Jan. 9 - A champion is crowned. And there was much rejoicing. Yay.

Today I learned that if I never hear the words "honey badger" again, I will die a happy woman.

I didn't terribly care who won tonight's BCS cash cow championship game between Alabama and LSU. I preferred the Tigers mainly because I love their crazy ass fans. On one particular band trip in college, a three-year-old kid dressed in purple and gold chased us through the parking lot (while we were in uniform) shouting "TAAAHHHGER BAIT! TAAAHHHGER BAIT!" at the top of his lungs. The sheer gumption of this kid, combined with the shit-eating grin on his face and the laughter of his parents, were almost as entertaining as the kids in the Quarter who asked us "Where you got your shoes?" (By the way, the answer to that is "I got my shoes on Bourbon Street" - or else you owe them five bucks, and you damn well better pay.) So yeah - love them Tigers.

Overall, though, I didn't care because either way the SEC is taking home yet another corporate money haul national championship. And you can't put a price on that. Well, okay. You can.

But after spending most of the game half-asleep on the couch due to a nasty cold that won't go away, I realized that had I been healthy... I would have slept anyway. I can appreciate two excellent defenses, but I'll take an early-90s Gator scorefest over two teams that manage one touchdown over eight quarters of play.

So I enjoyed my doze on the couch. Yet even through my haze of congestion, I heard it again and again.

Honey badger.

Punctuating my sleepy state in Brent Musburger's irritating, fake-folksy staccato, the words cut through my brain like Al Gore's "lock box." At one point he used it four times in a span of about 30 seconds. And immediately after my husband yelled at the TV for that, Musburger added another for good measure.

Honey badger.

Look, I know Tyrann Mathieu got the moniker for his tenacity. But it's irritating, especially when it comes from Musburger (who seems to have a weird preoccupation with the whole thing). And how long can it honestly last? Because there's only so much one can use a nickname before it becomes more of a fake proclamation than anything else. It's like the whiny, spoiled chick who talks about how low-maintenance she is. If you have to tell me you're low-maintenance, sweetheart... you're probably not.

So here's hoping that despite being a sophomore, Mathieu declares for the NFL draft this spring. Because a nickname like "honey badger" teamed with the honey-colored dye job he's sporting is enough to get his ass kicked in the pros. Then maybe the hell can end.

Sure it will. And we'll get a college playoff, too.