Think of Rick Perry's poor kids. They didn't get to drive 'til they turned 18.

Get off Urban Meyer's back, haters. Have you MET his family?

Ginger White allegedly stuck with Herman Cain for 13 years -- proving, just as we men long have suspected, that whatever women SAY they want, it’s really all about free pizza.

A Suhmas Story

No one's mentioned the fine print in Suh's punishment. It seems Roger Goodell also ordered him to make one of those uplifting Lifetime Network Christmas movies that specialize in wretched souls finding redemption amid the joy of the season and a crapload of Toys 'R Us, Lexus and jewelry commercials.

It goes something like this:

On Christmas Eve, Suh sees Santa holding a football, a gift for a child; let’s go ahead and call him Tiny Tim. Suh gets confused, kicks Claus in his, um, ornaments, body slams him down a chimney and picks up the fumble. For good measure, he also punches Rudolph in the face, recalling what another Detroit Lions’ lineman once did to a horse in a certain Mel Brooks movie.

Santa goes on Injured Reserve, and Suh has to take over the job.

With the help of a plucky quarterback played by Colt McCoy and a multi-ethnic, multi-gendered, multi-abled and multi-sexually oriented bunch of elves, he learns the true meaning of Christmas: peace on Earth, goodwill toward all mankind, even QBs, and a Lions’ playoff berth. OK, that last might be a little far-fetched, but ‘tis the season to Believe, after all.

Great music includes “Here Comes Santa Cl --- Oh, F--- No, It’s Suh! Run!;” McCoy's stirring rendition of "I'm Dreaming of a Concussed --Um, Let's See, What ...? Oh, Yeah – Christmas;" “All I Want for Christmas is to Knock Out Someone’s Two Front Teeth;” and "I Saw Ndamukong Stomping Santa Claus."

Have some tissues handy for the dramatic climax, as Suh lifts McCoy up to put the star atop the tree and has one final crisis of spirit and conscience as he contemplates hurling him into the buffet table, but relents when an angel that looks suspiciously like Roger Goodell shows him a vision of his future living on the Island of Misfit Players, trying out, unsuccessfully, for the UFL’s Hartford Colonials and grubbing for work as a sparring partner for Ultimate Fighters.

Not to mention starring in another holiday special, dressed in diaper and sash as the 2012 New Year’s Baby.

As Suh gently lowers a squirming, crying, self-soiled McCoy to the floor, the whole cast gathers to close the show with a heartfelt version of “Suhlent Night.”

Suh gets two-game suspension from NFL. Also, 80 hours of community service, to be served as Walmart store security during the holidays. That should break his spirit.

Just about done with front yard Christmas display but for the last, critical item that will pull it all together. Is it really possible no one makes a 12-foot-tall inflatable Rudolph with Baby Jesus astride it? I'm even willing, reluctantly, to settle for one that doesn't have matching red noses.

Sometimes I can't help but feel sad that Molly Ivins and Hunter Thompson aren't still around anymore to write about all this.

Never mind the VP slot. I can’t seriously consider voting for Newt Gingrich until he announces who his first lady is going to be.

Well, crap. I thought it was CYBORG Monday. I feel pretty stupid being the only person who brought his robot to work today.

Theological considerations aside, I like the changes in the Catholic Mass because they force me to pay more attention to what had become rote, even though, in places, they offend my editor’s preference for the simple over the unnecessarily complicated. But for now at least I actually have to read along to make sure I don’t screw up and get an elbow in the ribs from my wife or teenage daughter, or a glare from the altar. And there’s nothing wrong with paying closer attention to Mass, I reckon. In fact, it might be a good idea to mix things up every few months or so just to keep us Catholics on task. For example, instead of “amen,” require a “huzzah” or a “damn straight, Father” every now and then.

Just in time for Cyber Monday, Apple has a new pepper spray app, so you can get a little taste of real shopping by delivering a virtual burning blast of Christmas greeting to any online shopper in the world. If you see this emoticon in your e-mail -- (>.<) -- you just got pepper-sprayed. (Emoticon courtesy of an Andy Borowitz-sponsored contest, BTW.)

With Black Friday beatdowns, turkey fryer fires, domestic incidents brought on by too much wine and time together and Christmas-light-hanging losing encounters with gravity and electricity, Thanksgiving weekend now surpasses the Fourth of July as the most dangerous holiday in America. So, if you're one of the 25 percent of Americans who made it to Sunday night without a trip to the ER all weekend, consider yourself lucky.

Grandma got pepper-sprayed at Walmart

To the tune, kinda, of "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer," of course:

Grandma got pepper-sprayed at Walmart
scrumming for an X-Box 360
She was out to buy lil' Johnny's love,
by putting it under the Christmas tree

She was slowed by all that tryptophan
and we begged her not to go,
or at least to take her pistol,
but she flipped us off and told us, "Blow!"

A blue vest found her in the aisle
where she'd been foully attacked,
tears streaming from her eyes,
turkey and some peas that up she'd hacked

Still, we're all so proud of Grandma,
she's recovering quite well
You bet she got that X-Box,
stomped another shopper all to hell

Well, Grandma's learned her lesson
about shopping at Walmart
When she goes to post-Christmas sales
damn right she'll have her Glock there in the cart

Santa Claus and Jesus Christ,
we're certainly fans of your works,
But we're lucky you're both so forgiving
for we sure can be a bunch of bleeping jerks

In that woman's defense, I'm pretty sure if I shopped regularly at a Walmart in Los Angeles, I'd go through a lot of pepper spray myself.

I really don't care whether store clerks greet me with "Merry Christmas" OR "Season's Greetings." I'm just relieved that for the next month or so I'll hear a lot less of "Have a good one."

Damn. It just occurred to me that someone's gonna make a 3D action movie, if not a whole series of them, starring Marcel the Shell with Shoes On, and we'll end up as sick of him as we are of Nicolas Cage.

Favorite part of long Thanksgiving weekend is the moment -- for me, at 7:15 tonight -- when I have absolutely no idea what day it is.

11 dead in Black Friday melee at Detroit Walmart. Lions' Suh insists he was just trying to "remove myself" from flat-screen TV display.

Thanksgiving Beaucoup Boku (haiku from coach Pelini):

I'm so very blessed
Wife, kids, yeah, I guess, but top
of my list is Rex

It makes for a sweet couple of days, but with a constant routine of eating, napping and watching football, I suppose humans eventually would evolve into a limbless, manatee-like lifeform. I'm game. Who's with me?

How did we ever manage to understand football before the invention of the halftime coaches' interview?

Breaking news: The Target Black Friday lady was trampled early this morning in a stampede for a coffee maker. Best. Black Friday. ever.

I'll buy NU-Iowa as a real Big Ten rivalry when some punk rockers in Iowa City form a band called the Dead Osbornes.

So, what retailer will dare to be the first to begin sales at 10 a.m. Thursday and throw in a free Thanksgiving buffet in the aisles? People balancing plates of food on their carts as they push through the scrum. We know that's next, right?

One of the greatest disappointments of U.S. history was Ben Franklin's failure to get the turkey named the national symbol -- 'cause, man, I could really go for a leftover bald eagle sandwich right about now.

Interesting stat from National Turkey Association: 75% of men who deep-fried a turkey today will keep the fryer up all weekend so they can experiment with tossing other things into boiling oil.

Never mind Macy's. I'm watching Walmart Thanksgiving Day parade. No floats. Just a procession of babies in diapers, no clothes; large people in motorized scooters; shopping carts full of pop and potato chips; filthy, wailing brats; and tats and piercings everywhere.

On I-80 between Lincoln and N. Platte, we went awry: we're through the river and over the woods, grandmother's house nowhere to be seen.

Savvy Thanksgiving cooks know to counteract the effects of the turkey's tryptophan with a quarter cup of meth in the stuffing.

Too many blessings to list, but what I'm most thankful for on this day is that turkeys are below us on the food chain. Ditto for mashed potatoes.

Look, people, the poor staffers answering the Turkey Talk-Line already have heard every imaginable double-entendre reference to butter balls, so just put down the damn phone and leave ‘em alone, OK?

Predictable: Trying to please everyone, Obama also pardoned a potato, a pumpkin, two cranberries and a pecan.

Maybe you’re one of those Thanksgiving guests who believes holiday time with family is great, but best enjoyed in moderation, and the more moderation, the better (yes, that’s oxymoronic, but you get the drift.) So, the day is all about planning and timing: The goal is to stay until all the leftovers are gone and the afternoon football game is over but to leave right before the board games come out. That may be only about a three-minute window, so be ready, maybe even do some drills ahead of time, so you’re all timing your last bites of pecan pie as you’re pulling on your coats and the two-minute warning is being given in the game. And if someone in your party trips or has to make an ill-timed trip to the bathroom ... well, sometimes you have to leave a man behind. They’ll learn and be more prepared next Thanksgiving. Have fun playing Pictionary, son.

Maybe you're a Thanksgiving host who loves to welcome family and friends into your home for the feast but hopes to watch the last football game of the day without company, feet up, polishing off the dregs of a half-dozen wine bottles, eating a sandwich made from the tiny bit of turkey you managed to hide from those hyenas and making a list of relatives you need to apologize to tomorrow for some dumb thing you said and another list of those who'd better, by God, apologize to you. Presumably, you've taken the precaution of installing the locked security gate on your kitchen that you'll slam shut at 6:45, signaling that snacking time is over. Next, fire up the continuous loop of "Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer." When all else fails, etiquette experts agree, pepper spray is permissible for clearing the premises, but for that festive feel, be sure to use the Martha Stewart holiday line of spray, which comes in lovely seasonal colors and adds just a smidgeon of peppermint or nutmeg to that burning sensation in their eyes.

Continuing to do my civic duty as one of those coveted swing voters, I watched some highlights from last night's GOP debate, in particular trying to look afresh at the latest frontrunner. So, in response to that proverbial question: Yes, I suppose I MIGHT vote for Newt Gingrich for president if he were the last person on earth, but I'd need to know what other sentient life forms still will exist. And nonsentient. Let's not be too exclusive.

Per Fox News, cannot stop thinking of old SNL skit. "It's a food product." "No, it's a weapon designed to cause temporary blindness and incapacitation." "It's a food product!" "No, it's a weapon designed to cause temporary blindness and incapacitation!" "Hey, hey, hey, calm down, you two. Pepper spray is both a food product AND a weapon designed to cause temporary blindness and incapacitation." Or the old Miller Lite ad: "Tastes great!" "More teary!"

Urban Meyer: "I am accepting the Ohio State job to spend less time with my family."

Look, people, the poor staffers answering the Turkey Talk-Line already have heard every imaginable double-entendre reference to butter balls, so just put down the damn phone and leave ‘em alone, OK?

I've given up trying to be half the person my dog thinks I am. I'm gonna shoot for being twice the person my cat thinks I am.

Remember: You can't spell Gingrich without G, I Grinch.

Gonna be at the mother-in-law’s Thursday. She doesn’t approve of watching TV on Thanksgiving. Must feign heart attack so I can watch football in the ER.

At last night's GOP debate, Rick Perry promises to replace ceremonial presidential pardon of turkey during Thanksgiving week with ceremonial execution of one.

Continuing to do my civic duty as one of those coveted swing voters, I watched some highlights from last night's GOP debate, in particular trying to look afresh at the latest frontrunner. So, in response to that proverbial question: Yes, I suppose I MIGHT vote for Newt Gingrich for president if he were the last person on earth, but I'd need to know what other sentient life forms still will exist. Or nonsentient. Let's not be too exclusive.

Romney plays the "youthful indiscretion" card -- cops to trying beer and marijuana, but only once. Of course he drank the pot and smoked the beer. Try it again, Mitt.

With supercommittee's failure and time running out before cataclysmic budget disaster, congressional leaders and Obama decide to summon to Washington the only man in America who can save the day. Look at that light up above -- is it the bat signal? No, it's a huge image of a man on one knee in the dark night sky. My God, it's the Tebowsignal! Yes!

Beaucoup Boku (Coach Pelini haiku from today's press conference about the Michigan loss)

Bo sez program not
"stuck in neutral." Well, no shit
-- that was full reverse

Sure, I’ve pepper-sprayed the occasional college student, but only for good cause – as I was handing back their writing assignments.

We started our holiday eating season today. Anybody know what the Recommended Daily Allowance on cream cheese is? Because I got a feeling between today and the season's end (the national championship game Jan. 9), I'm gonna blow by it every day.

A grocery store on the Sunday afternoon before Thanksgiving is no place for amateurs.

Q: How are the Huskers like a productive hen?
A: They're both very good at laying eggs.
(Ba da bomp.)

A Thanksgiving week edition of Beaucoup Boku (haiku from Coach Pelini):

Be thankful, Huskers
Did not join SEC, where
we'd be 2 and 5

Just because you're paranoid, it doesn't mean your imaginary friend isn't out to get you.

Although I scarcely can believe it, I am told there actually are places where people don't care about football, may not, in fact, ever have even heard of it. Some day, I think it might be nice to live in such a place.

Look, I don't want to cause any panic, but if you live within 200 miles of a major college football town, it's time to quietly but quickly gather your family and emergency supplies and get ready to implement your evacuation plans. You've all drilled for this; you know what to do. After Oklahoma State's loss last night, ESPN is reporting that we're only an LSU loss away from "BCS Armageddon." Stadiums in ruins, filling the air with acrid smoke. Tailgating sites looking like Pompeii -- brats charred on the grill, bloody foam fingers scattered hither and yon, pony kegs dripping their sweet nectar on the pavement. Players, coaches, fans staggering hollow-eyed and stunned through debris-filled streets. Team mascots -- yes, even Lil Red -- mutated into ravenous predators picking off straggling cheerleaders. And Lee Corso feasting on the corpse of Kirk Herbstreit -- because you just know that sonofabitch somehow is gonna be the last man alive, no matter what. So, the fate of the world -- gulp -- now lies with Mad Hatter Les Miles.

Amazing if True Husker/B1G Game Day Trivia: Today, finally, comes the secret reason Nebraska joined the Big 10 Conference. While the Huskers and Wolverines face off in the Big House, a covert ops team assembled by Tom Osborne and led by Scott Frost will break into the Michigan trophy case, grab the 1997 AP National Championship trophy and spirit it home to Lincoln to be placed in its rightful home, next to the '97 USA Today/ESPN Coaches title trophy. It won't be easy; it's guarded around the clock by Brian Griese. Godspeed, men. And remember, if you're caught, swallow those cyanide-soaked corn cobs, so T.O. has plausible deniability. This really isn't a good time for a scandal for us. GBR!

I didn't dump any Facebook friends on Thursday's National Unfriend Day. But I did call up three real friends and one of my kids and told 'em they're dead to me.

How awful a person am I if I say I want Natalie Wood’s killer brought to maximum justice – as long as it’s not Christopher Walken?

Only reason Cain wants Secret Service protection is so he can impress the ladies with the code name he insisted on: Extra Sausage.

Every time Tebow wins a game, an angel gets its wings -- and an ex-NFL quarterback bursts a blood vessel screaming at the TV.

Amazing Husker/B1G Game Friday Trivia: Coach Pelini is 3-1 in bowl games at Nebraska. That has him rapidly closing in on a major career milestone -- becoming the bowl-winningest Bo in NCAA Division I history. The current record holder won five in -- ahem -- 17 bowl trips. But that's probably not something you want to bring up if you're in the Big House Saturday, Husker fans, OK?

Oh, so it’s a Nice-Off you’re wanting, is it? Warning: Do not f--- with us Nebraskans. We OWN nice in this business. But The Ohio State University is actually claiming to have “the best fans in the country” and promising to welcome visiting Penn State fans and players to Columbus Saturday with grace and compassion. Damn. I’ll bet the tear-jerking YouTube video of the Nittany Lion tubaist invited to dot the “i” in “Ohio” is gonna get double the views our Ron Brown prayer video got, isn’t it? Sonsofbitches. This is getting to be a bit much, dontcha think? If they get much more of this treatment, Penn State’s gonna need a nice cleansing visit to, say, Boulder, where fans could be counted on to greet them wearing red wigs or throwing towels on the field, or some such asshattery.

So, fellow 99%ers – I guess we’re eating the rich this Thanksgiving, right? Anyone up for posting recipes?

Discussion is under way about what to do with the Joe Paterno statue outside Beaver Stadium. Some want it removed, others think that's an overreaction. How about a compromise: Move the statue so Paterno's looking the other way. Meantime, surely the university will take down that lockerroom statue of Sandusky snapping towels, right?

In the wake of that Ron Brown-led revival meeting at Beaver Stadium Saturday, some cranks are raising that old argument against an employee of a publicly funded institution leading prayer in a public building. As a confirmed crank myself, I am somewhat sympathetic to the argument, but I'm in a weak moral position to make the case, since, I must confess -- if not Confess -- that I have been known to surreptitiously peek at my cell phone during Saturday night Mass to check on the Huskers’ score. If I am to take football into His house, I hardly can argue against allowing His word in the stadium, can I? I believe the Lord would call this a plank in my eye.

Congrats to Coach K, but he shouldn't get too cocky. Anyone remember what happened to the last icon who became the winningest coach in his sport?

Yes, reasonable people can disagree reasonably, but it's much more entertaining to listen to unreasonable people agree unreasonably. That's why the GOP debates are such a ratings hit.

The "disappearing" of Joe Paterno proceeds apace, like he’s one of those suddenly out-of-favor Communist leaders who gets airbrushed out of the May Day parade-review photos. The Big Ten just removed his name from its conference championship trophy; no time to do it properly, so Jim Delaney had to use a key to scratch the P into a B. Meantime, Penn State is now claiming that “Joe Paterno” wasn’t actually the coach, or even a real person; he was an inflatable mascot costume – a la Lil Red – worn by a student.

So, "snapping towels" joins "I have a wide stance," "walking the Appalachian trail" and "carrying my luggage" as modern euphemisms for men tangled in allegations of illicit sex. Whatever else, you have to appreciate the linguistic creativity of men who let their little heads do all the thinking.

Penn State’s former defensive coordinator titled his autobiography “Touched: The Jerry Sandusky Story.” See, that’s why it's impossible to write satire anymore.

At his weekly news conference today, Coach Pelini broke into haiku, for another edition of Beaucoup Boku:

If Michigan has
any pervs on staff, please let's
not find out this week

This ain't no party. This ain't no disco. This ain't no foolin' around.

Nope, this is Monday.

As in some past years, the Colts face a tough decision: Do they strive to stay perfect, or ease up and risk a blemish on their record?

Moving on from JoePalooza

ESPN's JoePalooza coverage yesterday haunted me the rest of the day. The footage of the Great Abuse Enabler's temple -- sorry, home -- with a few people holding vigil outside. The sideline shots and sympathetic cooing over the most famous quarterbacks coach ever, son Jay. Poetic, self-congratulatory waxing about the power of sport to bring people together, to make everything OK again. Musings about the poor man's state of mind. Wondering where he was during the game, whether he was watching it, what he was thinking.

As I went to sleep, I had this vision of Paterno watching the game -- a scene eerily like that creepy video of Osama watching TV -- Joe Pa rocking slightly as he sat on the floor, Nittany Lion shawl draped over his shoulder.

What's worse, I woke up this morning with that Willy Wonka song in my head, God help me:

Joe Pa Joe Pa doompadee doo
I've got another puzzle for you
Joe Pa Joe Pa doompadah dee
If you are wise you'll listen to me

What do you get when you shelter a perv?
An end to your kingdom; damn, they have some nerve

Why, or why, didn't you call in the law?
Were you too busy basking in all of that awe?

Joe Pa Joe Pa doompadee dee

These boys have some gall dumping on your legacy

Joe Pa Joe Pa doompadah doo

Oh, it's your lawyer, calling on line 2

I'm sorry. That's inappropriate, isn't it? Especially since everyone from Penn State's president and coach to ESPN yakkers to my local sports page tells us "the healing process" has begun. Thank God. I mean it's been a week since we all found out about this, though granted some have been living with it longer. But this is America. A football game was played. Why, coaches and players even prayed together. It's time to heal, for chrissake.

Except for the people who have real wounds to heal, of course. They're becoming a real buzzkill on this story of redemption, aren't they?

Nothing ruins a perfectly good op-ed page like that bowtie-sporting gasbag George Will writing about sports. I wish he'd stick to such trifles as the fate of the free world.

Key talking point of the weekend: The "healing process" began with today's game at Penn State. Yes, no doubt the victims are feeling much better already.

Among the lessons of this week: If we don't want coaches to think they're God, let's quit worshipping them.

Beaucoup Boku (Coach Pelini's summation of the day in haiku form):

Glad for a big win
Gladder to get the hell out
of Creepy Valley

So, Jerry Sandusky is probably headed from Penn State to state pen.

I'll bet Berlusconi is at least a little relieved. Without the constraints of being in the public eye all the time, the poor guy finally can let his hair down a little.

OK, just so we're clear, because, incredibly, in some dark, dumb corners of the Internet where people apparently tap out their thoughts on the keyboard with their big, fat foreheads, there's some confusion: The Huskers are NOT playing on behalf of sexually abused children everywhere today. This is a damn football game. Tragically, even if the Huskers win, children will continue to be sexually abused, including in Pennsylvania and, yes, Nebraska.

Amazing if True Husker/B1G Game Day Trivia: In case you’re wondering, Husker fans, yes, the Penn State grounds crew did get out and repaint the left sideline at the 2-yard marker in tribute to Sept. 25, 1982. The lifesize statues of Todd Blackledge and Mike McCloskey at that spot seem an unnecessary provocation, however.

Just as Americans are trying to pick themselves up off the floor after a week of hideous, depressing news, a new Adam Sandler movie opens. Sonofabitch.

Whenever a candidate says “let’s take this country back,” I wonder “for whom” and “from whom.” Unless, of course, the candidate is a Native American – in which case, ruh-roh.

Don't Go Big Red

Someone should have the decency to pull the plug on this game. If Penn State won't, or can't, Nebraska should.

Reasonable people will disagree, and I have gone back and forth on this question myself the last couple of days, as I'm sure others have. I may change my mind yet again.

But let's review:

-- Some 36 hours ago students -- some of them morally obtuse, some drunk, some avoiding homework, some just plain stupid -- rioted in support of a man who enabled the worst kind of child abuse to occur on his watch, in his workplace, by a close friend and longtime employee. A man who a week ago was one of the most admired men in all of sports, which, by definition, made him one of the most admired men in America. Joe Paterno is a good man whose sins here are of omission, not commission, but if I hear one more sports commentator or read one more columnist speculating on how this affects Paterno's "legacy," I will scream. This is the first line of his obituary. Not his record 409 victories. Period. This is tragic for Paterno, to be sure, and certainly there's room in our hearts for some compassion for him. But he is not the victim, or even a victim. He's a perpetrator.

-- The Penn State Board of Trustees acted with resolve and courage in ridding the university of its coach and president but abjectly failed in this respect: It did not fire the one man who we know, by his own grand jury testimony, had a chance to literally stop this monster -- sorry, alleged monster -- in his tracks and, almost certainly, save more children from similar abuse. In fact, the board was willing to let this man coach Saturday -- a man who turned his back on a child being sexually abused, who abandoned him to his tormentor, who had to call his daddy to figure out what to do and whose daddy didn't have a clue either. How is it possible not to know what to do in such a situation? Again, we know all this by HIS OWN sworn testimony, and yet the university was willing to let him come to work Saturday before a national television audience until it changed its mind late Thursday in the face of death threats against this moral midget.

-- The Penn State community -- students, faculty, alums, people who live in State College -- are victims in their own way of this evil. We grieve for them, wish them well in their recovery and we know, or should know, that there but for the grace of God go we. But rest assured, there will be some among the 106,000 in that stadium Saturday who knew for years what Sandusky was up to, or at least suspected enough, heard enough whispers, to have taken action. Some will be on the Penn State sidelines coaching, others in the rarefied air of the skyboxes far above the field. They. knew.

-- There's more to come. We know that, right? Fresh rumors already are circulating about Sandusky's behavior. I won't spread them here, but they're easily found on the Internet. The stories are unspeakably vile and salacious and, if you can imagine it, dwarf the depravity of which we've heard all week. These rumors are frankly unbelievable. Yes, just as unbelievable as what we now know would have been a mere week ago.

-- The first, albeit still lonely, suggestions are being offered that Penn State should shut its football program down, at least for a year or two, to begin cleansing itself of its sins.

-- Meantime, you know there are executives at ESPN headquarters in Bristol, Conn., rubbing their money-grubbing hands together in glee at the likelihood Saturday's game will be their highest-rated telecast of the season, if not ever, because after all, at the end of the day, that's all that really matters. Millions will tune in, not to see a football game, but for a goddamn freak show, in hopes something, anything, might happen to slake their thirst for spectacle, the more awful the better.

I'm a proud Nebraskan, Husker fan and university employee, but I’d rather see the Huskers submit to another dope-slapping at the hands of Texas than to be a participant in this freak show.

So, let's not. Let's take a stand, on principle, and not show up for this game. I'm not quite sure what that principle is, as this story is so fluid and ever-shifting and the identities of villains, of various culpabilities, are still evolving (and, yes, they are due some benefit of the doubt, etc. etc.).

As a general rule, it's unwise, even foolish, to take a stand on principle if one cannot clearly articulate it. So, how about something like this:

Unspeakable evil occurred here; it was committed in the name of this sport we are about to play, enabled by it. This is not the place, this is not the day, to play this game.

No doubt Nebraska would be a laughingstock in some corners of college football for such a move. But given the increasingly tawdry moral state of big-time college athletics, what of it?

Don't Go Big Red.