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Ask Old Man Football

After a week’s respite to recover from the rigors of producing two editions of this electric newspaper column, Old Man Football returns to answer the pressing questions of the day. So, if you’re lovelorn, confused or curious, send your questions to and I’ll do my best to set you on the proper path.

Old Man Football is no fan of the fake stuff.
Old Man Football is no fan of the fake stuff.
Gary Pinkel on Twitter

Dear Old Man Football: What are your feelings on field turf and Astroturf? You strike me more as a grass man. – Roots for Mizzou.

Dear Roots: I had so been hoping for a question related to horticulture. I was a grass man up until the time of Woodstock, but after sitting in Max’s pasture for three days, I had little blades of the stuff sticking out of every sphincter and orifice, and my prejudice against the stuff is only intensified by the fact that I lost Dusty Springfield to Graham Nash in a poker game just before dawn on the morning that Jimi played. That whole stupid weekend was a long, strange, lame-ass, wretched trip. Only Creedence’s set kept it from being a total loss.

All that said, I’m no big fan of the fake stuff, either (though I do like to jump up behind Bill McCartney and yell "OmniTurf!" just to watch the old crustacean twitch). I’d prefer that the games be played on gravel, just as the great Lombardi in the sky intended.


Dear Old Man Football: Who would win? Bo coaching Woody’s best team or Woody coaching Bo’s best team? – Final Unicorn Laughing Loudly Because Achilles’ Carrying Killed.

Dear Final Unicorn: I haven’t a clue, but sure-as-shootin’ the winner would get whipped by Southern Cal in the Rose Bowl.


Dear Old Man Football: Is it true that no one else submitted questions and you’ll have to make up the rest of this week’s offering? – All Us Bastards Who Didn’t Submit Questions.

Dear All You Bastards: At least you pansies are owning up to it. By the way, your question alerted me to the similarity between "submit" and "sumbitch." Woody woulda liked that.


Dear Old Man Football: So . . . Alabama. – The Usual Suplex.

Dear Suplex: Yeah . . . Alabama.


Dear Old Man Football: I mean really . . . Alabama. – The War of Southern Aggression.

Dear War: I mean really . . . what do you want me to say? They look like elephants, they move like panthers and they’re coached by a guy who would make Keyser Soze soil himself. Until Gary Pinkel develops his own pipeline of elephant-panthers, this stuff is going to happen over and over.


Dear Old Man Football: Is it a bird? Is it a plane? – Confused by Flying Objects.

Dear CFO: It’s Keion Bell, and he’s coming to save the day.


Dear Old Man Football: Play us a tune. – In Need of a Song.

Dear In Need: I think you’re looking for Dear Mr. Fantasy, but I’m happy to oblige.