The Big Ten Conference, now composed of twelve schools, has just announced how it will split the conference. The new divisions are not yet named, so I’ll call them Division A and Division B.

Division A: Illinois, Indiana, Ohio State, Penn State, Purdue, and Wisconsin

Division B: Iowa, Michigan, Moo U., Minnesota, Nebraska, and Northwestern

The Big Ten says that there will be a crossover regular season game that will not change from year to year. We can hope that that would be PSU-Nebraska, but in this Turkey’s mind it likely means that the Michigan-Ohio State rivalry will continue.

If either are the case, what will happen to the Land Grant Trophy, the booby prize that goes to the winner of the Penn State vs. Moo U. rivalry every year? Will the Big Ten schedule an inter-divisional game between the two land grant institutions every two years, or what? You can see that this important thing is foremost in the Turkey’s mind.

Full story, including the just released PSU schedule for 2011, here.

True freshman Robert Bolden has been tapped as the Nittany Lions’ starting quarterback for the Youngstown State game, according to Bob Flounders of the Harrisburg Patriot-News. Flounders reports that two sources advised him about the decision, one of whom stated that all three quarterbacks were notified but told to keep their mouths shut.

Maybe the rumors about Paterno’s health are valid. Who would have thought he would ever started a true freshman at quarterback? Strange goings on at PSU, but this is what the fans wanted. We’ll see what they get!

More here and here.

Clint Gyory, the current wearer of the Nittany Lion costume, was benched indefinitely after being charged with public drunkenness and criminal mischief.

The 20 year-old junior was so crocked that he crawled into the bed of a pickup truck and passed out. On his way to his impromptu bed, he ripped a mirror off of a car. Police found him clutching it in his forepaw.

Gyory blew a .187 blood alcohol level on the breathalyzer, a new record for Nittany Lion mascots. The previous record was held by 2009 Lion James Sheep, who blew a .164 after his arrest early on the morn of the Moo U. game last year. The legal limit in most states is .08.

Gyory has not yet entered a plea for either charge.

For more information, see the Daily Collegian story.

This is the eleventh installment of our summer road trip travelogue, featuring Artificially Sweetened (AS), her daughter, Cupcake, and me, the Nittany Turkey.

My pre-season prognostication having been written and put to bed, I now have no excuses to delay this installment of the travelogue any longer. So, awayyyyyyyyyy we go!

This would be our Washington, D.C. day. At the appointed early morning hour and against the feeble protests of AS, I gathered my stuff together for departure. When I exited the guest facility to go to the bathroom, I was surprised to see Cupcake in the final stages of doing the same. Occasionally, she can be surprisingly sweet and self-reliant; I was happy to see that this was one of those times. So was AS.

I left AS upstairs to gather her stuff as I brought mine downstairs. Toejam and Judy were, of course, already up. Even in retirement, they maintain a first shift coal miner’s schedule.

Toejam and I were discussing my route. He prefaced his comments with, “I know you won’t listen to me, but…” Actually, I wound up listening to him. His idea of taking US 15 down to the Baltimore Beltway turned out to be perfect. I was surprised that my GPS software chose that same routing. But I’m getting ahead of unfolding events.

The plan was to hustle down to suburban Virginia and take the Metro into our nation’s capital, where we could do some sightseeing for a few hours. My hope was that we could avoid rush hours and after the sightseeing, hit the road reasonably early. Rocky Mount, North Carolina, where we would spend the night, would still be a long drive from the capital area.

On Our Way

We said our goodbyes to the Tams after loading the Siena. We will be seeing them again when they pay us a winter visit in January or February. Who knows? We might even see them sooner, if we decided to go to the homecoming game at Penn State this fall.

Over the hill and past Robert Shewokis’ fuel oil tanks we went and we were on our way out of the Skook. Most of the morning proceeded uneventfully, until it was time for lunch. By that time, we were approaching the Baltimore Beltway.

At Cracker Barrel

“What do you girls feel like for lunch?” I asked.

“Cracker Barrel is a chain, but it’s good enough,” responded AS.

“Ew!” I croaked.

“Cracker Barrel is good!” asserted Cupcake.

“Cracker Barrel is an old lady restaurant!” I protested.

“You’re mean!”

Yes, I am.

But my protests were too feeble. Somehow, we managed to decide on Cracker Barrel. It was 2-1. It just so happened that there was a Cracker Barrel about 15 minutes away, right off a beltway exit in Frederick, Maryland. So, that’s where we went.

Cupcake ordered bacon and eggs, as she wanted breakfast. AS and I had lunch, a reuben for AS and a hamburger for me.

Hostess Trainee

Well, the food turned out to be acceptable, while the service was diner quality without the friendliness. The waitress dumped a steak fry in my lap when she delivered my burger, and didn’t even notice. Nevertheless, I was amused by the fireplug shaped midget hostess apprentice, who looked like she didn’t quite know why she was there. Her function seemed to be to shadow the “real” hostess, whom I nicknamed “mama.” The little one looked like Olympic gymnast Shawn Johnson proceeding to her next event when she tailed a party being seated; when “mama” finally gave her a party of her own to seat, presumably because two parties showed up at the door simultaneously, she perked up and returned from her initial mission all smiles, hands on hips, and generally proud of her consummate achievement. It was way cool. Of course, Cupcake was on my case about my obsession with waitresses and hostesses; that made it even more fun. But I digress.

Having finished what turned out to be a redeeming lunch that will actually bring me back to Cracker Barrel someday when I’m desperate enough on the road, we exited via the Cracker Barrel country store. Well, we took a while to exit. Being the consummate shoppers, we had to look at everything in the store. Finally, I advised the ladies that we had work to do, for there was a Geocache search awaiting us outside.

Off Your Rocker

A nationwide series of Geocaches called “Off Your Rocker” sprang up at Cracker Barrel stores. In case you’ve never seen a Cracker Barrel store, they all have a porch with a couple dozen rocking chairs and antique stuff. You can just sit there as long as you wish, or buy a rocking chair if you want. Or you can hunt for the ubiquitous “Off Your Rocker” cache in front of all the rockers, which requires stealth and cunning to avoid detection, scorn, or ridicule.

We found the cache after a brief search. I say “we”, but AS actually made the grab. Nothing new about that. As for “muggles” (a term borrowed from Harry Potter by Geocachers meaning uninitiated onlookers), there was only one group of four bikers on the porch. AS  was sorta right about lunch and she was right about the cache location.

After signing the log, we re-entered the Cracker Barrel and used the respective gender specific rest rooms for their intended purpose. Shortly, we were back on our way to D.C.

Our D.C. Tour

Actually, that was to be the Vienna, Virginia Metro parking lot. I chose it because according to the Metro web site, it was the largest of the lots in suburbia, holding over 5,000 cars.

On Way

We arrived there after lunch. By that time, there was a barricade across the entrance to the immense parking lot. The sign read “Lot Full.”

Hmmm. What do we do now?

Aha! Across the street, there were parking meters and there were available spaces. I turned around and parked in one so we could examine the meter to see whether it would allow enough time for us to get three hours or so of sightseeing in. It looked good. However, between AS and I, I think we had three quarters. We calculated that it would require about $5 worth of quarters to get enough time.

Hmmmm. What do we do now?

I had noticed that there was a bank at the nearby shopping center, so I parked there. AS went in to get some quarters. A few minutes later, she came back.

“That teller knew exactly why I was there!” she exclaimed. “When I asked her for the quarters, she said, ‘So, you got there too late, did you?’”

“Did she give you the quarters?” I asked.

“Yep!” said AS. “I got $5 worth of them.”

We went back and parked, spending several minutes inserting quarters. By that time it was around 2:00 PM. There would be no getting around rush hour, especially because AS told me I was walking too fast toward the train station. I bought everyone a Metro card and we went down to the tracks.

The Sweltering Metro

It was bad luck that we got a Metro car with no air conditioning. It would be 45 minutes of steam bathing on the way to downtown. We could have run outside and into the next car, but there were no guarantees that either the doors wouldn’t close before we got there or the next car would actually have a working air conditioner. So, muttering about maintenance issues in this poor economy, we persevered in the (fortunately) lightly loaded car. Actually, the side benefit of the air conditioning malady was that the air would feel downright cool when we exited into the city!

The Mall

We reached our stop and got out. My plan was to get out at the Smithsonian and walk over to the National Mall. There was no time to enjoy the Smithsonian, which can take two days and then you still haven’t seen everything. It is pretty easy to find the mall from where we were, or, for that matter, from just about anywhere within a few miles. You just point yourself at the Washington Monument and remember to look both ways as you’re crossing the busy streets.

Photo Courtesy of O.C. Blonde

The first stop on our microtour of the capital was, indeed, the Washington Monument—or is it the Worshington Monument? Whichever it was, we got to the base of the grounds and took a few pictures. Then, a couple of middle-aged blondes who would turn out to be from Orange County, California showed up and offered to take a picture of the three of us together if we would do the same for them. These babes were a bit rambunctious, and one of them made a suggestive comment to me. After they left, AS expressed her displeasure.

“That one was getting really close to my limit,” she said.

“Too bad I didn’t get a picture of those two,” I replied.

We trudged up the ramp to the monument. On the way, I asked whether the ladies wanted to take the elevator to the top or walk up the stairs. “There are 128,373 steps,” I said, pulling that number straight out of my ass. They said they wanted the elevator. However, this discussion proved to be moot, as it was 3:00 PM and all the tickets for the day had already been issued. We would have had to wait a couple of hours, anyhow, so no great loss.

While standing around the monument, I explained how the buildings at the east and west ends of the mall are the U.S. Capitol and the Lincoln Memorial. Then, from the Washington monument, toward the north and south are the White House and the Jefferson Memorial, respectively. The White House is across the Ellipse, and the Jefferson Memorial is across the Tidal Basin. All but the Jefferson Memorial are visible from the Washington Monument.

AS & the White House

I took pictures of Cupcake and AS with the U.S. Capitol and the White House for their respective souvenir shots. Then I plunked my ass down on one of the granite benches and watched AS, our designated foreign relations officer, as she took pictures for an aggregation of Indians—the South Asian kind, not the Kowabunga ones. While this was happening, I heard the sound of approaching helicopters.

Hail to the Chief?

The choppers were heading directly for the restricted airspace over the mall and the White House. As there was no presence of F-18s to intercept them, I assumed that this was OK, and I shouldn’t call 911 to tell them that the terrorists were coming. We, along with a thousand or so others, watched as two of the three helicopters broke off their formation while the third began lowering itself onto the south lawn of the White House. We had just witnessed the landing of Marine One, which had been accompanied by two escort decoys.

Marine One?

There was a reception committee, but the helicopter itself shielded us from viewing the arrival party to see whether it was President Obama or who. Nevertheless, it provided some unexpected excitement.

I explained to the Cupcake about restricted airspace and not allowing commercial and private air traffic in the skies when the president is flying somewhere.

She was like, “That’s like a big waste, just for one guy!”

I’m like, “Yeah, but he like used to be the leader of the free world!”

I felt the need to speak her language and employ similar sarcasm. It almost came naturally at this stage of the trip.

So, that was the big excitement of the day. It would, of course, lead to some inconvenience later in the day, but we didn’t know that yet.

The Memorials

Big Shot Landed

I proposed that we walk to the Lincoln Memorial. The ladies agreed. I didn’t want to go east toward the Capitol past all the museums, because we didn’t have time for browsing museums. I love the Air & Space Museum, though, and its new annex out by Dulles Airport. So, we’ll have to go back sometime.

Since I had last walked the Mall, President George W. Bush had commissioned and built the World War II Memorial, which is smack dab in the middle of the mall between the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial. It is a circular thing with large hunks of granite each bearing the name of one of the united states. It is actually more impressive than I make it sound.

I could see AS perceptibly slowing down as we circled the monument. I reached the Florida stone about three minutes before AS and Cupcake got there so we could take pictures. Part of the problem was that none of us had brought any drinking water, and the sun was beating down on us. However, we were able to quickly solve that problem thanks to our founding fathers, who provided drinking water fountains at intervals along the mall.

Water! Thanks to our founding fathers.

We walked along the reflecting pool toward the Lincoln Memorial, with Cupcake taking pictures of the reflections of her feet, then having her mom pose for some walking photos. This further tired AS out, with the sun continually beating down, so we made for the shady, tree lined walk to the south, where I could see that AS was still somewhat uncomfortable. She announced that she had to go to the bathroom—she needed the worshroom in Worshington. As we closed in on the memorial, she asked a street vendor for the location of the rest rooms; he pointed her toward the memorial.

And so it was that AS and Cupcake each made their donation to the Lincoln Memorial. Cupcake returned first. Then AS emerged and motioned for us to come up the stairs so she wouldn’t have to walk down the ramp and back up the stairs.

Then, we paid our respects to Honest Abe for a while. Being in that room is a spiritual experience, although it would be nice if people actually observed the sign that calls for quiet. We took pictures and exited.

Honest Abe

Of course, going down the stairs is like running an obstacle course, with people thinking they can plunk their asses down anywhere they damn well please. Cupcake was somewhat perturbed at me for telling people to move their asses as we made our way down, but really, it’s the only way to do it.

The next stop on our tour was the Vietnam Memorial. I noted that there were lots of Vietnamese looking people there. Of course, I had used a colloquial term for them and was shushed by AS. We took pictures of the lifelike soldier statues and walked by the wall with as much reverence as could be mustered with people wheeling stroller with screaming kids past it.

Vietnam Memorial

From here, we started walking back up the other side of the mall. When AS grew tired, we sat for a while, and I formulated a plan to visit the White House, after which we would duck into a Metro station and get outta there. The plan was accepted.

The White House and the Smartass Cop

We walked for a few blocks to the edge of the White House grounds on 17th Street, and then walked up toward E Street. Along the way, there was a Pakistani ice cream vendor, so we stopped to cool off AS. She wanted to pay for the refreshments. When it came time for me to ask for what I wanted, I stated it by name, but the vendor motioned toward the placard with the pictures of all his frozen treats, wanting me to point to the one I wanted. This was pretty funny: right outside the White House, I would have had to speak Urdu to be understood.

The Nittany Turkey, at DAR HQ

After AS regained her strength through a liberal dose of ice cream, we walked toward the south side of the White House. When we got there, we found our way blocked by police. What the hell? Oh, yeah. The helicopter landed so they were making a, like, “perimeter.” E Street and the Ellipse were all off-limits. Actually, there were armed secret service people on the roof of the White House, too. There weren’t no way we were gettin’ past any of them. I told the ladies that we would have to turn around to go around the other side.

“What makes you think the other side isn’t blocked, too?” asked AS.

“I dunno,” said I, “but I’ll go up there and call your cell phone when I find out.”

I didn’t want to make AS go on a wild goose chase, as worn out as she seemed to be. So, I cranked my butt around the corner onto 17th Street and quickly walked the few blocks up to Pennsylvania Avenue. I found a cop there and asked him whether this side of the White House was blocked at all, as I had some ladies waiting to find out. He said that it wasn’t. So, I called Cupcake.

Cupcake and AS at the White House

“Come on up. It’s all clear. Just walk up 17th to G Street and I’ll be there,” I instructed.

“Pennsylvania Avenue, not G Street,” said the cop, listening to my side of the conversation, “G street doesn’t go through.”

“All right, come up to Pennsylvania Avenue,” I told the Cupcake. I had originally said G street because I knew they would pass  E and F Streets, and therefore know they were going the right way. But the cop had to stick his big nose into the matter.

“OK,” said the Cupcake. I hung up.

“Now, I’m going to stand by G Street just to make sure,” I told the cop.

I waited by G Street for several minutes, until finally the weary AS and the mighty Cupcake arrived. I was a little worried about AS, as she seemed very uncomfortable. I told her that we’d stop by the White House and then go immediately to the Metro.

We passed the cop. I waved, so as to thank him for his help. But he couldn’t resist getting a dig in.

“Must be the Penn State hat that does it to you,” he said.

“Yeah, it must be,” I replied, not quite tired enough to get in the cop’s face and land myself in jail. Besides, I wasn’t sure whether AS would be able to come up with the bail money.

We walked along the wrought iron fence on the north side of the White House. AS observed that both sides of the White House look the same. I guess that’s pretty true. The thing is, the helicopter was on the other side. That meant that we could get some unobstructed pictures of AS and the Cupcake in front of the Cupcake’s future home. She’d be there now, based on her assessment of her own capabilities, if she could somehow get past the minimum age requirement.

After the picture taking AS declared that we were done there and we could go to the next place.

The Next Place

“The next place?” I asked.

On Way to Metro

“Yeah. The Metro.” replied AS.

“OK! I’ll get you there. Do you want a taxi? It’s only a few blocks.”

“No, I can make it as long as I know we’ll be on the train soon,” she said.

It was rush hour, so traffic on the streets was jammed and impatience was the emotion of the hour. Leading the way, as I crossed 15th Street legally, a left turning SUV blared its horn at me in the crosswalk. That pissed me off. After all, I was walking at Washington rush hour speed, not sauntering like some damn starstruck tourist.

“Shut the f–k up!” I screamed through the SUV’s open driver side window. I was finally tired enough to not take any crap from these clowns.

I got across and looked back to see that the Cupcake and AS had arrived back there and were waiting for the light. The Cupcake was muttering something to AS, which I presume was something disdainful about my yelling at docile motorists. I waited for them.

“I had to yell at some schmuck who blew his horn at me,” I said when they crossed.

“Yeah, we heard you,” said Cupcake.

Tough shit if she was embarrassed. The putz deserved it.

Metro Follies

We got to the Metro station. Down we went into the bowels of our nation’s capital. AS was too tired to read signs, so I led the way down. She was also too tired to walk down the escalator, so I stationed myself on the right side of the moving stairs as did she. Meanwhile, Cupcake stood on the left, blocking about 3,000 rush hour commuters clamoring to hurry home to their wives or mistresses. I told her to move over.

“They’ll have to wait. I’m standing here,” she said.

I told her to let them get around her.

“This is where I got on,” she said, “and I’m not moving over.”

A Tired AS Waits for Train

I was getting tired of the attitude, but I figured what the hell, they can push her out of the way if they want to get down. I’d just disavow any connection with her, as she sure as hell doesn’t look like my issue. I was tired and pissed off, but I was able to contain my ire. Fortunately, no one trampled her, probably because it wouldn’t be politically correct to trample an Indian girl.

As it turned out, she would not be the only one of my favorite people who would give me a hard time in this Metro station. Read on.

We snaked our way through the dense crowds to the proper platform for the blue and the orange lines.

Looking at the coming train sign, our train would be second. However, AS was standing by the edge of the platform along with a couple hundred people, as if she was waiting for the first train.

“Come over here!” I yelled at AS, wanting to get her out of the horde, lest she be pushed into the wrong train when it came.

“No! I want to get a seat, so I’m standing right here!” she declared, obstinately.

“Yeah,” I said, “but you’re waiting for the wrong damn train! Ours is the orange to Vienna, not the blue to Franconia!”

Oopsy!

She came back over with me. Knowing that she was tired and cranky, I smiled. Otherwise, I would have chided her about her near-screwup.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll get you a seat. I’m good at that.”

I was indeed good at that. It was one of the things on which I had prided myself when commuting on the New York subways years ago. I could usually get a seat, even during the heart of rush hours.

The train arrived, and I blew past several people to grab a seat. I plunked my fat, sweaty ass down in a seat next to a woman who gave me a dirty look.

“Don’t worry,” I said, “I’ve got a nice lady coming to sit here.”

Pink Socks

AS and Cupcake eventually worked their way into the car, and I got up so AS could sit. I stood all the way to Vienna, which was fine because in this car the air conditioning was actually working. AS was complaining that this was the fullest she had ever seen a commuter train car. Most of her experience was with the “El” in Chicago. I told her that I had been in a car twice that full in London—and it was a regular commuter train, not the Underground. I had also been in similarly crowded cars on the Long Island Rail Road. They were like sardines and you could cop a feel really easily, if there was anything worth feeling. So, quit yer complaining, already. You got a seat.

AS and Cupcake made themselves busy taking pictures of some guy with Pink socks as the crowd thinned out in suburban Virginia. Cupcake was able to grab a seat at that point. We finally reached our station, the end of the orange line, Vienna, Virginia, at around 7 PM.

A Cache for the Road

We started walking back to where we had parked the car, speculating that we had put just enough money in the meter, so would it still be there when we got there? I thought the worst that could happen is that we would get a ticket. As we were walking down the side of the road opposite the station, I commented about the plethora of poison ivy in the woods beyond the guard rail next to the sidewalk. Suddenly, I got an inspiration.

One Washington Monument Image for the Road

“This would be a perfect place for a guard rail Geocache! It gets a lot of traffic, has a lot of ‘muggles’ and there are great hiding places,” I declared. I whipped out my BlackBerry and fired up the Geocaching software as we kept walking. I clicked the “nearest cache” menu item.

A cache popped up .02 miles away! That’s about 100 feet or 30 meters. Hilarious!

We began our systematic search, stopping for muggles and resuming a couple of times. Within a few minutes, I snagged the magnetic hide-a-key container from behind the guard rail. We signed the log. AS said to me, “This would have been a great place to Jetskier a cache!”

Let me explain what “Jetskiering” a cache means. “Jetskier” is a Central Florida cacher who prides himself on finding puzzle caches without solving the puzzle. He’s done quite a few like that. However, finding a cache about which we had no presupposition to even exist would be a significant ESP step beyond Jetskiering. It would elevate two charter members of ISAG (the Facebook group I founded—the acronym stands for I Suck At Geocaching) from the miasma of ISAG into the upper stratum of Geocaching excellence. Alas, we didn’t think of looking for the cache before we knew it existed.

This was a great capstone to our afternoon in DC. AS seemed to forget that she was even tired and Cupcake was relieved to find that the Siena was still there, even though the meter had expired. There was no ticket on the windshield.

It had been a productive day, with a pocket-sized tour of Washington, my introduction to Cracker Barrel, and a couple of Geocaches searched for and found. My only wish was that AS had felt better through all the fun. Nevertheless, I think she had fun in spite of her weariness.

Outta There!

I asked the girls whether they wanted me to stop at the nearby supermarket for any provisions for the long drive through Virginia to Rocky Mount. They demurred. However, when I stopped for fuel, they fueled up at a nearby 7-11.

We got to Rocky Mount right around midnight, and I screwed up a turn right in view of the hotel, so we had to loop around a few miles and approach it for a second time. We finally got settled in. One more hotel, and they were all just starting to look alike. We were going to get up very early and wouldn’t get much sleep.

Nevertheless, the Cupcake wanted to make an extremely personal phone call and wanted privacy. She wanted to stay in the car in the parking lot, but AS vetoed that idea, telling her to sit in the lobby if she didn’t want us to hear what she had to say. I guess she didn’t have much to say, because in a few minutes, she was in the room.

On our final night on the road, we three weary travelers hit the sack for the last time before returning to the comfort of our own beds. We had a great, albeit tiring, afternoon in Washington, D.C., so sleep came easily.

Tomorrow would be the ride home, which had to be accomplished by 5:00 PM, because AS and Cupcake would be picking up the other two kids, BCH and Shark Bite, at the Orlando airport shortly thereafter. We would have to leave around 7:00 AM to allow for lunch and contingencies.

In our next and final installment, you’ll read about our ride home. I’ll also give you a synopsis of the whole durned trip.

Those of you who are waiting for the next installment of the travelogue will have to wait a little longer, for if I delay my 2010 Penn State Nittany Lions football season forecast any longer, it will be even more irrelevant than it already is. I’ve had trouble focusing during this off-season, which has probably resulted in my hard core readership dropping from three to two (byebye, Mom), so please let me rectumfy that right here and now.

This will be a troubled season for the Nittany Lions. Quarterback uncertainty, punting uncertainty, offensive line uncertainty, linebacker uncertainty, and defensive secondary uncertainty will together conspire to batter hopeful Lions fan this year. Couple this with still unanswered questions about octogenarian head coach Joe Paterno’s health, and you’ve got a mediocre season in the making. You just can’t win tough ball games with merely a defensive line and a couple of running backs.

Fortunately for the Lions, only a handful of games that can be described as tough loom on the schedule. Unfortunately, three of the toughest are away games.

The quarterback situation is still fluid as I write this. The only solid fact is that Jones has been red-shirted. Otherwise, Bolden, McGloin, and Newsome are still in the mix, with no starter yet identified at this late juncture. Though we’ll soon know who is tapped to start, this Turkey believes that we’ll be seeing all three getting significant reps in the Youngstown State game. I think McGloin will probably start and might alternate some series with Newsome for much of the first half. If they can pump up a sizable lead, Bolden will get some good time in the second half. Unless Joe and Jay give me that red telephone they promised me, this all might be wishful thinking. Nevertheless, the lack of a specific plan with the season on the horizon is scary.

Special teams have been a problem for Penn State now for several years. However, in the past, we could always rely upon a good punter to minimize the damage of poor return coverage. This year, we can’t. One can only hope that punting performance has improved since the Blue-White game.

And, like, the offensive line has to protect both the punter and whichever quarterback happens to be back there. With Eliades as the senior member of this unit and Johnny Troutman in Paterno’s legendary doghouse, things aren’t looking good. Of course, I said the same sort of thing two years ago, and that group took us to the Rose Bowl.

Paterno’s health has been the subject of much buzz by the sports media in Pennsylvania and nationally. He had a stomach virus and a bad reaction to antibiotics during the off-season, necessitating that his speaking schedule be curtailed. Some reports have said that he has lost weight and looks frail. Ron Cook of the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette wonders whether he’ll have the strength to finish the season. Many have conjectured that he will probably coach this season from the press box, as he did the year he had the broken leg. On the positive side, reports from practices have been positive; he’s been interacting normally with players. So, we’ll have to play this one by ear.

Let’s look at the individual games.

Youngstown State. This should make the tailgaters happy. Hopefully, the poor economy coupled with ticket fee increases and higher hotel prices all over the Central Pennsylvania area for game weekends won’t daunt the crowd to watch this laugher. Then again, I hope it’s a laugher. With all our woes, if the game is sloppy, we could get AppStated.

Alabama. Are you kidding me? Some pundits have suggested that PSU could actually upset the Tide in Tuscaloosa. Groucho Marx might have said that that’s the best place to hunt elephants for ivory, but it will only be the happy hunting ground for the Nittany Lions. This will be a loss and not the close one that those wishfully thinking pundits are talking about.

Kent State. Coming off the disgustingly one-sided loss to Alabama, it is good to have a patsy on which to take out our frustrations. Three Golden Flashes will be taken to the hospital with rectal helmet insertions as the Lions win in a walkover.

Temple. Al Golden has brought the Owls a long way since taken over as head coach. The Lions will have to actually play this game. Nevertheless, the streak will continue, and the Owls will owe us 107,000 cheese steaks.

Iowa. Nope. Sorry, guys. Some of you out there think that the Lions can beat Iowa, especially given some of the personnel issues with the Hawkeyes. Ain’t going to happen, though. Too many flaws in the Lions.

Illinois. Homecoming happiness. Ron Zook is on the bubble this season, but I fear that the bubble will have already burst by the time the Illini come to Beaver Stadium. This game should solidify the impending Zook departure.

Minnesota. After a bye week, the Lions can travel to the north country and take care of business. The Golden Gophers will suck this year, so this is one away game that the Nittany Lions can salt away.

Michigan. Back home again, the formerly invincible (and now pitiful) Wolverines make their stand in Beaver Stadium. Rich Rodriguez could be on the bubble, himself. This is another game for which Penn State will have to show up. Not that the Wolverines are good or anything, but they’re big and they are good enough to take advantage of stupid mistakes. Still, I think the Lions will prevail, possibly, maybe, perhaps.

Northwestern. As wishy-washy as I was about Michigan, I’m even more so about Northwestern. Even in Beaver Stadium, I think the potential is there that we lose this game. If we don’t lose this one, maybe it’s because we lost to Michigan and I was wrong about that one. Northwestern sucks pretty badly, but they have a knack for pulling off a major upset or two every year. Given the shakiness of this Penn State team, I’m thinking that this should go to the Wildcats.

Ohio State. If indeed the boys have lost to either Michigan or Northwestern and come into this game with three losses, they’ll consider the season over and this will be a major massacre. If they come to the horseshoe with one or two losses, they’ll make of a game of it. One way or the other, ugly or pretty, they’ll lose.

Indiana. If they can’t beat the Hoosiers in Beaver Stadium, then the Dark Days have damn well returned! PSU wins again.

Michigan State. The Spartans are chronic underachievers, although they’ve got the talent to win 10 games this year. The Nittany Lions are in disarray and don’t want to keep looking at the hideous Land Grant Trophy in their trophy case, anyway, so the Spartans finally grab a win in Beaver Stadium.

So, what does that work out to? A not too happy 7-5, good enough for perhaps fourth in the Big Ten at best. They’ll probably decline the bid to the Motor City Bowl, but given that Penn State brings megabucks to bowl venues, a warm weather bowl bid is not out of the question.

Joe Paterno needs only six wins to notch his 400th, and I think you can count on that happening this year. Whether or not he’ll retire with that number is still anybody’s guess.

Here’s hoping I’m wrong and they go 10-2!

There’s an insidious scam out there involving a package notification, in which you receive a postcard telling you to call to arrange for a package pickup. When you do, the scammers ask you for the tracking number from the postcard, then tell you that they need your credit card number for a small pickup fee. Obviously, you don’t want to do that.

I’ve scanned the card I got just to trigger an alert in your busy brains if such a thing ever shows up in your mailbox. It has apparently been mailed to many thousands of people nationwide.

Package Scam

If you would like further information on this scam, check out the reports at the Better Business Bureau.