Greetings. Anyone who is a diehard fan of anything scares me. Hardcore drinkers and drug users who find God in rehab centers occupy the top of my Creepy People list. They trade one vice, nature’s sweet nectar that expands their minds and lightens their wallets, for an inferior, ephemeral one that closes their minds and lightens their wallets just as much, if not more. I’ll stick with the religion that comes in a 750 mL bottle with scents of vanilla, maple, and caramel while ridding my body of the anxiety and depression that are part and parcel of pathological perfectionism.
As I watched last night’s BCS National Championship Game, I realized that college football diehards unnerve me slightly less than those previously mentioned. Nevertheless, collegiate sports are a religion. Instead of a benevolent, omnipotent, omniscient being at the receiving end of their praise, college football fanatics stake their trailers to immature young men who cannot legally enjoy alcohol. Ephebophilic slobbering for a Bible-thumping quarterback makes me cringe. I can imagine those Gator fans while they watched the Heisman ceremony now:
Oh, Mr. Tebow! I can’t live without your massive quads bulging and contracting as you plunge forward into a scrum, where every post-adolescent freakshow is attempting to yank on your testicles in the hopes of giving me a boner hurting you. May I call you Kiki?
This lack of morality disgusts me as an NHL fan. Sure, our sport has a reputation as a violent league (thank you, Flyers), but I see no attraction to our players from male fans. Thinking about 19 year old Jonathan Toews weave around helpless defensemen only excites me as an athletic, er, a supporter of the team. Those quick hands, wow. How many wrist curls did he have to do to get those? And his explosive skating leaves me breathless. His gastrocnemius flexing as he lifts a blade off the ice, then propelling forward with endless kinetic energy emanating from his gluteus …
Wait, what? *mumble mumble mumble gluteus*
Ahem, hm. If you’ll excuse me, I have to read some French poetry about a dying soldier. Manly stuff from a manly man.
6 Comments
Comments RSS TrackBack Identifier URI
Melt Your Face-Off 
an inferior, ephemeral one that closes their minds and lightens their wallets
Yea, God and religion suck
College football fans can be a bit weird. Even I get tired of hearing the commentators say “Ray Rice is big and strong below the waist, he has such powerful thighs”…
I’ll stick with the religion that comes in a 750 mL bottle with scents of vanilla, maple, and caramel while ridding my body of the anxiety and depression that are part and parcel of pathological perfectionism.
Sounds like fun. Seriously–last night I met an older man who told me that he would pray for me to Jesus, along with all this other stuff about how knowing Jesus would open my heart and such. Very odd night to say the least. I saw him at teh grocery store this morning and he told me, “I prayed for you!” and I’m all, “ummm…thanks?”
Thinking about 19 year old Jonathan Toews weave around helpless defensemen only excites me as an athletic, er, a supporter of the team….*mumble mumble mumble gluteus* That’s one of the things I like about being a female hockey fan–I’m allowed to think lke this AND I don’t have to read French poetry to make up for it.
yes, but what does this post have to do with Mehmet Okur?
In college I waited tables and was told that I would recieve my reward in the next life in lieu of a tip. You can’t drink a hollow promise of trip to heaven. FUCK!
How this went all night without a Caddyshack reference, I’ll never know.
That is so true. I put that one up on a tee and no one took a swing.
“So I says to the Lama, Hey how about a little something for the effort?”