I’ve tackled the issue of sports fans before here on the blog, but college football fans deserve a post of their own. And no one knows college football fans better than one Chad Gibbs, so I’m going to let him handle this one. He’s written a book about it (which 5 of you can win today, by the way) and has even appeared on ESPN’s Outside the Lines a few times. He may actually be overqualified now that I think about it.

Oh well. Chad, you’re up.
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Mini-bar in Your Pants Guy
There has to be a finite amount of Jack Daniels minis you can fit into one pair of cargo pants, but the guy next to you has been pulling them out of his pockets for three quarters and has yet to reach the bottom. This is the same guy who will spill his drink on his shaker, forget the shaker is soaked in a mix of bourbon and Coke, and proceed to bathe everyone around him the next time his team scores. He is also likely to be arrested for assaulting the mascot.

The Back-up Quarterback’s Biggest Fan Guy
The starter just threw an interception. So what, it happens to the best of them. This is no time to stand up and demand the coaches put in the true freshmen that was playing high school ball this time last year. In 2004 the man next to me demanded Jason Campbell be pulled after a slow start against Louisiana Monroe. Campbell only went on to win the SEC Player of the Year and lead Auburn to an undefeated season. But hey, maybe Campbell’s backup could have done better, moron.

Bring Your Infant to the Game Guy
Look, I know you want your newborn son or daughter to grow up cheering for your favorite team, but bringing a six-week old to a sweltering September game isn’t going to help, particularly after my wife calls DHR. And if you tell me you cannot afford both season tickets and a baby sitter, I’m going to suggest that you actually cannot afford either, then hand you a Dave Ramsey book.

Beat the Traffic Guy
There are sixty seconds left to play, your team trails by six, and they have seventy yards to go to tie the game. Inexplicably, people will begin to stand up and leave the stadium, in hopes of beating traffic out of the parking lot. What could possibly be going on at these people’s homes that they can’t wait to get back there? And if it is more exciting than the final minute of a college football game, why did they ever leave home to begin with?

Which fan did I miss? OR…

What is your favorite college football team?

I’ll pick 5 winners at random in the comments to win a copy of my book, God and Football: Faith and Fanaticism in the SEC.

How incredible was the PGA Championship this weekend? I could not believe the way it ended.

I got to go all day Friday and Saturday with my dad and brother. We watched a lot of golf, and a lot of people watching golf. Now, I’m no golf tournament expert, but after logging 15+ hours on the course, my brother and I were able to identify some people you should avoid being at all costs.

“Get in the Hole!” Guy – There’s only one person who is amused when someone yells “get in the hole!” right after ball contact – the guy who said it. Everyone else wants to punch him in the throat, ensuring vocal paralysis for the rest of the tournament.

Adult Autograph Getter – I witnessed a 40-something male pushing children out of the way to get Rickie Fowler (age 22) to autograph a hat. And while we’re on the subject, why do we care so much about a person’s signature?

Spikes Guy – Wearing your golf spikes to a tournament might be the equivalent of bringing your glove to a baseball game. Can I get a ruling on this?

Headed to the Gym Guy – I’m pretty sure I was dressed worse than 90% of the attendees out there, but compared to this guy, I was prom-ready. Look guy, we know it’s hot, but mesh shorts and sleeveless Under Armour shirt? Are you just taking a shortcut through the Atlanta Athletic Club on the way to spin class?

Headed to a Wedding Lady – Stilettos? Really? Poor husband.

Unique Yeller – You know this guy. He tries to yell something unique to the golfers as they pass by in hopes that they turn around, high five him, and invite him over for cigars. If Jason Dufner was walking by, a normal person would most likely yell “War Eagle”. The proud UY, however, shouts out a specific Auburn landmark…something to the effect of “Yeah Mama Goldberg’s”. If Dufner cracks a smile, the UY will brag about it for generations.

Who did I miss? 

Today’s guest post is by a self-proclaimed legend in church athletics, Knox McCoy. [In the smooth voice of Chris Harrison] Knox, whenever you’re ready…
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Church and Sports. Two great things. Two of the three institutions of the South. (Cracker Barrel being the third, naturally.)

It doesn’t get any better than exercising and competing with your brothers and sisters in Christ. Not.

By and large, playing sports within church leagues sucks harder than Hangover 2 did at being original. Part of this is because most leagues aren’t even comprised by actually congregants. Ringers and veritable Hessians populate the most important positions on all teams and it will always leave you wondering why you’ve never seen the seven footer who dunks and smells like sex and cigarettes in Sunday School.

But there’s a more scientific reason as to why it sucks. Let’s get all empirical and measure the data. CLIPBOARD TO THE READY!

1. You have perennially underachieving people who never made the cut in high school. This means every athletic event is a referendum on their athletic skills. THUS, they treat it like MJ did when he was playing the martians in Space Jam. Combine that with…

2. You have naturally competitive former athletes, which is the equivalent of having a flamethrowing clinic and exhibition in the parking lot of a gas station.

Listen: I’m a competitive guy who played football and baseball in high school. One time, I spiked a guy so hard sliding into second that he almost bled out and I had trash thrown at me as a result. (Did you need to know that the people throwing trash at me were from Texas? Probably not.)

But I’ve totally mellowed now. I haven’t gotten into a fight over Trivial Pursuit in something like 18 months, so yeah. But if some 55 year-old starts talking trash to me because I flew out to deep left field, I can only dam up the swirling waters of my competitive fury for so long before hell is unleashed. Because invariably, if you tease the tiger, kitty is gonna scratch. To this, mix in a…

3. You have the pretense of brotherly love, God and all that. This makes the competition restrained enough so there are no fisticuffs, but vague enough that the smoldering fury of proving one’s athletic birthright still burns bright like a reservoir of magma underneath a thin layer of saran wrap.

Pour these elements into your beakers of understanding and you can see how it can be more explosive than one of those The Bachelorette: Women Tell All episodes.

But let’s look at the individual components fueling this furnace fire of hypercompetitivity:

The Trash Talker
They are the cockroaches of organized sports. They can never be fully exterminated from your league and they always spoil the fun. Fella, you’re talking trash during a church league sport. You know who can talk trash? Kobe Bryant, because he’s awesome and it’s the NBA. But when you’re holding your hand in the air 12 seconds after a free throw that you called “Bank!” on goes in, you’re officially the human equivalent of herpes.

The Overly-Appareled
One wristband: No problem.
Three wristbands?: I’m concerned.
Eye Black?: You realize this is slow pitch, right?
A banana cup that you could serve punch from at a prom for a 5A high school?: You play rightfield, Hank Aaron. I don’t think your secrets are in any great peril.

Athlete Prodigies
These people are the gifts from God who conventional athletic standards and practices don’t apply to.

The Cannon-Arm
Hit the cutoff man? Sha right. Watch me uncork this rainbow from Centerfield that bounces 47 times on it’s way home.

The Gunner
Ball movement? Ok, yeah. Watch me movement the ball from my hand to Swishytown except that I call bank, except that I airballed. No matter, I’ll just make it rain next time down the court – and every other time after.

The Otis Nixon
Stop sign? More like “Stop Running So Fast Sign.” I’m thinking Triple, bro. And yeah, sure it was a routine single to Left Field but Usain Bolt doesn’t even know speed like… – (Interrupted by the sound of him being tagged out halfway between 1st and 2nd).

Any Church League “athletes” I missed?

Today’s guest post is from the hilarious Knox McCoy. Knox is like a brother to me – a brother who I’ve never met and barely know. But a brother nonetheless. I hope you all enjoy this as much as I did. This is exactly why we didn’t tell anyone our sons’ names until after they were born.
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Don’t Be That Guy: Baby Name Edition

I have a fairly unique name. When I was born, my pediatrician remarked that my name sounded like a future University of Georgia quarterback. He was only off by a trillion percent.

As with anything else, there is both good and bad to having a distinct name. Good: it tends to stick with people and is a good conversation starter. Bad: Some of these conversations are stupid.

My name is kind of a double whammy. Living in close proximity to Knoxville, TN and having a last name as McCoy, people feel compelled to try to make jokes about it.

“Knox, huh? Were you born in Knoxville?”

DURR DURR, yep I sure was. My parents are so hopelessly bland that I just got the name of the city I was born in. So glad I wasn’t born in Possumneck, Mississippi. PHEW.

“McCoy, huh? Are you the Real McCoy?”

“HOLY CRAP. I have NEVER heard that joke before. Are you some kind of comedy savant? Like a funnier version of Rain Man? I mean I knew about the saying about “The Real McCoy” and I was somewhat aware of my last name being McCoy, but no one has EVER thought to combine those two elements and jestingly quiz me about it. I want to write that down.” There’s a lady at Cracker Barrel who says this to me EVERY time she runs my debit card. Next time it happens, I’m going to flip over the candy table like Jesus did with the Money Changers.

Names are of particular interest to the wife and I these days as we recently found out that she is pregnant with our second child. So naturally, we’re constantly detectivizing life for good names. This is an exciting time for us.

But this joy parade is rained on by those who inquire about our short list. In my experience, when you toss out your name prospects to other people, there is a 0.000001% chance of getting an answer that doesn’t leave you self-conscious.

Below, lets look at the four types of people you encounter when discussing baby names:

1. The Overly-Enthusiastic.
Calm down. CALM DOWN. I told you a name we’re considering, not the location of the next Double Rainbow. It’s a name. I’m not expecting you to vomit out of happiness and fulfillment. A high five or exploding fist is sufficient.

2. The Overly Judgmental
They get a look on their face like they just accidentally ingested potpourri but they maintain a facade of acceptance.

Me: We’re considering, (Generic Name).
Them: “That’s…umm…interesting.”

No, you know what’s interesting? How you think I need your approval.

3. The Overly Self-Obsessed
These people tell you a story from their childhood to sully your opinion of the name.

Me: We’re considering, (Generic Name).
Them: Didn’t you know that in 2nd grade, a boy named (Generic Name) hocked a loogie on me and it was so sublimely hocked that all my classmates gave it a proper name and taunted me about it through high school?
Me: What were we thinking?
Them: Yes. What WERE you thinking?

4. The Overly Satirical
These people live in a world where schools are filled with only the most cruel and deviant children and so, they predict how your fetus will be ridiculed on the playground because of your name choice by rhyming it until they can associate it with something foul, explicit or erotic. Sometimes, it’s all three.

So next time someone tells you a name they’re considering for their child, just smile and say you love it.

Did I miss any types? OR, do you have any name suggestions for the wife and I?
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Knox McCoy has made a career out of synergizing backward overflow. When not writing on his blog, he enjoys freelance rodeo clowning and Sbarro pizza. He has memorized the President’s speech from Independence Day and is currently turning that into a one-man mime act. He loves popcorn, his wife and son, dogs, and all Boston sports teams. Connect with him on twitter here.

Back by popular demand, Mr. Tyler Tarver…
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I’m gonna try to keep this short like my list of people I can beat in basketball. A few weeks ago, Dr. Stanton posted up* some advice I had to students on how not to be That Guy. Now, after inappropriately badgering him about doing another one, we’re turning the tables on the teachers (aka Lazy Susaning).

Don’t Be That Teacher

The Momma Bear
In high school, did you like your overprotective, over-involved mom getting into your business and hugging and caring and understanding your feelings? Do you want another one for school? No, me neither. I haven’t even talked to my real mom since she said I couldn’t date Dominique Moceanu back in ’96. These colors don’t run. Back off cuddly dark curly-haired lady with disproportionally fitting clothing that greatly resembles Kristi Alley, unless of course you’re my teacher and you wanna juice up my grade. Then hand me a bottle and I’ll be the Lou Bega to your Mambo #5.**

The Nazi
I was going to call this one The H****r, but I don’t cuss. This is the teacher that can turn a group of students from Tom Hanks in Big to Tom Hanks in Catch Me if you Can faster than you can say Cast Away. Their class may be quiet and orderly, but it’s more boring than a Ben Stein PBS telethon. You think 10 years from now those students will remember how to solve a linear regression model by elimination? No, they’ll remember you’re a tool.

The BFF
Commonly found in younger teachers and perpetual not-by-choice bachelor(ettes). This teaching ball of irritation has the classroom management of that teacher who lasted 4 minutes on that one episode of Hey, Arnold! These teachers can be spotted because:

a)  They never get on to any students for fear of being disliked;
b)  Their room sounds like Jumanji;
c)  They usually end up on Dateline NBC.

The Cheerleader
This is the teacher that’s way too into their subject matter. Chill out, you’re not rooting on LeBron James, you’re talking about electron clouds. Take a deep breath…now hold it until you stop yelling across my hallway. Your subject is boring, my subject is boring, I should’ve been a pharmacist.

Thanks again Mr. Stanton, sorry for almost saying Hitler.

Are there any other teacher types I forgot and/or got any good teacher stories?

* See what I did there? A smoother transition than when they switched Ross’s Ex-Wife on Friends.
** That one kinda spiraled out of control. Gotta gotta get my head in the game.

Click here for more Tarver. You won’t regret it.
Oh, and click here to read his first guest post, DBTG: Student Edition.