to complete the slightest check-down. The dust will settle, and their false messiah will arrive with the sound of a trumpet, signifying the end time of unimaginable DOOM! AS REVEALED IN THE DARK HYMNALS AND TAKEOUT MENUS OF THE DAMNED! DOOM!
Colorado Quarterback: Bernard Jackson, Cody Hawkins, and Nick Nelson-
Another three-headed beast of the two-deep, and the festering evil within warms my cold black heart forged from the blackest, coldest obsidian, in the depths of the Underworld's reputed glass-blowing district on 7th street. A program radically shifting schemes like the sands of time in the vortex of the never ending abyss of the hereafter, the noble Buffaloes search for a leader of a faceless army. The visor-clad hordes shield their identities, until one imminent day the coach puts his kid in under center. The silent moans of the Colorado faithful ring throughout the mountain time zone like the din of an unexpectdly adorable demonic hummingbird. DO NOT IGNORE ITS HUMMING OMENS! DOOMY DOOM DOOM RINGS IN THE HALLS OF THE MOUNTAIN KINGS!
Florida State Seminoles Quarterback: Drew Weatherford, Xavier Lee, and Christian Ponder-
More controversy of the quarterbacking variety, as the Seminoles have been long cursed with the spectors of these men's prospects hovering over them like a lucid telemarketer calling in the middle of the night. The wrong number of pain and devastation begat to all on the....excuse me, I lost my place...woe unto the truth-listerner type who mishears the clarion call of the all-knowing Bowden patriarch, bumfuzzling his way into the decision that molds his program's fortune. An endless enigma of athleticism versus efficiency wrestles to be wrestled upon within each of the upcoming warrior spirits, but they must choose from the breakfast offerings of their ancestors wisely, as they must not choose improperly. A poor choice is not part of a balance breakfast! DOOM TO THOSE SIDING WITHOUT BREAKFAST SANDWICH! DOOM UNTO THE UNACCOMPANIED HASH BROWN! DOOM! DOOM! DOOM!
Cerberus is the hellhound guardian of Hades. He's a huge Snoopy fan.