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THE TAILGATE: A Graphical Preview of Texas A&M at Ole Miss

Gameday. The Grove. Let’s Get It.

Imagine if you will, the press room at The University of Mississippi. The Ole Miss backdrop, hurriedly removed from its box, had not been steamed. Lane Kiffin, however, is steamed. Meaning he was pissed off, but after a quick 12-hour nap in the steam room, he’s right where he needs to be for a presser.

Kiffin, wearing nothing but a robe he hasn’t tied off and a backwards upside down visor, leans on the podium. Quickly, he realizes he forgot something and proceeds to turn around. The back of his robe features a screen print of Nick Saban’s head on the body of a Bichon Frise.

“I HAD IT MADE BEFORE ALABAMA BUT, YOU KNOW, IT WAS SHIPPED LATE. LESSGOBRANDON,” yells Lane, back to the microphone. He turns around ready to address the reporters. “WHO’S GO… shit that’s loud, I’m sorry. Thought I was still fassin da wall. Did y’all seedat wall? PSHHHHHHHHH nobody ironed it… looked like our offense today HAS A BUNCHA WRINKLES IN IT knowwhadeyemean? FIRSKESSION!”

Lane points to the only empty chair in the press pool.

“Coach, that’s an empty chair.”

“Thassa good kessin. See, Jimbo worked for Nick. I worked for Nick. We both have been touched bytha king, you see? We gonna have success inall free phases nexkessin.”

“Coach, you really need to be getting back to…”

“Back to what?”


The press room tumbles Into nothing, this hack bit of coaches and drug use continues for 3-6 more Tailgates if Auburn manages to beat Bama, A&M wins out, beats Georgia in Atlanta, gets into the playoff at #4 and becomes only the second 4 seed to win it all. I said what I said. Lane Kiffin comes back to reality. Wipes his eyes and realizes it was all a dream. It’s still the second quarter of the ass whipping.


Ags 35
UMississippi 21

THE GROVE— We get it. Y’all know how to party. You like to make salad out of doritos and eat it in a tent beneath a gaudy chandelier you bought on clearance at HomeGoods. If you see some dorkily-dressed Aggie engineer shotgunning Keystones in the hatchback of his rental in the parking lot, please do not look down on him. He’s doing his best.

LANEWRECK— 226 yards and three points. That’s all Auburn got out of Saturday, other than getting sacked four times and turning it over twice. Will Saban’s former O-wizard be better prepared? Almost certainly. Will it matter, though?

ROBOZDA—He exits the tunnel, the entire left side of his body encased in a shiny space-age polymer protective shell. He is the QB of the future. And he’ll put a hell of a zip on an 8-yard hitch route. Your drops only make him throw the next one harder.

  • The Aggie d-line will look to corral Matt.
  • The Wrecking Crew plans on Kiffin the Ole Miss offense fits.
  • When the A&M and Ole Miss defenses leave no open receivers for the QBs to throw to, the Vaught-Hemingway crowd will have to bid A Farewell to Arms.
  • Farmers don’t often start plowing through a field at 6:30 p.m. once Daylight Saving Time ends, but we’re willing to make an exception.
  • Ole Miss trying to beat Texas A&M is gonna look like a baby kangaroo trying to cross the Mississippi. A joey in freshwater.

Scattershooting while wondering whatever happened to Steve Sloan…

  • When I was a kid I would get a bunch of blankets inside my living room and hang them over chairs and other furniture and pretend I was a King and this was my castle. Throw in some deviled eggs and a bottle of brown hooch and that’s The Grove.
  • My Aunt Lorene used to say “Show me a man with multiple ranches and a nasty ass defense and I’ll show him how hot my loins can burn.” My therapist says she’s partially responsible for my current issues.
  • I actually respect Sonny Dykes for the last two weeks. If you were about to be forced to move from Highland Park to Lubbock you’d rub a little poop in your sheets too.
  • I’ve spent the last 12 years flip flopping on whether Dan Mullen is the nicest Farm Bureau Insurance agent masquerading as a college football coach, or the most underrated head coach in the nation. My opinion right now is he’s probably a good guy to call if you want to bundle home and auto.
  • This weeks reminder that rivalries matter: The Floyd of Rosedale. Large sweaty Midwestern men pushing each other around for a brass pig gosh dammit Aunt Lorene what did you do to me!!
  • Aggies 31-Daddy Bought Me New Boat Shoes 22; happy gambling friends!

Each week we are proud to bring you a concession review by a dignitary associated with one of the schools involved in the game.

Pimento Cheese
by Wright Thompson

See it there in the slanting afternoon light: glowing a dull yellow with a life of its own, sweating through its plastic tupperware prison. Should you dare a spoonful now on the corner of your plate before too many drunken proddings have reduced the integrity of the sculpted mound into total disarray? Does one risk the embarrassment of being the pimento pioneer, of peeling off that first hunk of rich, juicy cheeseflesh? These are the existential questions that cascade through a Grove tailgate.

The trinity here is no less sacred than at any other altar: the cheese must be bold, the pimentos must be flavorful and small, and the mayonnaise—that sweet glue that binds us all—must be Duke’s or of a similar high quality. Skimp on any one of these and the entire structure crumbles. Does not a stool collapse when stood upon less than three legs?

Cheddar has always been my preference, though I have sampled a handful of variants with some good results: muenster, monterey jack, and white cheddar are all perfectly fine. Gouda can be used sparingly when intermingled with a more neutral flavor pattern. Hard and soft cheeses do not belong here. Pimentos may require an extra chop out of the jar or can. Do not take shortcuts, even though this is a simple dish. Your love will shine through when it’s placed on the tailgating buffet.

When all is assembled and your mix resembles a beautiful and savory custard, then it is time to refrigerate. Twelve hours at the least, more is preferred. You’ll want it hard and substantial: solid enough to carve with an ice cream scoop. Then and only then can the dish be enjoyed to its fullest: inhaled violently upon a stale Triscuit, whereupon it is kneaded through the esophagus into the boiling vat of bourbon stored in the stomach, at which point it will disintegrate and disperse throughout your body over the course of the football game, giving you an extra pleasant glow and a reminder to go back to the tailgating tent when you leave the stadium midway through the third quarter when the pimento cheese is unguarded and vulnerable.

Bon appetit.