Thursday, September 30, 2010
I know what you’re thinking. We like night games because we get to drink all day. Well yeah, you’re right. But that’s not the only reason, I mean, I can do that any day in the summer and you don’t see any of those days cracking the 500. Night games at BC allow for about a 6-hour period where anything goes. I don’t want this to shock anybody, but the administration is fully aware that everybody from that WoW freak who lives in the Keyes basement to the UGBC kids with 4.0’s has been drinking all day. The administration is also fully aware that a crop of new alumni now living in a world where blacking out like it’s your job is frowned upon are returning to a safe haven where that type of behavior is not only acceptable, it’s expected.
The vulgar things I see at night tailgates blow some of the kinky shit I’ve seen at day-tailgates out of the water. And that’s saying something because at day tailgates I’ve seen pre-teens yacking up about a week’s worth of food as well as multiple marriages ruined, not to mention more male genitalia than a National Geographic documentary on Ugandan family life. There’s also greater room for error in terms of making a fool out of yourself at night. When that kid-you-kinda-know’s dad starts looking for his missing 2-Buck Chuck, he won’t remember your face in that dim light.
We’d all love more night games, but the fact is we wouldn’t appreciate them for what they were if we had a lot more. Another bonus about night games is that there’s no pause between the end of the game/post-game tailgate and whatever you do that night. You go to Shea, you go to the game, you go right back out again. You don’t hit a wall, you don’t make the mature decision of taking a nap, you go. Props to BC for letting us have our night of chaos. After Saturday you can go back to cuffing us for jaywalking and writing us up for not having red tabs on our windows.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Once upon a Wednesday dreary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I chafed, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door-
Only Thursday, and nothing more.'
Standing 5'5'' and weighing in at a hefty 110 pounds, David Sills is a 13 year old who is committed to USC to play quarterback. You read that right. I really wanna know how his recruiting trip went. Like, did they bribe him by throwing 13 year old girls at him or actual college sluts who are just down to take one for the team in order to ink this little shit? I've also gotta wonder what his signature looks like on USC documents, it's probably that very legible, perfect cursive that we all learned back in the day and now nobody uses.
Look at this picture. Absorb it. Take it in. Get a good long whiff of the chill-factor radiating off this kid. The flow makes me think he's ready for Los Angeles. The necklace lets me know he doesn't really give a fuck. Then just take the time to appreciate his tie-dye shirt. Not only is the best 13 year old athlete in the country wearing tie-dye, but he's wearing it to work out in, on a day when he knew there would be cameras around. Oh yes, this kid's got a future.
This kid will be/already is the Bieber of college football. And he's from Delaware - I'm really not sure what that means at this point but it's just his way of letting us know that he's a serious wild card. One thing we all know for sure is this kid is gonna be either Peyton Manning or Ryan Leaf, there will be no middle ground. He will not have a decent, mediocre career. This kid is either destined for Canton or is gonna be riding pine on Jake Plummer's handball team.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Like most other students I buy most of my supplies at CVS: my hand sanitizer (Where are they now - hand soap), my shaving cream, my Trojan XL's, what have you. I never get really excited going to CVS but at the same time the place just gets the job done. I like to think of it as Cleveland Circle's consistent workhorse 5-spot hitter.
So where does the chafe itch? In the checkout line. The commies running this place are forcing customers to check out themselves. We're talking the whole 9 yards - scanning bar codes, bagging the shit...they even make you tell yourself to have a nice day when you're finished. They have someone watching over you in case there's a customer who doesn't know what to do (which there always is because no one in there has ever been to a place that has a checkout system that looks like it was designed by Rain Man). I like to equivocate this checkout MC with putting a high school lifeguard in the middle of the Baltic Sea, in winter. These checkout chaperones watch every move we make and whether you like it or not are judging you based on your purchases. Is it weird that when I buy condoms there I feel like I have to run some sort of Boise State-esque slight of hand trick play so nobody sees them?
CVS, I beg you, please go back to the old way. This is not Russia, this is not Canada. This is Cleveland fucking Circle, not a place where you try out new grocery techniques on the guinea pigs that live around here.
Jason Steven "Jake" Plummer retired from the NFL after the 2007 offseason. Jake "The Snake" was a man that was tough to love but harder to hate. Most of the time I felt this grizzly bear belonged not in the NFL, but rather in the Great Outdoor Games, chopping wood and rolling logs. Since his retirement and absence from fantasy football, I would imagine most of you out there have forgotten about him. For those of you that have, here's an update on his life.
What else is Jake Plummer good at? Tivo. When asked if he'd watch the Superbowl his response was as follows, "I TiVoed the game last year, but the last three minutes got cut off. I was a novice TiVo-er, and I recorded the game, but I guess it ran long, so there I was, watching the game and it just stopped. I was a little mad. The game was getting good. This year I'll make sure to TiVo the program after the Super Bowl" (Sports Illustrated). So "The Snake" took one too many bong rips before Tivo'ing the Superbowl. You can't get mad at him. Just because he played the sport doesn't mean he has to love it. Right now he's perfectly happy supporting World Professional Handball. Jake Plummer, I salute you and your beard. Enjoy Idaho and maybe, just maybe, we'll be lucky enough to one day catch a glimpse of you in a celebrity football event (or Pro's Vs. Joe's when he runs out of weed money).
Manhunt, kick the can, sharks and minnows, capture the flag, freeze tag and wall ball. All of these were games that we grew up playing and who knows, maybe even still play today. There was one game though that stands out amongst the rest, hide and seek. It's truly amazing that a game with such simple rules can have so much excitement and longevity. When you get down to the bare bones of the game, it's basically you all hide and i'll find all of you one at a time. You need nothing to play the game other than real estate and bodies. The million dollar question with hide and seek that everybody has come across at one point or another is: when do you reveal myself? How long is too long to just be sitting alone, silent and virtually not breathing? (I would always yell at a friend who was cramping my style by giving away my sick hiding spot). You don't want to reveal yourself too soon and lose, but you really don't want to be that kid that won by such a large margin to the point that the whole group needs to look for you. From this question stems another interesting question: do you reveal your game winning hiding spot or save it for the next time you play? (you don't want to be a show-off but bragging is fun as a kid).
Monday, September 27, 2010
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Friday, September 24, 2010
Somehow we’ve never touched on the subject of Silly Bandz on the site despite their undeniable global dominance. The animal and color you have say a lot about you. For example, last week I hooked up with an athletic, smart, rich girl with Double D’s who also smoked me out post-coitus. I thought I had a winner until I saw the purple raccoon on her wrist. Needless to say I haven’t spoken to her since. But then the other day I met a guy who was rocking a blue and red tie-dye alligator with really realistic teeth, so I thought to myself, okay, this is a real ass dude. You get the idea.
Anyway, today I broke my orange seal. Me and him had a great run together; I got him in July so clearly he beat the life expectancy of the average healthy American Silly Band. It’s hard to say what was the straw that broke the Silly Band’z back. I had grown attached to him and dreaded the day he would leave me. I knew old age would be the only way he would be taken from me, because I took good care of that guy. Either that or my parents would eventually recommend putting him down because his hearing and eyesight were fading.
What's next for my wrist? I don't know if I can go back to the LiveStrong and I've never gone on a service trip to Latin America so I would feel wrong donning some Rasta bracelet made of worn thread. I'll probably go back to whoring my temporary friendship out to girls just so I can nab some sort of rubber predatory mammal off them. Adieu my seal, I’ll see you on the other side.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Phil Knight could be the smartest man in the world. Not only did he create Nike, the greatest company known to mankind, but he came up with a logo that is virtually impossible to duplicate. This means he will never have to deal with lawsuits and impostors because as far as I'm concerned, no one can draw the Nike swoosh. Every day in class I take a gander at drawing the Nike logo, and every time I fail. It usually feels so good through the first brush stroke, but finishing it off is generally where I run into trouble. My swoosh always looks too fat or too skinny. The dimensions are never on target, and half the time I forget whether it's supposed to be facing left or right.
There just isn’t a better spot on campus for talking chicks while “observing” them at the same time. Now I would hate to make this a sexist, one-dimensional post about how guys gawk over girls in spandex at the Plex (which it could very well end up being). The thing is, I’m sure all of you girls are there with the same exact purpose, are you not? Oh, you think we don’t see you up there on those ellipticals over-looking the entire gym? “Um, I read People on the elliptical thank you very much.” Bullshit, you’re drooling as you watch me curl 22.5’s.
Now that we’ve established that no one actually goes to the Plex to exercise, but to instead stare at and judge the opposite sex, we can continue with the chat.
So what sets the Plex apart as a location for checking out girls? Well for starters, every girl is in there. During the week, when BC girls are not in class or online shopping, they’re at the gym. I can fault the chicas here for a lot of things, but lack of exercise is certainly not one of them. Somewhere along the line college girls deduced that by exercising in conjunction with beer drinking and shitty-food eating, they could avoid getting fat at college. Who knew?
Our next item: Apparel. The simple fact of the matter is that, apart from Halloween, you aren’t going to see a bigger group of scantily clad (sluttily clad) girls in one place at one time all year. Straight sports bras and compression shorts, a timeless and sacred combination. The two just go together like PB and J.
Finally, you’re not going to see as much makeup on girls at the Plex. Girls go to the gym armed with their iPods, their raw good looks, and not much else. If that blonde you met in the pitch-black J-Tree basement can kill it in spandies with no makeup on, she’s probably worth a BBM or two.
So girls, the moral of the story is: We’re watching (I could not have written that more creepily). But I get some peace of mind in the fact that you know we’re watching. It’s a fashion show that you seem more than happy to be a part of. You stare at us, we gawk at you, and come Thursday night, everybody wins.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
You made the dumbass mistake of picking an A.M. class that meets on Fridays. Knowing you're gonna be hungover as balls, you set your alarm a full hour and a half before class starts. This leaves time for your guaranteed morning projectile session, which almost always later turns into a wack session (instant hangover cure). Then you chug Tylenol and if you have any, melt your face off with the devil's lettuce to make that morning class a little more bearable.
But wait, today is different. You look at the clock and realize you beat your alarm and don't have to wake up for another hour and 6 minutes, and that's including the time you left for your puke-jizz-weed fest. You roll over and remember there's a girl next to you because last night was a Thursday and you're just that chill of a dude. You take a quick peek at her boobs and go right back to sleep and that dream you were having about Hillside having busty blonde waitresses on rollerblades serving you hot paninis. Sleep on my friend, you accidentally woke up before you had to.
Taking notes during class is one of the tougher things you'll ever have to do at school. Usually you can see the blatant gaps in the notes from the time you got distracted because you were checking your fantasy football team, facebook chatting some broad, or bbm'ing to set up a lunch buddy. No one can successfully take notes from start to finish in a class (especially in a class lasting longer than 50 minutes), unless you're a robot (which would be fresh). That's why there is nothing better than when your teacher taps out and gives in to watching a movie. Right when they announce that a movie will be shown you drop your pen, throw the hoody up and either sleep until the packing up of backpacks wakes you, or you surf the web like you're Kelly Slater in his prime. It's an absolute free pass of a class. Who knows, maybe you'll even get lucky and watch a film that was made within the past 5 years and isn't in black and white (highly doubtful, though). Watching a movie usually means the teacher had a rough night last night and couldn't get their shit together to teach a class (cowards). The key: Never to fall for the teachers bluff. No matter what they say, whatever is being shown on the screen will not be on the test. They just say that to try and get you to pay attention, but I can safely say from experience that I have never encountered anything from a movie on the test. Not even the teacher knows what's going on. Class doesn't count when the lights are off, so feel free to kick it as hard as you want.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Garrett Hartley kicked a 37-yard field goal that was partially blocked and barely fluttered through as time expired after Brees set it up with a 30-yard completion to Marques Colston and the Saints spoiled the San Francisco 49ers' home opener with a 25-22 victory Monday night.
When the very first Bro You Should Know knocks home the game winner on Monday Night you can't not throw him props. Look at all that euro-flow.
The baby chafes continue to pour in via bbm from The Great Fratsby. Who knew a kid could be chafed so hard (yet so soft) all summer.
-Skipping the first ten seconds of shows after commercials because you fast-forwarded too hard on Tvio/DVR and have to rewind (even though you didn't miss anything important).
-People asking you if you know somebody who you don't know - always gets a little awkward.
-Places to put your ipod when working out - it falls out of your pocket, wedging it in the compression shorts is not comfortable, holding it blows, etc.
-Having to take stuff out of your back pockets before you sit down
-3 point turns
-Guessing what setting to toast bread/pop tarts on
-Desks with the table part connected to the chair
-Replacing toilet paper rolls
-Having to wear a belt even though the pants fit you fine
-Picking your nose with a hangnail (There's not much I enjoy more than a good nose picking sesh but theres also nothing that chafes me more than me trying to do it with a hangnail. Half the time you forget you have a hangnail and you go to pick and it stings you. The other half you have to readjust the way you’re picking and usually are limited to the backhand thumb pick.)
It's 3rd and 4 and the Ravens are backed up deep in their own half. Flacco snaps the ball and dumps it to Ray Rice who trucks 3 defenders on his way to a first down. Then it happens. One of your NY roomies reminds the room that Rice is from Westchester (why he's not in the MLL baffles me). Another cohort drops Rice's high school's name, mascot, and how they did in the state tournament his senior year. Then come the "ESPN Insider" comments that are A) tough to prove/disprove and B) completely shady/curious/fishy.
"Yeah my older brother played nose tackle against him and he went for 8 TD's and was 8 for 8 on PAT's."
"I heard he entered high school at 90 pounds and left at 210."
"My buddy from Georgetown's older brother works for the Ravens and he says before every game Ray* pounds Wendy's. Absolutely loves the stuff."
*Seasoned veterans of the shady insider comment-dropping game will often refer to the given player by first name, because of how close they are to him.
Who are we to trust? Your buddy's buddy's brother wouldn't lie to you would he? These are just a few examples of why every common room in America could use an on-site Tony Reali (PTI Stat Boy Reali, not Cocky Bastard Horn Reali) to clear up rumors and call out people who think they have the inside scoop.
Not only would you get to chill with the man who has the best job in sports (only asks questions, never has to provide commentary, gets to mute accomplished writers whenever he doesn't agree with them) but you would get to hear him throw in a few stinging insults to your roomie who thinks he knows everything. And if you get one thing out of this fireside chat, remember this: NOBODY emerges from an insult battle with Tony Reali not scarred for life.
Friday, September 17, 2010
1. L.A. Riots
Thursday, September 16, 2010
I guess the Chargers took that loss to the Chiefs last week pretty hard and took to doing what any of us would do in that situation: drown their sorrows. But 2004? C'mon, it can't really have been that long. You're telling me Vincent Jackson, Philip Rivers, and Shawne Merriman all can't remember a thing from last night?
Now, this one is a very tough question and I fully support both answers because any way you look at it, you have one less day of school. I personally would go with the no school on Friday, and here's why. Don't mess with Sundays. Don't try and turn Sundays into a huge party day because Sundays weren't meant to be. It's a day of Football and HBO, not polish horseshoes and ladder ball. In some states you can't even purchase alcohol on Sundays. If you had Friday off, the weekend comes earlier. As if Thursday night wasn't getting enough hype, no one has an excuse not to leave it all out on the field with Friday off. No one has that 9 am Real Estate class or a 1 pm history discussion to use a get out of jail free card. A long weekend means a shorter week which means less class. I'd way rather prefer Friday off than Monday off.