Know the Foe: Georgia Tech

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Akinji07 said:
Do they even know we have 3 Abacks every play?
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:lol: God damn why didn't someone think of this sooner? We should be helping the team with our own psyops and misinformation campaigns.

It was 2:58 AM, only nine hours to kickoff. Charlie was trying to decide if there was a way to run away while still looking like an alpha male. The vague communication indicating the meeting place had given the time as 3AM, "the hour of the pitch", and ended with "SCIENCE MUST DIE" but now, at the corner of Cleveland and Fort Harrison, Charlie was unsure whether that meant the Church of Scientology, the Christian Science Reading Room, or the American School of Natural Health. Three potential locations, did that mean something? This was too much. It had only been a 30 mile drive from USF, but it felt much further now. The sound of the ocean just a couple of streets away should have been comforting, but it only made him wish he was back in Arkansas.

Fearful and delirious, he moved up Cleveland until from his left he heard what sounded like an insect, flying towards his head. He had only a moment to think "ambush" before it collided with his head and sent him crumbling, cursing onto the still-warm Clearwater sidewalk. Through the pain turning his vision grey and kaleidoscopic, he could see the projectile on the ground beside him: a black and yellow toy football. In the direction it had come flying from, he heard mumbling but could only make out what sounded like "mediocre" and suddenly Charlie remembered his old coach telling him in 1983 to smother his NFL dreams like an unwanted child.

He grabbed the cheap plastic football and as he pulled himself back to his feet, he wanted to crush it in his hands and strike fear into whoever was lurking in this dark alley and had put him through this ordeal, but he remembered that he was here for the secret, the blueprint he had been promised which would show him how to crush his opponent, and Charlie would do absolutely anything to win. With thoughts of victory dancing around what was almost certainly a concussion, he walked with purpose deeper into the alley and noticed the smell. Sausage. What he had taken for fog or steam was smoke, emanating from what looked like a small grill. Around it there were maybe a dozen men, their faces covered in shadow, each wearing a different shade of gold. Then there was sudden movement, something more yellow than gold, racing towards him, and Charlie closed his eyes and braced for the killing blow.

But it didn't strike him the head this time. It had hit him square in the chest, where he'd been unable to feel any sensation since his botched breast augmentation surgery in a filthy South Carolina basement nearly twenty years prior. Opening his eyes, he found that the men and the grill had vanished, leaving only a pile of smoldering ash and charcoal in the place they had been only seconds before. Then he saw it. At his feet, a yellow envelope. His heart began to race. This was it. What had begun as a series of emailed pictures of vomiting women and obese primates, followed by baffling clues using words like "sticky", "smelly", and "nasty", had led him to this. He bent down slowly and pulled the envelope from the asphalt. Across the front were the words WHAT WE ARE GOING TO DO. Charlie smiled. Johnson had been betrayed by someone in his own camp. Gently, he turned the envelope over in his hands, carefully lifting the two metal prongs, then the top flap. He reached inside, the world around him seeming to hold its breath, and pulled from it a single rectangular sheet of thick, glossy paper. His universe went dark, all hope abandoned him, and he felt parts of himself dying in anguished silence as he realized that he was looking at a photograph.

Of his mother.
 
The Jacket said:
:lol: God damn why didn't someone think of this sooner? We should be helping the team with our own psyops and misinformation campaigns.

It was 2:58 AM, only nine hours to kickoff. Charlie was trying to decide if there was a way to run away while still looking like an alpha male. The vague communication indicating the meeting place had given the time as 3AM, "the hour of the pitch", and ended with "SCIENCE MUST DIE" but now, at the corner of Cleveland and Fort Harrison, Charlie was unsure whether that meant the Church of Scientology, the Christian Science Reading Room, or the American School of Natural Health. Three potential locations, did that mean something? This was too much. It had only been a 30 mile drive from USF, but it felt much further now. The sound of the ocean just a couple of streets away should have been comforting, but it only made him wish he was back in Arkansas.

Fearful and delirious, he moved up Cleveland until from his left he heard what sounded like an insect, flying towards his head. He had only a moment to think "ambush" before it collided with his head and sent him crumbling, cursing onto the still-warm Clearwater sidewalk. Through the pain turning his vision grey and kaleidoscopic, he could see the projectile on the ground beside him: a black and yellow toy football. In the direction it had come flying from, he heard mumbling but could only make out what sounded like "mediocre" and suddenly Charlie remembered his old coach telling him in 1983 to smother his NFL dreams like an unwanted child.

He grabbed the cheap plastic football and as he pulled himself back to his feet, he wanted to crush it in his hands and strike fear into whoever was lurking in this dark alley and had put him through this ordeal, but he remembered that he was here for the secret, the blueprint he had been promised which would show him how to crush his opponent, and Charlie would do absolutely anything to win. With thoughts of victory dancing around what was almost certainly a concussion, he walked with purpose deeper into the alley and noticed the smell. Sausage. What he had taken for fog or steam was smoke, emanating from what looked like a small grill. Around it there were maybe a dozen men, their faces covered in shadow, each wearing a different shade of gold. Then there was sudden movement, something more yellow than gold, racing towards him, and Charlie closed his eyes and braced for the killing blow.

But it didn't strike him the head this time. It had hit him square in the chest, where he'd been unable to feel any sensation since his botched breast augmentation surgery in a filthy South Carolina basement nearly twenty years prior. Opening his eyes, he found that the men and the grill had vanished, leaving only a pile of smoldering ash and charcoal in the place they had been only seconds before. Then he saw it. At his feet, a yellow envelope. His heart began to race. This was it. What had begun as a series of emailed pictures of vomiting women and obese primates, followed by baffling clues using words like "sticky", "smelly", and "nasty", had led him to this. He bent down slowly and pulled the envelope from the asphalt. Across the front were the words WHAT WE ARE GOING TO DO. Charlie smiled. Johnson had been betrayed by someone in his own camp. Gently, he turned the envelope over in his hands, carefully lifting the two metal prongs, then the top flap. He reached inside, the world around him seeming to hold its breath, and pulled from it a single rectangular sheet of thick, glossy paper. His universe went dark, all hope abandoned him, and he felt parts of himself dying in anguished silence as he realized that he was looking at a photograph.

Of his mother.
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You are a StinGTalk treasure.
 
The Jacket said:
:lol: God damn why didn't someone think of this sooner? We should be helping the team with our own psyops and misinformation campaigns.

It was 2:58 AM, only nine hours to kickoff. Charlie was trying to decide if there was a way to run away while still looking like an alpha male. The vague communication indicating the meeting place had given the time as 3AM, "the hour of the pitch", and ended with "SCIENCE MUST DIE" but now, at the corner of Cleveland and Fort Harrison, Charlie was unsure whether that meant the Church of Scientology, the Christian Science Reading Room, or the American School of Natural Health. Three potential locations, did that mean something? This was too much. It had only been a 30 mile drive from USF, but it felt much further now. The sound of the ocean just a couple of streets away should have been comforting, but it only made him wish he was back in Arkansas.

Fearful and delirious, he moved up Cleveland until from his left he heard what sounded like an insect, flying towards his head. He had only a moment to think "ambush" before it collided with his head and sent him crumbling, cursing onto the still-warm Clearwater sidewalk. Through the pain turning his vision grey and kaleidoscopic, he could see the projectile on the ground beside him: a black and yellow toy football. In the direction it had come flying from, he heard mumbling but could only make out what sounded like "mediocre" and suddenly Charlie remembered his old coach telling him in 1983 to smother his NFL dreams like an unwanted child.

He grabbed the cheap plastic football and as he pulled himself back to his feet, he wanted to crush it in his hands and strike fear into whoever was lurking in this dark alley and had put him through this ordeal, but he remembered that he was here for the secret, the blueprint he had been promised which would show him how to crush his opponent, and Charlie would do absolutely anything to win. With thoughts of victory dancing around what was almost certainly a concussion, he walked with purpose deeper into the alley and noticed the smell. Sausage. What he had taken for fog or steam was smoke, emanating from what looked like a small grill. Around it there were maybe a dozen men, their faces covered in shadow, each wearing a different shade of gold. Then there was sudden movement, something more yellow than gold, racing towards him, and Charlie closed his eyes and braced for the killing blow.

But it didn't strike him the head this time. It had hit him square in the chest, where he'd been unable to feel any sensation since his botched breast augmentation surgery in a filthy South Carolina basement nearly twenty years prior. Opening his eyes, he found that the men and the grill had vanished, leaving only a pile of smoldering ash and charcoal in the place they had been only seconds before. Then he saw it. At his feet, a yellow envelope. His heart began to race. This was it. What had begun as a series of emailed pictures of vomiting women and obese primates, followed by baffling clues using words like "sticky", "smelly", and "nasty", had led him to this. He bent down slowly and pulled the envelope from the asphalt. Across the front were the words WHAT WE ARE GOING TO DO. Charlie smiled. Johnson had been betrayed by someone in his own camp. Gently, he turned the envelope over in his hands, carefully lifting the two metal prongs, then the top flap. He reached inside, the world around him seeming to hold its breath, and pulled from it a single rectangular sheet of thick, glossy paper. His universe went dark, all hope abandoned him, and he felt parts of himself dying in anguished silence as he realized that he was looking at a photograph.

Of his mother.
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beautiful.

The photo, that is.
 
cincyjacket said:
True, but our results were against Alcorn State, so....

They are 4-1 in their last 5 games with their only loss being to UCF, who went undefeated last year. We should not take them lightly.
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I agree, we absolutely shouldn't take them lightly, but there really is no "they" for the last 5 games. Last years team was 3-1 over their last 4 and this years team is 1-0 over their last one. They, as well as us, are pretty different teams from last years versions. Us, significantly on defense, and them on both sides of the ball.
 
Vespid said:
I agree, we absolutely shouldn't take them lightly, but there really is no "they" for the last 5 games. Last years team was 3-1 over their last 4 and this years team is 1-0 over their last one. They, as well as us, are pretty different teams from last years versions. Us, significantly on defense, and them on both sides of the ball.
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Yes, isn't it ironic how much we think we've improved over last years' team... but how little we think other teams have improved?
 
coit said:
Clearly you aren't drinking the Nate Woody kool-aid.

I'm with you though, I expect to see us get burned for several long gains. Still think we win comfortably.
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I'm actually a big fan of the new staff and scheme. I just think it's fair to expect some bumps in the road with inexperienced players and a completely different playing style. Honestly if we can create more negative plays (sacks and turnovers) I will gladly deal with a few more big plays. Anything is better than knowing with absolute certainty that if the opponent truly needs to score, they will, 5 yards at a time while we just sit back and watch.
 
Elon's true freshman RB, Jaylan Thomas, carried 9 times for 87 yds (9.7 average) against USF. Their senior RB, Malcolm Summers, carried 15 times for 62 yds (4.1 average). They both appear to be good FCS level athletes, but not like USF will face on Saturday. I suspect CPJ will have a good game plan to keep the USF defense on the field, as long as we get good execution. We just need to make some stops or get some turnovers when the Bulls are throwing downfield.
 
jacket67 said:
Elon's true freshman RB, Jaylan Thomas, carried 9 times for 87 yds (9.7 average) against USF. Their senior RB, Malcolm Summers, carried 15 times for 62 yds (4.1 average). They both appear to be good FCS level athletes, but not like USF will face on Saturday. I suspect CPJ will have a good game plan to keep the USF defense on the field, as long as we get good execution. We just need to make some stops or get some turnovers when the Bulls are throwing downfield.
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South Florida gonna get executed
 
18in32 said:
Yes, isn't it ironic how much we think we've improved over last years' team... but how little we think other teams have improved?
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I’d say it was obvious we had regressed in 2015 after watching just one game of football. I think we’ve definitely improved this year.
 
wesleyd21 said:
I’d say it was obvious we had regressed in 2015 after watching just one game of football. I think we’ve definitely improved this year.
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The first game of football in 2015 was a 69-6 victory. Folks on this board were anything but convinced we had regressed. Check out this thread about an ESPN recap noting that the victory confirmed our status as 2015 playoff dark horses.
 
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