Damnit, I Knew This Day Would Come

In my heart of hearts, I knew it couldn’t last forever. Never before have I experienced such emotional feelings for another human being. Caring, loving, giving — he knew exactly what I needed, when I needed it. This was the only man for me, and now he’s gone, never to come back. Where do I go from here? I feel lost. I feel lonely.

When I heard the news, I wandered for hours, not knowing what to do next. Life just doesn’t feel the same — it just doesn’t feel right. Right now, as I cower in the fetal position, I just don’t know if I can go on. Why? I mean, why! Why try to keep living my life knowing that this great — nay, legendary — man will never grace my presence ever again. It’s worthless — my life is worthless. He gave it meaning, and now he’s gone. Gone forever. Damn whoever did this, damn them to hell!

In times of such despair, I can only speak through the words of one of America’s greatest wordsmiths:

NAY, do not dream, designer dark,
Thou hast portray’d or hit thy theme entire:
I, hoverer of late by this dark valley, by its confines, having glimpses of it,
Here enter lists with thee, claiming my right to make a symbol too.

For I have seen many wounded soldiers die,
After dread suffering—have seen their lives pass off with smiles;
And I have watch’d the death-hours of the old; and seen the infant die;
The rich, with all his nurses and his doctors;
And then the poor, in meagreness and poverty;
And I myself for long, O Death, have breathed my every breath
Amid the nearness and the silent thought of thee.

And out of these and thee,
I make a scene, a song, brief (not fear of thee,
Nor gloom’s ravines, nor bleak, nor dark—for I do not fear thee,
Nor celebrate the struggle, or contortion, or hard-tied knot),
Of the broad blessed light and perfect air, with meadows, rippling tides, and trees
and flowers and grass,
And the low hum of living breeze—and in the midst God’s beautiful eternal right
hand,
Thee, holiest minister of Heaven—thee, envoy, usherer, guide at last of all,
Rich, florid, loosener of the stricture-knot call’d life,
Sweet, peaceful, welcome Death.

— Walt Whitman

But alas, the stark truth still confronts me.  The event has happened, the deed has been done.  There is nothing I can do now except wait for the sweet release of death. Because…
 

Syracuse fires Robinson


Why go on?

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Now For Something Completely Different


We don’t normally do this but it seems that we have a lot of fortune tellers around predicting total calamity recently. This is your chance to prove your mystical powers. The compound question is simple. How will the game play out and what is the final score?

As I look into my crystal ball this is what I see…
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Marvin Graves Is An Asshole

The video quality is horrible but it reminds me of a time when this was a fierce rivalry.

Marvin Graves is still on my Top 10 list of most hated people. You suck, you fucking pussy.

Syracuse Week

This week the Mountaineers and Orangemen battle for the Schwartzwalder Trophy. I have to ask though. If you beat a horrible Syracuse team on ESPNU does anyone really care?

We should all care because a win is a win but this game should not be close. Syracuse is one of the worst teams in Big East history, so it should be easy. Hell, a late 90’s Temple alumni team could beat these bums.

My prediction: WVU 42 Orangmen 2 (HCBS will break his headset more times than Syracuse is in the red zone)

Program in Meltdown: Syracuse

Yeah, that about sums it up. Douche.

Note: This is part two of a four part series. Part one (Louisville) can be found here. Parts three (Pitt) and four (Rutgers) will run tomorrow.

Let’s be honest here, this program isn’t in meltdown. It’s long, long gone. The next head coach has a total rebuilding job on his hands.

Unfortunately for that poor soul, once-and-former coach Greg Robinson has salted the earth and buried a ton of land mines. Let’s just say it’s going to be a tough job.

But how in the world did we get here?

Two words: Greg Robinson. (Though, more words follow.)

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Things I Would Rather Do Than Watch Syracuse and Northwestern Play “Football”

Syracuse and Northwestern open their respective seasons this Saturday, playing a game that could end the very existence of college football. Here is a list of things I would rather do than watch that game, as if the post title wasn’t descriptive enough:

  • Have sex with the girl on the right.
  • Colonoscopy.
  • Help Rich Rodriguez move.
  • Accept Dave Wannstedt’s invitation for a mustache ride.
  • Watch Ohio @ Wyoming.
  • Actually care what MGoBlog has to say about Mountaineer football.
  • Extra colonoscopy, just for fun.
  • Naked pillow fight with Pam Ward.
  • Let Pat McAfee kick me in the nuts.
  • Watch Illinois State @ Marshall.
  • Drive Rich Rodriguez to the airport.
  • Intentionally expose myself to harmful carcinogens (though, it could be argued that Syracuse vs. Northwestern is a harmful carcinogen).
  • Not have sex with Erin Andrews.
  • Watch James Madison @ Duke.
  • Water Rich Rodriguez’s plants while he’s on the road.
  • Third colonoscopy, this time without any anesthetic.
  • Enroll in classes at Pitt.
  • Dry hump a 2×4 full of splinters.
  • Commit seppuku, a Japanese form of ritualistic suicide by disembowelment.
  • Attend a NAMBLA meeting.
  • Poke my own eye out with my 1998 Insight Bowl commemorative lapel pin.
  • Masturbate to Brazilian fart porn.

Please, feel free to add your own in the comments.

The Saddest Thing Ever

The folks over at Cuse Country are running an NIT bracket pool.

Trust me, I really want to laugh at this. I really, really, really do. If only the post were written just the slightest bit tongue-in-cheek. But it’s not — it’s 100% serious.

For that, I weep for Syracuse.