With his alma mater calling, offering the opportunity to transfer from leader of a new money team with almost no tradition to lead of one of college football's greatest families, Les Miles chose to stay. Was it really a hard decision? It shouldn't have been.

This fall Nate and I drank the good stuff. We ate the good stuff. We watched, smelled and basically submerged ourselves in a vat of the good stuff. In the end we developed a taste for it, and to be honest, it's not going to be easy to wean ourselves off it.

Our final happy hour at Sonic.

The final tally: 14 games, 6 overtimes, 96 days, 14,982 miles, five Heisman trophies, and one unfortunate night in New Orleans when Nate found me passed out on the hotel room floor, unable to right myself after a losing battle with an over-aged gumbo.

The passion, Verne Lunquist explained to us on Friday, is what separates the football in the SEC from all other conferences. It's a passion as thick as the molasses they put on the table at Dick's Catfish Shack in Red Bay, Alabama. This particular strain of fanaticism, spawned across many generations, appears immune to outside influences. A spring game in Tuscaloosa draws over 92,000. That was just a sign of things to come.

The Going South mobile will get a tuneup before heading back on the road.

In the opening week of conference play, unranked South Carolina beat Georgia. In the final week of the regular season, unranked Arkansas beat LSU. Each week in between the conference's teams beat the living crap out of each other, and when the dust settled it was still unclear if any team remained in the national title hunt.

Our whirlwind tour of the SEC is over but where does this leave the two of us? With something left in the tank and games still on the docket, Nate and I have signed on for more football. That's right, Going South is going national. Along with our fellow roadtrippers at Going Big and Going West, we'll blanket all 26 bowl games, culminating in the National Championship in New Orleans. The name of the trip? You guessed it, Going Bowling.

Having survived this SEC endurance test, why head back on the road so quickly for more college football, you may ask? It's really not safe to quit this stuff cold turkey.

Nice.

Here, though, in Atlanta, the game seems to be a part of the big picture, and not the whole thing. Yes, signs of the game are visible, but it certainly would be possible to spend the weekend here and not realize that the biggest game of the season was taking place in the city's sportsplex.

Gametime, baby.

Mike the Tiger prepares for the final charge.

The weekend has been interesting in another way: it's functioned as a sort of "Going South: This Is Your Life." It's amazing the number of people we've met along our travels who have convened in Atlanta. Sports information directors, subjects like Derek Ramsey and Tim Townes, random reporters and fans.

Beyond being the conference championship, the game seems to hold another significance to the people here. It's a kind of farewell, a swan song to the past thirteen weeks. A way for people to bid adieu to their second religion, and ready themselves for the nine months of football famine that are to come. Because in the end, what we've learned, what these people knew long ago, is that there really is nothing like a game day in the SEC.

Matt and his one true love: the hot sauce.

Feel free to sing along.

BUT FIRST, HOW ABOUT SOME AT&T VIDEO SHARE PICTIONARY?

WATCH CLIP  

Spurrier in K-ville.
Tubberville in Fayettville?
For every dollar Saban makes,
JoePa makes 1/8th

Alabama's bitter pill:
Owes a booster 5 mil.
Houston Nutt's got it made,
R.I.P Sir Gatorade

The fire blazed in Toomer's Corner on Saturday.

One team in the Southeastern Conference can lay a literal claim to We Didn't Start the Fire was and that's Auburn’s go-to tune last week. In the wee hours of Sunday morning, after the Auburn faithful celebrated their its sixth consecutive Iron Bowl win at by Rolling Toomer's Corner, a disgruntled Tuscaloosa fan lit the toilet tissue -strewn oaks, sending the whole square up in flames. in a matter of seconds. The suspect is in custody, and the fire was quelled before it spread or claimed the famous oaks.

Mercifully tTomorrow at 4 pm, mercifully, an actual SEC game will be played, ending a tumultuious weerrk., to say the least. Somehow Wwe suspect that think there are's a few more verses to be written before this whole SEC season shakes out.

Three words: Ann's Burger Shack. If I was a cow, this is where I'd like to end up. Fifteen miles north of downtown Atlanta, ground up, fried by Anne and shoveled into a roadtripper's mouth. Either that, or somewhere in India, where I wouldn't be eaten at all, but instead worshiped as a holy representative of divinity on earth. This is the kind of deep stuff Going South is willing to tackle that other sports reporters would shy away from.

A look at the top rated burger in the U.S.A.

What Ann is most famous for is her world-renowned Ghetto Burger. Which is: approximately one pound of ground beef, enough bacon to make the world's largest BLT, chili, cheese and slaw. This burger is not for the weak of mind, body and soul. It's been known to kill small children and the elderly. A quick poll of restaurant patrons revealed that nearly ninety percent of people believe that consuming a Ghetto Burger takes between three to five days off one's life. One hundred percent believe that the price to be worth it.

The incomparable Ms. Ann stalking her territory.

But here's the coup de grace - the transcendent quality of Ann's cuisine is not even the most appealing aspect of a visit to the Burger Shack. Of course, the main attraction is Ann herself. The owner and sole employee of her business for thirty-four years (with the exception of her baby brother who helps out behind the counter occasionally), Ann has built a reputation as being, well, the Burger Nazi.

Her diner seats ten people; if you come in while all the seats are occupied, she'll ask you to stand outside. If you come back in, she'll tell you that you've been banished for the day. If you talk back, she'll call the police, who as loyal patrons, are more than happy to oblige her. Make too many requests, you'll get the boot. Change your order, you're liable to get the boot. And don't be softened by her use of profanity. You swear, and you're out one burger.

It's always sunny at Ann's shack.

In all seriousness, there's a very good chance that this is the best restaurant in America. For ambiance and quality, there's nothing that competes. If you're in Atlanta, and you've got an hour and a half - the typical time from arrival to paying the check - Ann's Burger Shack is a must visit.

And the clock is ticking. Ann is planning on retiring as soon as she can sell the business and the property. "I know how much it's worth, and that's what I'm gonna get," she croons. "Hell, I'd be gone if someone said they'd buy it tomorrow. And that's no $#&!ing joke."

I think by "balls" he means "brain farts".

Down 28-21 with 1:30 remaining, LSU had fourth and goal at the Arkansas 6. After a run on third down, the game clock was ticking. 1:23...1:22...1:21..... The play clock ran down to 21 seconds and Les Miles signaled for a timeout.

And I ask you why?

That's the $1 question I'm putting on the table. My issue isn't with the timeout itself but with the timing of it. Why did he take a timeout with 21 seconds on the play clock rather than waiting until two seconds remained? If someone can give me a rational explanation, I will take a page out of sportswriter Norman Chad's book and gladly mail you a buck.

Let's examine the facts. The best scenario for LSU would be scoring the tying touchdown with a few seconds left and leaving the Razorbacks with only a few remaining seconds to drive for the winning score, right? So the Tigers obviously needed to bleed time off the game clock, not conserve it.

We want you, Les Miles, to explain your thinking.

When Miles called the timeout, the CBS announcers briefly questioned the strategy, asking why Miles wouldn't wait until the play clock neared zero before calling it. Why would Miles give Arkansas, a team with two timeouts remaining, 20 extra seconds, potentially enough for three pass plays on the final series?

I have asked this very question to a dozen or so people in the football know, and not one has had the slightest clue. One person pointed out that by not waiting twenty more seconds Miles not only gave Arkansas precious time but also cut short his own team's time to strategize for its final two plays.

Miles time mismanagement ended up not costing his team the game. On fourth down, Flynn connected with Demetrius Byrd for the tying score. Arkansas' Felix Jones ran the ensuing kickoff back to the 48, but Casey Dick and the Razorbacks offense sputtered, failing to net even a first down.

The fact that his decision to call a timeout with over twenty seconds remaining on the play clock didn't affect the outcome doesn't excuse the simple, unavoidable fact that Miles error could easily have cost LSU the game and, consequently, the chance to play for the national title.

Or perhaps I'm missing something here.

No reporter, as far as I can tell, asked Miles about his decision in either his post-game interview or Monday press conference. In Monday's presser, however, Miles did have one golden quote. Said Miles: "[We have] not lost a game in regulation...If you just give us ties, like in the old system, we are undefeated with two ties. Maybe that adds up as one lost.”

Michigan might want to think twice before handing Coach Miles the keys to the Big House.

What's that? You thought we were going to leave you without doing one last update on the SEC Mascot Power Rankings? In the words of the inimitable Sade in her classic ballad, Lover's Rock, I couldn't do that.

Great album, by the way. Slide that in the old compact disc player and you can't help but fall headfirst into a swirling pool of romance and sensuality.

10. Colonel Reb (Ole Miss)

Yes, Colonel Reb is a banned mascot. And yes, it's easy to see why some people would be grossly offended by the idea of a stuffed confederate colonel roving the SEC sidelines. But the Colonel's place has been cemented on our final Power Ranking's Top Ten for one simple reason: the almost cult-like following he enjoys at Ole Miss. Asking around campus, the overwhelming response was two-fold. First, bring back the Colonel. Two, why in the world was he banned in the first place?

No joke - try as we might, we never were able to convince anyone why the Colonel might ruffle a few feathers.

Colonel Reb is not the preferred nomenclature, Dude.

Great outfit. Lively guy. Huge trunk. As far as outfits go, Big Al really is one of the finest specimens the SEC has to offer.

Unfortunately, Al seems to do his Tide more bad than good, by calling attention to the shameful fact that Alabama has yet to procure a live elephant. They're standing on the doorstep of the greatest mascot in the history of the entire world, and can't seal the deal. Sorry Al, but you'll always just be a shadow of your big brother who never was.

The illustrious Mr. C.

We never met him. We never saw him in action. But have you ever noticed how much Mr. C looks like Statler and Waldorf from the Muppets. For those who might have forgotten, Statler and Waldorf are the two old guys who heckle the other muppets from the balcony. They remind me of my childhood. Thus, via the commutative principle, Mr. C reminds me of my childhood. If that doesn't make you worthy of Top Ten status, I don't know what does.

I'll be honest, Uga... you didn't show me much the last time our paths crossed, at the Georgia Blackout game against Auburn. As a matter of fact, I seem to recall a security guard asking me to take a step away from your air-conditioned doghouse. You're lucky to be on here, you rascal. If only you weren't so perfectly proportioned...

6. Sir Hotspur (USC)

In a conference that's home to a tiger, a pedigreed British bulldog, an eagle, it takes a lot of spunk to be a Gamecock. But don't tell that to Sir Hotspur. This noble bird sits on his perch, nodding respectfully to anyone who catches his eye. He exudes a quiet dignity.

Insert your best cock of the walk joke below in our comments page.

5. Nuclear (ATF)

The Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms - ever the party crashers - made a last ditch effort to invade the pantheon of SEC mascots. And achieved great success. Nuclear, one of the South's premiere bomb-sniffing dogs, manage to take a decent chunk out of the hand of one unlucky Auburn player. Anytime you manage to bite a competitor, you're in the Top Ten. You'd have a decent shot at No. 1, but unfortunately, you're not an officially sanctioned mascot.

4. Wildcat

There are certainly some who will disagree with Wildcat's placing this high on the list. But they've obviously never seen this stuffed wonder up close and personal. He looks like something that was woven together on the homefront in World War II. Seriously, that costume must be close to fifty years old, and he reflects the mentality of a bygone era. An era when you were beaten with reeds for being a Communist and punched in the face for being soft.

Wildcat was written in a kind of obsolete vernacular. Wildcat... Peewww...

3. Volunteer aka Davy Crockett (UT)

I understand he's human, but watch today's video. Enough said.

The Passion of the Vol.

I asked Spirit's trainer Roy what kind of prey Spirit, an American golden eagle, was capable of taking down. I was politely informed that if Spirit was so inclined, he could probably take me down. Essentially, he would flap onto my arms, climb up on my head, and sink his three inch talons into my precious cranium.

Truth be told, I'm fairly sure that I could beat Spirit, probably with a well-placed kick. But there was an undeniable mutual respect established between us. It's also pretty impressive that he's the only mascot who's not kept in a cage or on a leash.

1. Smokey

This dog is a king. Going South spent the afternoon with him. By the end, I had unquenchable yen to run around in the woods, and run raccoons up trees. Needless to say, the first dog I will be purchasing for myself will be a Bluetick Coonhound.

On Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving, we were two cars back at a stoplight on College Street when all of a sudden -- bam! -- a crash.

Groves restored calm to the grizzly scene.

The two female drivers, visibly shaken, got out of their cars. Onlookers rushed in from all sides as if it was a piñata party. First at the scene? None other than our boy, Quentin Groves, who once clocked a 4.5 in the 40-yard dash and is #10 on Mel Kiper's Big Board.

The 6’3”, 255 lb. defensive end, fresh out of practice and wearing Tigers’ sweats and a long-sleeved white Auburn tee, approached the woman in the intersection. "You all right?" asked the sackmaster, taking control of the situation and diffusing the tension. The woman put her hand on her chest trying to catch her breath. "You're sure you're not hurt?" he repeated. She nodded yes.

Coach Tub also wants to help women in distress.

Seconds later, the fire trucks could be heard pulling out of the station and the squad cars peeled in. Groves stepped back to an island in the road and we cozied up to him. "Man, what happened?" we asked, making conversation with the dreadlocked assassin. "I think one of them tried to make the light at the last second and they just T-boned," said Auburn's all-time leading sack leader. "So," we non-sequitored, "they don't let you go home for Thanksgiving?" Groves smiled. "Nah, gotta get ready for ‘Bama."

Kiper describes Groves as a speed rusher with the talent to rank as one of the more feared sack artists in the nation, Turns out you can add: And rushes to the need of women in distress.

The band makes its way to Jordan-Hare Stadium. And Glory.

Sadly, the good folks of Alabama would not indulge us.

Come closer and I'll tell you a secret: the purported hatred between the Tide and Tiger faithful does not exist. I'd say 'dislike' wouldn't even be accurate, as I don't remember coming across a single tailgate that wasn't mixed Auburn and Alabama. The honest truth, the truth that they don't want you to know, is that these fans quietly love each other.

Despite his pleas, Auburn Santa will not be visiting Waxman this Christmas.

Time and again, this has been the biggest surprise to me: the overwhelming fondness the various groups of fans demonstrate for each other. Up north, it's not atypical to see rival groups act their aggression out on each other. For the most part, these interactions play out like something from the Discovery channel, though usually without the cannibalism.

Down here though, there seems to be nothing but love for visiting fans. Granted, this could simply be a function of the laws of reciprocity: I don't stomp you in my yard, you don't stop me in yours. But, ever the humanist, it seems to me that it's something that runs a little deeper in the veins. As much as they play it up as the South's second religion and as rabid as they get in their discussions and opinions, these fans seem to be marked by a single overriding perspective: that football was made to bring friends together, not to drive them apart.

Which possibly explains why that every single SEC mascot resembles to a Care Bear.

Lotsa-Heart. Roll Tide.

In the end, we decided that, yes, if you're in Auburn on the day of a football win tis required to check out the rolling of Toomer's Corner.

I'm dreaming of a white Thanksgiving.

Call it Charmin's March.

Gathering under the big oaks, Auburn students used an open hand plus an index finger to signal the number of consecutive wins over Alabama, and, though their launching of the uncoiled rolls evoked oppressed civilians throwing rocks, there was little malice in the nighttime celebration. Fathers perched children on their shoulders and strolled through the crowds. Curious fans in houndstooth jackets went unmolested. Couples sealed the victory with dramatic kisses. It was how we imagine sports celebrations were in the 50s.

The band performs outside the stadium before kickoff.

We can't picture this level of restraint in, say, Baton Rouge, where we imagine their spin on this celebration would be to bust out diesel-fueled chain saws and topple the trees. And we don't want to even imagine what they'd do with the toilet tissue.

The nighttime backdrop only added to the ambiance. The street lights illuminated the streusel-ed trees while the five thousand or so people who were gathered below remained in the shadows. It felt as if this tradition had art direction. In the end, the Loveliest Village on the Plains proved to have the loveliest tradition we've encountered in our travels.

They say it costs $4,000 to clean up the mess of Toomer's Corner. And we say it's worth every penny.

There is no joy in Mudville. Despite this beautiful photograph.

Before delving further into the huge bummer that is LSU's loss to Arkansas, allow me to quickly weigh in on Nick Saban's perhaps overzealous use of literary devices, i.e. using 9-11 and Pearl Harbor in the same sentence as a football game. First, for our readers outside of the South, please know that the prevailing sentiment down here is, "Who the #$@! cares?" Which, personally, I think is fair sentiment. Who really cares? I'd have to imagine that if you spoke with most of the people personally connected to these events about Saban's words, the knee-jerk reaction would be nothing more than, "That guy's an idiot." Shame on Saban for not having the foresight to see that, regardless of how carefully he phrased his words, when a football coach talks about national tragedies in the context of a football game, certain folks - we like to call them the national sporting press - are going to have a field day poo-pooing you. Shame on the national sporting press for spending so much time harping on such an insignificant story. And shame on Going South for not making a killer video out of said story. We'll try to remedy the situation.

Unbridled enthusiasm: dangerous if left unchecked.

And with that, back to Gettysburg II - Arkansas 50, LSU 48. By all accounts of writers who know more than myself, LSU had essentially ousted itself from the No. 1 spot and dampened its National Championship hopes simply by allowing a 50-point scoring fiasco to occur. Unfortunately, the Wax and I were not quite sports savvy enough to realize this while watching the game, and as such remained glued to the tube, watching as Mcfadden ran Wild Hog all over LSU's feckless red zone defense. In all honesty, other than the Patriots' playoff games and the AL Championships, this game probably topped my all-time emotional involvement with a spectator sporting event.

Photographic magic - Matt in the Eagle's clutches.

At Going South, we were seriously looking forward to routing for the denizens of Baton Rouge. Not that we particularly enjoy Baton Rouge. Or like the LSU team more than any other. But as a population of fandom, there is nothing this season that has come close to rivaling the LSU faithful. These ladies and gentlemen roll into town like a tropical bayou storm; as soon as the first RV unloads its first purple-and-gold jumpsuit-clad fan, you know that the LSU has arrived with the singular goal of taking over. And while they might not accomplish said goal with any degree of class or savoir fare, they accomplish it nonetheless.

These folks deserved a National Championship. And Going South would've loved to see them get it.

Good night, sweet princes. And flights of Angels sing thee to thy rest.

Thanksgiving at the Hornsby's. Roll, Tide!

As tempting as sitting in a beach chair around a pot of boiling oil sounded, we had already jumped at our first invitation to a traditional Turkey Day feast. Ray Hornsby, the subject of one of our most widely discussed videos, invited us to his Alabama family's home fifty miles away. "Hey guys" he wrote in an email. "If you want to come, here are the directions. There's no address but you'll know you're here when you see the big nativity scene in the front lawn."

He had us at "hey."

The say a house divided cannot stand. Well, a house unified behind Alabama cannot stand Auburn. As we walked the 29 person handshake gamut, Nate asked, "You guys going to the Iron Bowl at Auburn?" "Nah," said Ray, "I can't really be around those people. I prefer to watch it in my own house." The uncles uh-huh'ed in agreement..

As the food was prepped in the kitchen, Nate and I plopped down on the sofa to watch the Lions-Packers game with the guys. The TV was off. "We don't really do pro football around here," explained Ray. The uncles uh-huh'ed.

Ray saved our Thanksgiving from looking like this ominous scene.

So instead we talked. About Alabama football. The possibility of a live elephant mascot, Kenny Stabler, the importance of the Iron Bowl, the college plans of high school senior extraordinaire Julio Jones, Nick Saban's recent comparison of the loss to Louisiana-Monroe to 9/11 -- we covered them all.

Then it was time to give thanks. As we went around the room, collectively we thanked our friends and family, the troops, God. An uncle said,. "I'd like to thank Nick Saban for taking over our program and helping to get the team back on the path to a national championship." Everyone, even the wives, uh-huh'ed.

Nate and I jammed our plates with turkey, stuffing, mac n' cheese and chicken and dumplings. We ate so much there was no room for any of the five different kinds of pies.

While the nation sat comatose, watching two uncompetitive NFL games, we continued to break down Saturday's game like generals in a war room. For 51 weeks, Alabama fans have been waiting for revenge, and now, it's so close they can taste it.

Previously we had thought football was an integral part of our Thanksgivings but now we realize it was just a side dish.

A special thank you to the Hornsby clan for taking two wayward Northerners into their home this Thanksgiving. Without your generosity, we would have ended up sitting in our lonely hotel room, eating Cup O' Soups, and looking at each other funny. Next year, join us in Beantown!

It's fun to dress up the animals before slaughtering them.

The feeling is that this small, lovely little haven belongs to us and around every corner rests some new tidbit of information to give us some insight into the local traditions. For instance, did you know that before the previews at the Auburn movie theater they play a five minute music video by Three Doors Down called "Citizen Soldier?" Which is actually an undisguised recruiting video for the National Guard.

War Eagle seems to be eyeing Matt in a rather suspicious way.

Not exactly the kind of pre-film fare this Bostonian is used to. But, for me that's what makes this trip so spectacular. There are times when I've felt like I might as well be in my own backyard, and there are times when I have to take a quick inventory of the surroundings, just to confirm that I'm still on planet Earth.

Today, for instance, the Wax and I attended Cheng Dou for lunch (highly recommend it if you're in the market for some good Chinese food). There were about four other groups of people in there - all fairly normal looking people - and one solo gentleman who looked like he could've been a linebacker for the Falcons. Matt and I were discussing where we thought Les Miles would end up at year's end, when we realized that every single person in the restaurant was talking about football. Five separate conversations all about pigskin. The only person who wasn't talking - the solo flier - was reading about football... in a Chinese newspaper.

"I've just taken up reading Chinese recently," he said, as he quietly passed judgment on whether or not Nick Saban was losing perspective with his 9-11 comments. "It's tough, but I enjoy it."

So it's Thanksgiving evening, and while I'm not usually in the practice of making public statements about what I'm thankful for, now's as good a time as ever to start. I'm thankful for getting the opportunity to run around the South for three months and bear witness to some of the more over-the-top, niche, and nuanced culture America has to offer. There's really no better way to spend an Autumn. And the fact that we get treated like we belonged here in the first place, that's just icing on the cake.

Last thing, if you're looking to cruise through Auburn campus today or tomorrow, be prepared to show some credentials. They've got the place on lockdown. Why?

"We gotta keep the tailgaters out until Friday," said one security guard, as if they weren't there, the townsfolk of Auburn would celebrate their Thanksgivings right outside the Stadium. "Believe me... if they could, they would."

The vestiges of a simpler time, presented in a postmodern type way.

Crow suggests curbing the use of toilet paper in football celebrations.

"I am aware of the importance of this tradition at Auburn, yet I would be doing myself an injustice letting this continue without speaking out," wrote the Grammy-winning artist on her website.

"Last April I asked that people use 'only one square per restroom visit, except, of course, on those pesky occasions when two to three could be required.' These statements were widely lampooned, yet excessive TP use is no laughing matter. And nowhere is the waste more unnecessary than in the celebrations after Auburn wins when students launch hundreds of rolls of two-ply into the trees to whiteout the square. How can I ask Americans to make such a sacrifice when this wasteful gesture goes on unmentioned?"

Whiteouts in the square have gone on since 1962.

Crow had some suggestions as to how the students might take her advice yet still maintain their tradition. "Perhaps you could take single squares and glue them to solitary leaves. That could be pretty. Or maybe you could make toilet paper airplanes out of squares and fly them into trees."

Crow also chastised kids who dressed up as mummies for Halloween.

How's this? A five hour traffic jam in Birmingham, Alabama. Approximate speed - 0.4 miles per hour. You can check out photos at www.brutality.com.

Ah, the trials and tribulations of life on the road. When it's not dealing with the traffic jams, it's finding a place to do laundry. When it's not finding a place to do laundry, it's cleaning the car. When it's not cleaning the car, it's trying to overcome the temptation to sack and pillage the contents of the hotel room.

Wait a second...

Scrupulous morals: a dying breed.

Now, I can understand that there might be some appeal in ganking some of the various amenities that these hotels offer. For instance, the Wax has been known to venture into the kitchen pantries of unsuspecting roadhouses and helping himself to the contents contained therewithin. I myself, have been known to indulge in the various lotions and shampoos that the hotel offers, and from time to time, will even pilfer a few from the housekeeping cart when nobody's looking.

Thus far, no one has been any the wiser. Well, aside from one middle-aged lady who took exception to Matt's helping himself to a bowl of cereal and engaged him in a ten minute philosophical battle royale over the nature of costumer relationships and what exactly a hotel guest is and is not entitled to, no one has been any the wiser. What has been the secret to our success? In a word: tact.

What is tact? Some call it a certain sensibility fors social graces. Others might call it an appreciation of manners. And still others might call it a respect for the fact that if something A) will be immediately missed, B) can be directly traced to you, and C) can be bought for ten dollars, you don't steal it.

I don't know. Call me crazy, but stealing an alarm clock is like stealing a flu shot - I guess they're both necessary, but that doesn't mean I'd particularly like them. Pillows, slightly more understandable, until you consider the fact that the number of possible greaseballs that may have spent a lonely/drunken/semi-erotic night with their head mashed up into those feathers. It's just too silly for words, to be honest.

Live and learn. That's the name of the game. Apparently all of these Ole Miss kids were stand-up guys, with no previous records of misbehavior. So if this is the worst they do, and they learn from it, then more power to them. A wise man once said, "A life spent making mistakes is not only more honorable, but more useful than a life spent doing nothing."

On a completely unrelated note, let me know if you want some new towels, a sightly new comforter, a mini-microwave or a King James Bible. Prices are negotiable.

Next stop: Toomer's corner.

Here's a snapshot of your life.

When you leave your room, a funny thing happens: you don't know where to go. Sometimes you squint and peer both ways trying to become oriented. Sometimes there are obvious clues like visible elevator banks. Sometimes not. Sometimes you instinctively turn right and walk a few steps and turn around. Sometimes you turn left.

Breakfast is a cornucopia of goodness: biscuits and gravy, waffles, cinnamon buns, cereals, yogurt, fruit. Or so you've heard. You have not once made it to the great feast before it's whisked away at 9:00. So you drink coffee from a push-button thermos. It is weak. And lukewarm. You down it as fuel in one gulp.

For one quarter of one year, this is your life.