For half the day NPR led its hourly news updates with the mysterious fall that Chief Justice John Roberts took at his vacation home in Maine, necessitating hospitalization. I was all, "Whoah: must be a stroke," and I wasn't happy at the prospect, and then it turned out that he had a seizure of some kind, and then a person starts to get a bit concerned.*
Today was full of drama and developments. The FBI just searched Ted Stevens's home; Gonzalez might be impeached; Chelsea Clinton is a courteous and likable young woman.
None of this has been the top news of the past 24 hours, because last night Sam McGuffie gave a verbal commitment to Michigan. I tell myself that I don't like recruiting and therefore ignore it, but there isn't much else interesting in the off-season, so I break down. The collective unconscious of the Michigan fanbase anointed McGuffie this summer. He's a 5'11 backflipping Baby Jesus, if Baby Jesus were a white runningback from Texas who leaps and does awesome flips. One very excitable prophet proclaims:
"I personally believe that, if McGuffie chooses Michigan, he could win a Heisman. God has not created a more harmonious match than McGuffie's running style and the zone running game."
MGoBlog christened yesterday McGuffageddon and starting at around 7 p.m. I executed regular Google searches to see if the Backflipping Baby Jesus had picked us.
I read on some message board that Sam McGuffie was on the Cy-Fair swim team his freshman year, but then got disqualified because he always ran across the water. After Cy-Fair's first home game last fall, Sam McGuffie wanted to celebrate, so he took five loaves of bread and two fishes, and made fish tacos for the entire crowd of 4,000. At practice, Sam McGuffie isn't allowed to drink water, because the water always turns into wine, and everyone knows that high school kids are too young to drink at football practice. Sam McGuffie's geometry teacher had a shriveled hand: Sam decided to heal it, but when he touched it the teacher's hand turned into an awesome bear paw. One day Sam McGuffie brought salvation to a prostitute who spammed his MySpace profile; she's now an assistant professor in Michigan's Classics Department. On the bus ride home from a game last fall, Sam McGuffie saw a fig tree through the window. The fig tree made Sam angry, so he yelled at the fig tree and it withered.
Sam McGuffie can fly!
It would be nice to make friends with Chelsea and Sam McGuffie. Maybe someday the Jets will draft McGuffie and he'll be here in the city, and some night I'll attend some function and they'll both be there, and we'll all hit it off. Not in a good-friends way, but in a way where you meet for dinner once every six months at a nice restaurant and talk about things like leaping, health care policy and favorite pies.
*Don't misread me. I'm disappointed in the guy, but I don't wish ill on him and don't have the stomach for another Supreme Court appointment in this Administration.