By an unknown author DBFG (Day Before Florida Game)
"My name is Anonymous. And I'm a Les addict."
That was Friday night, a day after I had been admitted to the hospital for treatment of a Les Miles overdose. My problem with Les started innocently enough. Six years ago, at social functions, I'd occasionally comment on his ill-fitting hat. As time went on, I felt a heightened desire to needle Miles and to share those needles with anyone who cared to partake. Before I knew it, I was hitting the hard stuff, reading local newspaper editorials and online journals. I began to require ever-increasing doses of Les Miles commentary to
achieve the same "high" I had once experienced using only snide remarks about his mental acuity. I soon descended into the hellscape of writing my own smug post-game reports. I began snorting all the Xs-and-Os I could get my grubby hands on. I was no football analyst, but I lied and deceived so often that I almost believed I was. After the Tennessee debacle, my slide became a death spiral. I graduated to national media stories and even pushed them on other users. I finally hit rock bottom last Thursday when I mainlined an amateur sports blog, a dangerous mixture of geek-spittle and cyber-venom known in losers' circles as a "lesball."
It was my dog Trevor who found me lying on the floor in a wreaking puddle of self-important verbiage. Trevor licked my face and gently used his muzzle to pry the computer mouse from my stiffening fingers. An intervention was hastily convened and I agreed to go to the hospital where, for 24 hours, I was completely isolated and quarantined. Upon my release, I knew I needed support if I were to have any hope of remaining Les-less. Hell, I knew the Florida game was on ESPN Saturday night and there was no telling what kind of lunacy I might be exposed to. I was just one coaching screw up away from falling off the wagon and plunging my poison pen into my own heart. So I made a Les Anonymous meeting, the one that begins this piece.
I watched the LSU-Florida game and I am happy to report that I'm still on the wagon. LSU's offensive and defensive lines dominated Florida's. Drake Nevis, Kelvin Sheppard, and Terrance Tolliver, in particular, played well. Except for his Tourette's-like tugging on the front of his shoulder pads, Jarrett Lee was watchable. For his part, Les Miles not only made some good decisions, but he almost put the psychotic Urban Meyer into a permanent vegetative state. If you think Urban Meyer looks like a homicidal weasel now, just wait until he hears more booing in The Swamp. Or another reporter's question about being outsmarted by Les Miles.
I realize, of course, I must take this one day at a time.