By Eddie “Puffin” Cockfight
Semi-employed college football coach
During the college football season, King Cockfight has asked his much-closer-than-comfortable relative Eddie “Puffin” Cockfight to write a weekly column on the sport for his Weblog.
A former standout walk-on fullback at Jacksonville State, Puffin is head coach of the NAIA Division II Southwest New Mexico A&M Skeet-Shootin’ Owls — or, more popularly, “Skeet-Owls” for short. He is currently serving a 25-year ban from coaching at NCAA schools for recruiting violations stemming from an embarrassing incident in which he took an NCAA investigator to the same strip club in which he was (rightfully) accused of taking recruits and often their families.
With his column, Puffin hopes to regain his credibility as a coach, open conversation of a lesser sentences for his past wrongs, gain more visitation access to his eight illegitimate children, and spread awareness about the troubled and often tragic lives of men who find themselves addicted to the sight to half-nude women jiggling aimlessly to the rap-stylings of Lil’ John.
Aw skeet skeet goddamn.
One the reasons I decided to write this column for Cousin King — at least, I think he’s my cousin — is because these kids I recruit these days use the Internet a lot — at least from what I hear.
And the text-messaging. Before the big bad college football big brains decided the text messaging between coach and the kids was not in the best interest of the “student”-athlete, I “used to” get ‘em all the time.
It always be like “i’ll cum play 4 the skeets-owls if u get me a bag o WEED, coach” and “u best get me some pussee if u want me 2 play defunseve back!!!!”
And I’d text, “Yeah, I can get you some puss!
“But you’d better watch out!”
Well, not before. I’d do it after. Like twenty minutes or so after.
You don’t want to spook the goofy little fucker.
Let me put it to you all metaphorical and shit: One of the biggest benefits of being an athlete is your dick is going to be worked over like a catfish at a Sunday supper in Arkansas.
The women — they want your cock like it squirts solid gold.
But it doesn’t. It squirts semen. Semen makes babies.
But what the ladies don’t realize is that not every fuckin’ guy who played some ball past high school is some kinda moral Super-Christ with money.
Hell, I get ‘em all the time because I’m a football coach. They think I’m some sort of freakin’ genius whose never dealt coke in his life, and they ask me naive little shit like “Why do you wanna do it right here in the club?” and “Aren’t you wearin’ a condom?” and “Isn’t that your wife watchin’ us do it — from like three feet away?”
(I’m always doin’ the chatty ones.)
But sooner rather than later they realize that fuckin’ somebody who is better than average at a fuckin’ children’s game ain’t gonna get let all those dreams out their head — and the next thing you know they’re tryin’ to carve those dreams out of your junk with a knife or blow them out and onto your bullet-riddled corpse with a gun.
Look at what happened to poor Stevie McNair, or Ricky Pitino, or Lee Corso.
Oh, wait, Corso was a stroke.
Fuck it. Whatever. Think twice before you stick your dick in somethin’.
My life has been so cold, dark, and hard.
Cousin King said he’d like me to pick a few games each week for the rest of the season. I asked him how much he’d want me to gamble, but he told me it’d probably be best not to talk about hat in public, so I won’t.
Oregon vs. Boise State
Look, I’m all for intriguing carpet decisions, but blue turf? That’s just fuckin’ diseased and disgustin’.
Sure, Oregon looks like a buncha butt-hungry ferries out there in their fancy speed-tested uniforms that weren’t shat in in the 70’s by team of massive assholes or incontinent bastards like my Skeet-Owls, but fuck–okay theirs are better.
Anyway, I’s just kiddin’ ’bout that blue turf thing — I don’t really give a sweatin’ fuck what color their field is.
This one’s close, so I’ll just pick against the team whose home state last shat out a dirty fuckin’ stripper who gave me clap.
The pick’s still Oregon.
Alabama vs. Virginia Tech
Look, I’m not sayin’ that Alabama isn’t a good team without a lot of depth, but, speakin’ from personal experience, it’s hard to win when one of your starters got shot the week before the game.
Sure, for Brandy Deaderick, it was just a forearm wound from a robbery and it seems like he’ll be fine eventually, even if he doesn’t play this week. But the kids get real down about it, you know, because one of their friends have gotten shot. Real depressin’ for ‘im. Kids are weak like that, and shit.
Plus, in my case, I decided to play the goofy little fucker and he nearly bled out by the end of the third quarter and got abdomen juice all over his fuckin’ uniform.
That’s what you get for making the hand-off before you take the money, son.
Life lessons and shit!
Virginia Tech.
Louisiana Tech vs. Auburn
Chris Todd should be in motherfuckin’ NAIA where he belongs. I kept tryin’ to make ‘im a Skeet-Owl after last year — told ‘im he didn’t have to have a shoulder to play quarterback out here, told him I’d get him some of that nice Indian reservation pussy, told ‘im I’d get ‘im hooked the finest cocaine you can find in the Mideastern-Southwestern portion of the Left Coast.
But no, he said he wasn’t comin’.
And now he’s gonna get raped at home by a motherfuckin’ WAC team.
Well, at least they from Louisiana! God’s state, sonbitch!
Geaux other other other other other other other other other other other other Bulldogs!
Woof woof!
Louisiana Tech.
BYU vs. Oklahoma
You know what I like about Mormon bitches?
(The remainder of this section has been redacted in cooperation with an ongoing NCAA investigation.)
Oklahoma.
NAIA Pick of the Week: #12 Baker vs. #16 Missouri Valley
You think because I coach in this league that I actually pay attention to this motherfuckin’ faggot bullshit?
I’ll pick Missouri Valley. That’s least queer soundin’ one, I guess.
Eddie “Puffin” Cockfight is the offensive-minded head coach of the Southwest New Mexico A&M Skeet-Owls.
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