re: What will be the Clemson excuses after the game Monday Night?

That maniacal and erratic disruptive Zydeco sound.

The creepy lecherous gaze and too-baggy shorts of a meth-addled and barely lucid swaying Bama fan outside of the Krystal, looking for open mouths.

The Secrete Service, a completely different kind of protective detail.

The intensity of the spices and subsequent disruption of their delicate and sophisticated gut biomes.

Tyler Shelvin's gloves being actual live snarling possums and the refs saying nothing out of fear.

The lack of ACCeleration due to fatigue, which is just morbidly obese igue.

Coco Orgeron and her sassy band of traiteurs and priestesses, sprinkling ditch herbs over intricately-organized and glitter-flecked entrails.

Chaisson gave them a beast infection.