Drunken Omelette

We have an unhealthy habit on weekends. It starts with beer, it ends with eggs.

A long time ago in a lonely apartment far away, we got drunk and made an omelet — greasy and good. So good that we kept making omelets after we’d had a brew or three. Almost exclusively.

When we moved in with someone later that year, this tradition continued, albeit with more profanity-laced talk about the the BCS, the SEC and the impending plummet of Brady Quinn’s draft stock. At some point, it was suggested that “Drunken Omelet” would be a great name for a sports blog.

By whom? We’re not sure. We were probably drunk.

We’ve finally come around to acting on idea — complete with the weird French-y spelling.

(’Cause no one speaks more to the American sports fan like the French.)

The Drunken Omelette’s goal is to spend most of our time crawling around in the creamy dirt between college football and the pros (and semi-pros), though we will lower ourselves  to comment on the lesser leisures of the round ball.

And while the Internet likely does not need another smarmy, pseudo-intellectual cynical look at the world at sports, well, we’re here anyway.

As for us, we’re from the heart of SEC country, but now stranded on the ambiguous, ambivalent edge of the South, where the food is blander, the women aren’t really lookers, and it’s a nice comfortable place to raise your kids if you don’t like football played above the 12th grade level.

We’ll try to stay relatively objective, though we must admit we are Alabama fans and, in our lesser moments, approve-rs of Auburn.

Enjoy the site. It’s the best incoherent cry for help we’ve ever dared to conjure.

Be sure to grab a brew and load on eggs. Good times ahoy.