Today, we’re talking about Gritty, weddings, pissing in the woods, and more.

College football season is nearly upon us, and with it comes the return of America’s favorite milk freak, Jim Harbaugh. The Michigan coach and cow enthusiast scored a key transfer this offseason when he got former Ole Miss QB Shea Patterson to head up to Ann Arbor, and Bleacher Report’s Matt Hayes took a long look at…

Markelle Fultz, taken first overall by the Sixers last night, has a column today in The Players’ Tribune. While it doesn’t quite reach the levels of Dion Waiters’s opus in April, it’s pretty good. Fultz shows off some personality. He says Joel Embiid has texted him 75 times since he visited Philly. He also notes that…

Generally speaking, there are three common reasons to make something at home that you could otherwise easily have made for you by someone else: because it is cheaper; because it is more convenient; and because you can turn the thing you’re making into the gravy-soaked, caramel-coated, cheese-laden monstrosity you’ve…

Alabama starting outside linebacker Tim Williams was arrested early Thursday morning for possessing a firearm without a permit. Were it not for the existence of Williams’s totally real and not-at-all imaginary friend, Brandon Chicken, he might have been hit with a drug charge, too.

Vomit.

Here’s an axiom that’s maybe only a little bit true: everything “tastes like chicken.” Actually, almost nothing tastes like chicken... including a lot of the chicken you’ve eaten in your life. The taste of chicken is something exceptional when done right.

As a baby I gnawed on lemons with joy. I‘ve never been kind to my taste buds. Chain-eating Warhead candies, nibbling habaneros, taking dares on wasabi globs. Short of the really inhumane—nuking your innards with genetic monstrosity Scoville-freak peppers, which some people do, voluntarily, on camera —I was feeling…

Here’s the thing about South Carolina: if you drive far enough inland from the ocean, you will run out of fingers on which to count highway billboards threatening you with ultimatums like “Accept Jesus Or Burn In Hell.” Not a whole lot to recommend the place once you get out of earshot of the surf.

Roasting a chicken is the last threshold to full coming of age. Before you have done it, you are a fledgling. After, you are an elder.

Your whole life, chicken salad has been there for you. When you had leftover chicken, drying out in the refrigerator, and no appetite for it, ol' chicken salad was there to make it interesting and appetizing again. Ol' reliable. Silent and steady and dependable. A closer.

So the Super Bowl is tomorrow, and just as Super Bowl viewership is essentially non-optional for Americans who do not wish to be regarded with open suspicion by their acquaintances and coworkers, the provision of chicken wings is essentially non-optional for Super Bowl party hosts who do not wish to be shunned by all…