Memphis Tider says bye yall, and posts some questions, Abner B.D.Scroggins has been enlisted for a round of Round Table answers:

1. After hearing as much as I have about BJ Scott, Dre Kirkpatrick, Rod Woodson, etc, is it possible that the secondary this year may actually be better than last year’s squad?

Possible?! A goddamn oil covered fish shooting out of my butthole is possible nowadays I guess! A better secondary after losing 3 cornerbacks to the NFL, one safety to god knows what, and another safety maybe to some nut-scratchin baseball career, and a first timer position coach? And then during practice I guess they make diaper-wearin AJ McCarron look like the isotoner glove man himself Dan Marino! Why the fuckin hell am I doin this? I should be out fishing, drinking hot beer, and thinkin about the good ole days when my woman wasn’t an angry, leathery, foul mouthed hell demon. And no, she won’t read this, she can’t figure out how to work the dial-ups.

2. How will all of the awards and honors, especially from his hometown, affect Mark Ingram’s performance this season?

If I had a street named after me, in the middle of fucking Michigan, I know sure as hell all bets are off. I’m packin it in, not showin up for work ever again. It’s all drinks with umbrellas in them from here on out.  I don’t even know where Michigan is, but God bless em for letting number 22 get his ass out of there. Street namin is bullshit. I named my newly paved driveway DJ Fluker, and that bastard ain’t even knocked anybody over yet. But, I did name my old dog Roman Harper, wonder how many Mark Ingram named dogs are out there? Gets all sorts of awkward yelling a football player name out your back door for hours though.

3. Could you see Greg McElroy as a legitimate early round selection in the NFL draft next year? Why or why not?

NFL draft? Why in the hell would I watch that? The ole lady gives me two hours of TV a day, and I’m not missing my daily regimen of Monk reruns, that Tony Shalhoub makes me laugh my wrinkled nuts off! Well, if ole McElroy don’t fold up like a nylon deck chair against those bastard Vols this year I could see him getting a paycheck, but early rounds? Those NFL turkeys aren’t going to back up the brinks truck to the McElroy compound, I garundamn told you.

4. James Willis was a master recruiter and one hell of a linebackers coach. We haven’t talked much about what the loss of him means to our staff. Tell us what you think the effect will be with him gone to Texas Tech.

Ynow, I always wondered if James Willis was related to ole Wesley Willis, that crazy homeless singer, he aint right I tell you!!

5. Have you ever seen a state whose political views can be switched by football rumors? The Tim James fiasco is absolutely incredible to me how much football can mean to a state.

I like my politics mixin with my football the same way I like rat turds in my grits, NOT AT ALL. And, about this Tim James, while I do like to speak English, I’m also a twice convicted sex offender (public exposure at the laundry-mat) so I’m not sure how to size up that handsome character relative to my past and my proclivities.

Thank ya’ll for reading, hope you sweat your balls off this summer.

Some sumbitches like to motivate with violence, but now in this day and age where you can barely get away with half-drowning heathen terrorists, so you’re surely not gonna get away with stapling “my whore momma dropped me” signs on the wide receivers every time one of those butterfingers lets the ball hit the dirt. So how do you motivate? Some folks think you ought to outright lie.

I was at Thanksgiving dinner many many years ago, and my grandma said, “You haven’t eaten anything yet!” and I said “Grandmaw, I just ate like 2 lbs of squirrel meat and all sorts of peas and carrots and stuff” and she said “There is still pumpkin pie left you scrawny shit!” and I said “are you telling me if I don’t eat that sugary sweet pie, I haven’t eaten ANYTHING? I hate to cloud the issue with fact, you old rat, but I already ate a mess of fine food.”

To me, thats what we’re telling the Alabama players if we tell them they ain’t won nothing yet. They won 12 dog gone games already, they’re not blind, they was there and sweated all over the place for every win! Thats like my grandmaw telling me I hadn’t ate any squirrel while my bowels were all a-fire with pain. All of a sudden everything my grandmaw ever said came into question. Did she really hunt all those squirrels or did she just throw a bucket of poisoned nuts in the backyard? Was it really an accident to drop that radio in the tub with Grandpaw Edsel? Did she really know that my sleeping bag in the barn was full of poison spiders?

Anyway, when your trying to motivate people with outright lies, you are doomed to failure! I’m sure Coach Perkins won’t be telling any horse shit to our players at the game in Birmingham this weekend, But if he tells those kids they ain’t won nothin, well, I hope he at least mumbles “…nothing big and shiny and football shaped” afterwards, to add a hair of truth to it.

So at first I thought these hijackers was some Canadians who’d been rolling around in the dirt, but then I saw the mud covered Ford F-150 with customized Montgomery county Mississippi plates that said “CLUNKCLUNKCLUNKCLUNK” and I immediately recognized it as a dangerous Mississippi Mud-person cypher of some sort, these toe-fingered bastards were far from home, reverting into some sort of survival instinct. They left without incident, but the old lady’s portable massage device lay still and dark and still for many years.

So yeah, to hell with them cowbell swinging dick lickers! I’m half a mind to drive down to that little hamlet of Starkville, eat a mess of boiled asparagus, and unload a few quarts of weird stinky piss all over the place.

One thing I am sure of, is when Johnny Majors brings his boys to town, you know there is gonna be a fight. I once seen 3 of them orange fans get in a fight with a baby! And they was so drunk, they lost! One of them sumbitches slipped in some vomit pile and looked to need sewin up! Might been some of those Louisiana fans in disguise though. And now that I visit on it, I think the baby was drunk too.

I get so dick-fire mad when the Tide plays Tennessee. Sometimes it drives me to get whiskey drunk in the morning, next thing I know I’m at the go-kart track throwin nails and bottles out there for kids and mentally handicapped to dodge. Thats also a good time to check your squirrel and beaver traps, nothing like some good October park-meat. When I get home I like to squirt honey between my toes and listen to the Spanish station on the AM radio, makes me appreciate the good king’s English I get to hear all week on that joker Finebaum’s show (and the honey is supposed to help with this dad gum fungus infection).

I can’t believe Johnny Majors is still coaching them boys. Ain’t about time for him to retire? Start tropesing up and down that interstate in some shit-ugly RV. I guess if that leathery muskrat down in Tallahassee can do it, anyone can. And I dont guess that owl Joe Paterno even shows up to work anymore, I think they just pick some crazy old coot off the street and hand em some Penn State smocks and those submarine-window-grade glasses, tell him to stay inside some pope-mobile sort of rig. Reminds me of those Ancient Aztecs, not sure why, guess my schoolin is still workin.

We gotta feel good about the Tide’s chances this week. I don’t care what he done at Georgia the other week, that Cromley they have at quarterback is more worthless than teets on a boar hog. I suspect one of our kids is liable to knock that chocolate milk mustache right off and into that Bryant Denny grass. Damn, just found some A-1 steak sauce in my beard, can’t remember the last time that condiment got pulled into the mix.

I remember way back when the Ol Ball Coach brought his Gator teams to Alabama. We called him “that visor-totin scallywag” and we spent all week hating the shit out of him. We hated the shit out of him in person, we hated the shit out of him on the phone, sometimes we even got on the CB and hated the shit out of him over high frequency radio waves. That was way before these blogs and yahoo and such shit. You punk ass kids drink me to drive, with your cowl of doodie and your face book.

We’d stand around our pickup trucks drinking our warm Michelob, listening to them Stone Temple Pilots, singing in that Scott Weiland baritone “Damn that Spurrier, that cocky sonofabitch, whose he think he is, for Tomorroooow, to find it, to find it, to find it”  After that, I’d go pick up the old lady and go to the Ruby Tuesday and get some of them huge blue Margaritas with a gummi fish in them. I’d rather drink cloudy goat piss myself, but the missus sure does like em, stops her from bitchin about how many times I watch Predator a week.

I dern well don’t think that’s even the Ole Ball Coach anymore, he looks too healthy. Little too much pep in his step. More like the Ole Lizard, that sumbitch looks like he’s been sunnin’ on some Hilton Head rock when he’s not at the golf course dousing his inner fire with whiskey sours. Can’t say I blame him, he might even be one of them lizard-people that runs that Loominaudi thing.

Those were the days, back then, we had an ENEMY, Now you got your Urban Meyer, slick bastard looks like he should be managin some mall tennis-shoe store, I’d trust him to tell me what sort of ankle support i’d be needin.  And you got your LSU that grabbed Les Miles offa some fishin and huntin show and made him quit wearing real tree overalls. I can’t hate somebody I’d rather be huntin turkey with, though I bet he’d be unsafe as shit, slingin bows and knives around till somebody had to get run to the doctor to get a finger put back on.

Anyway, say what you will about how dumb that gator chomp looked, even when they were smokin Alabama tail in ’96, the Ole Ball Coach I know and hate, wouldn’t be at no dern place where everything is poultry and pecker jokes. Just aint right.