Our team sucks this year, and when I say suck, I mean the Hoosiers are up for the AVN Best Oral Scene for 2009. Coincidentally, we’re also up for Best Repeated Anal Scene, though Jules Jordan’s Weapons of Ass Destruction 6 (VERY NSFW) will be tough to beat.
But as a college basketball fan, what am I to do? I guess I could have purchased a $5 ticket to the IU/Penn State game and driven down to Bloomington and been an actual fan (let’s have a blog fight). But I didn’t really feel like driving 80 minutes to watch us lose to Penn State in Assembly Hall for the first time – ever (they did). I mean, when Northeastern and Lipscomb get you, it’s pretty much already a mulligan season.
But hey, I still watch. I watched us blow a 20-point second half lead at home to Michigan. I watched players get shots thrown back from whence they came time and time again. I saw one guy run up and down the court looking like basketball was a game introduced to him three weeks ago.
But there’s a time when enough is enough, and I just couldn’t do it this weekend.
I did go to a basketball game this weekend. And it wasn’t an Indiana game. It wasn’t even a game featuring my neighborhood Butler Bulldogs (I bike through the campus when it’s not -22 with wind chill).
Instead, I went to a Purdue University game. For those who don’t know my burgeoning disdain for the Black and Gold, take a look.
This wasn’t the traitorous move some might be anticipating. Sure it would be nice to see the home team actually win a game, but that’s not what this was about. This was something far more devious. So, I plotted a move to help salvage any shred of karmic justice in the hoops universe.
Purdue, ranked in the top-20, was playing Iowa on Sunday and my buddy, a Purdue alum, got two student tickets to the game and basically told me I was going. He doesn’t enjoy my company that much, he just needed me to wingman for him so he could hit on his younger sister’s sorority sisters. And to my discredit, I’m no Iceman. I’m more like Cougar. You know, fine in the air, but I always seem to blow the landing.
So on Saturday night, we drive up to West Lafayette (a.k.a. God’s Unwashed Gooch – that’s what the postcard said anyways) and somehow end up in a frat room. I knew it was a frat because my feet stuck to the floor, I drank room temperature Keystone Light, took shots of warm McCormick’s vodka with warm Rock Star and warm Mountain Dew and freshmen and sophomore girls were walking into walls.
In an interesting side note (which I seem to be full of), the room I was drinking in belonged to a fellow that stole the Butler Bulldogs mascot outfit. Luckily for us Hoosiers, we don’t have a mascot – which is probably a good thing, seeing as Dictionary.com tells me that hoosier when lower-cased means “any awkward, unsophisticated person esp. a rustic.” So basically our mascot would have been some ass-raping yokle from “Deliverance” or Larry The Cable Guy.
So the night progresses to the bars and we end up chaperoning my buddy’s sister and her friends around. I’ll pretend for the post’s sake it was painstaking. But the problem with a 135-lb. wingman taking shots is I’m less likely to pull off a snazzy mid-air maneuver ala the Purdue-educated Chesley “Sully” Sullenberger, who nicely handled the most interesting bird incident since Randy Johnson blew one up.
Now, with the chances of scoring “college ass,” vastly diminished, or extinct, finding lodging was the next logical step. The hows and whos are a little fuzzy, but I woke up the next morning in a top bunk bed with pink sheets, a peach-colored comforter and an annoyingly large pillow.
Any time you wake up in a sorority house, you know it’s going to be a good day. It makes the headache one gets from taking shots of McCormick seem more like a mere nuisance rather than a debilitating deathblow. Plus, I had some work to do.
As most males are accustomed to (and I’m not sure if the same is for ladies, and God, I hope it isn’t), but a night of heavy drinking is usually followed with, well you know reading a magazine:
However, I overestimated my ability to hold out until the noon tip-off.
It’s 11 a.m., we’re at Panera, and I can’t take it anymore. My dastardly plan is ruined. White flag time. Damn Keystone Light and cheap Irish vodka! I head to the bathroom. Before I take the plunge, I check the stall’s TP dispenser. Empty! God wants me to wait. It’s a painful decision – one I fear might set me back a few days. But I’ve come this far, there’s really no turning back now.
Once inside Purdue’s Mackey Arena, I make sure to locate the nearest restroom. Instead of immediate expulsion, I decide to systematically execute my plan. I probably stepped on a duck five times before halftime. Each time gambling. Each time winning. But I know halftime was the threshold. Anything after that and I’d be telling the story of my second career Leaky Louie (happened in 5th grade, story is still a party favorite).
But this tale has a happy ending, well not that type of happy ending. Just to be clear, I’m taking a dump. I figured some of the vague language might lead to inappropriate interpretations. This is a family-friendly enterprise here.
So, there I was taking this massive shit in the epicenter of trashball Purdue fans. I smiled. I enjoyed it. A weight off my lower intestine. I was in there for the entire halftime reveling in it. Take that Matt Painter! How’s that taste Robbie Hummel? Can you isolate the A1 Sauce flavored Beef Jerky I had the night before?
I took a few peeks, as every man does. Kind of like when you check the tissue after you blow your nose – taking inventory. It was glorious.
“This will make for a great blog post,” I think to myself. I take out my cellphone with the idea of taking a photo of my “work.” However, technology be damned! As I rose, pants at ankles, the toilet flushes. “No!” My evidence. My trophy. Gone. Gone for good.
So, I leave it to you readers. Spread the word. Tell them of my heroism. Sure IU’s basketball team is shit, but there’s one fan who is not afraid to go behind enemy lines and deposit some of that shit where it rightfully belongs – Mackey Arena.
Plus, who takes a dump in a sorority house?