It’s wonderful to see you on here, Dan.  You know I miss you brother.  Sorry to be so sentimental but it is with all sincerity. And yes, Jambun remains a legend in his own mind.  

I resemble that remark, Mark. I see Jambun is still a cranky old geezer. 

Man, I had to step from behind the Publix counter one more time before heading home. Left some fool arguing that his warm beer wasn’t his fault and walked straight into this. There’s Jambun up on the top bleacher row again, wrapped in his flag, thanking me for the sleep-aid like I’m the best damn sedative since warm milk. Well hell, I do have one thing to thank you for too, detective. Every time I come home from dealing with Karen wanting to return a half-eaten rotisserie chicken she’s had since Tuesday, I read your takes and it reminds me why I ain’t never been able to keep a decent woman. I keep chasing these strippers and bar drunks thinking they different, but they still end up hitting me with that same “baby can I borrow $200 till Friday” line. Just like you out here borrowing logic and coming up short. You thank me for the sleep-aid? Boy, if my words knocking you out, it ain’t ‘cause they boring. It’s ‘cause that bright Florida sun of real economic sense too harsh for somebody who spent thirty years staring through a cracked whistle. I been watching high school ball since we played on fields so rough the grass had switchblades. Back when coaches coached for love and a handshake, not because some rich booster club slid ‘em a fat envelope. Now your big solution for the working man in Florida is “just care more and buy some more $7 Friday night tickets”? Boy, that ain’t analysis. That’s what my drunk ex used to tell me right before she asked for rent money. Standard gate receipts can’t compete with legalized booster clubs sliding six-figure checks to coaches under this new Wild West setup. You cheering for the very thing that’s gon’ turn high school football into a rich man’s game while acting like you protecting tradition. That’s like me betting my whole Publix paycheck on the Dolphins every year and calling it smart money. Look, I ain’t neutral on this board and never claimed to be. But if you looking for the real unhinged, ignorant fool in this thread, you don’t need to go digging up old ghosts. Just walk over to the mirror, detective. The man staring back at you been out of bounds since the first whistle. Now about that Walter Byers poster I keep nice and clean — yeah I respect the man. Back in the day he built the NCAA to protect the game and keep athletes from getting straight-up exploited. But the old head lived long enough to watch it all change. By the time he wrote Unsportsmanlike Conduct back in ’95, he was calling out the same greed he once helped build, saying the athletes were getting screwed and deserved a fair shake in the marketplace. That’s why I keep the poster up, detective. It’s a reminder that even the man who made the rules eventually saw the game sliding into exactly what we seeing now with these booster clubs sliding fat envelopes.

i4football, I do have one thing to thank you for. I sometimes have trouble sleeping at night, and now with your unhinged, lengthy, Neutral Observer-inspired rants, you are sure to help me out with this issue. I thank you for the great sleep-aid, and make sure that you keep that giant Walter Byers poster of yours neat and clean! 

Thanks for the history lesson on Schoolhouse Rock, Jambun, but you’re still hiding behind name-calling to avoid the scoreboard. I notice you completely ducked the actual question: If rules restricting player movement are an 'unconstitutional sham,' why are you celebrating a piece of state legislation that literally turns a mid-season transfer ban into Florida law? You can scream 'Law' in all the capital letters you want, but you can't praise Tallahassee for tightening restrictions on kids while simultaneously pretending you're the great defender of their freedom. You read the headline, ignored the ledger, and now you’re deflecting because your logic completely unraveled. Your post illustrates perfectly, 'taking it to the hole in the bowl.' Hit the lever, detective—you're done