Fighting with people on Twitter is about as pointless as it gets. In general, you both come off looking like douchebags, and no matter how heated your discourse becomes, there is no governing body to determine who wins and who loses. You can’t really out-debate one another in 140-character blurbs, and about all you’ll end up doing is pissing off the people who mutually follow you and your sparring partner, victims of timelines filled with petty drivel. You can punch and kick and scream and get worked up over words on a screen and you’ll be no better for it when the day is done.
Okay. That wasn’t the best Seattle sports weekend. The Huskies (both the football and basketball editions) lost, the Seahawks lost, and word came out on Sunday evening that both Hawks starting cornerbacks — Richard Sherman and Brandon Browner — are facing four-game suspensions for performance-enhancing drug use. So yeah. Admittedly, things could get better.
Scrolling through the Twitter timeline over the past 24 hours has revealed varying stages of grief from Seattleites. We’ve seen everything from denial, to anger, to depression, to acceptance. Some fans are ready to jump off a ledge, some are cursing out anyone who so much as talks to them, some are claiming it’s all a conspiracy, some have the blinders on and refuse to speak one ill word about any of our downtrodden ballclubs, some are coping with humor, and some are just plain sad. No matter one’s progress through the grieving process, it’s clear that these are dark times for us right now. And so as a result, I’m here to offer perspective.
Earlier this week, we found out that the University of Washington athletic department has imposed an interesting policy regarding sports and Twitter. Basically, media members reporting on any Husky basketball or football game are limited to the number of times they can tweet during a contest. Yep, it’s like that.
As a proud UW alum, I’ve been schooled on recognizing stupidity. And this is about as stupid as it gets.
Putting clamps on those giving you the time of day? Really? If there’s anything we all know, it’s that in America, the media cannot be controlled. You can’t stop the media, you can only hope to contain it. And yet trying to contain it usually doesn’t work out so well.
Knowing that this will undoubtedly spiral into an abyss of long-running jokes and never-ending punch lines, I figured I’d take the opportunity to ask my alma mater why on earth they’d want to censor their guests. I’ve come up with 11 questions. I was allotted no more than that.
I am a firm believer in patience. We live in a world that’s all about moving quickly, reacting, and analyzing big, important topics in, say, 140-character blurbs of irreverence. We expect certain outcomes in life, and when those outcomes don’t immediately transpire, we tend to freak the hell out.
Take, for instance, marriage.
We grow up thinking we’ll all be married by our mid-twenties. We don’t even consider alternatives, really. We’ll graduate high school, then either enter the working world or head off to college. We’ll meet someone in those formative years just outside our teens, fall in love, and be bound by law no later than age 25. Might as well be a theme park ride.
Most people might pen a preview article objectively and with a keen eye on such things as statistics, player bios, and other stuff I really don’t care about. You want a bio? Keith Price is the greatest quarterback in the land and a future Heisman Trophy winner. Boom. Bio. There you go. Bishop Sankey committed to Washington State before decommitting, then finding his way into Washington’s backfield. That’s freakin’ awesome, and frankly, kind of hilarious. There’s another bio. How about one more? Our defensive line coach, Tosh Lupoi? He may not own a boat, but he pulls in teenage athletes like a big-breasted, blonde-haired sorority sister. We can all appreciate that. Three bios for you. That’s three more than I was planning on writing.
So we go to this liquor store today to buy Crown Royal. There’s a history with Husky football tailgates, my friends, and Crown Royal. First of all, Crown comes in purple-and-gold packaging, so there’s that. Secondly, we are undefeated (1-0) in bowl games that we bring Crown to, which is also quite important. Long story short, we go out of our way to bring Crown Royal to games and there’s a very limited track record that tells us this is a good idea.
Anyway, we get to Twin Liquors in San Antonio, find our desired purchase, and make our way to the cash register to pay. The following conversation then ensues:
Oh, hey, look at this. An anonymous sports fan emailed the good people over at Q13 Fox with a request to send our favorite sportscaster to the Alamo Bowl. No, not Carlos del Valle, Rod Simons, or Gaard Swanson — See what I did right there? Went retro on you — but Erin Hawksworth, who is clearly better looking than all three of those other guys (sorry Carlos, Rod, and Gaard).
The anonymous email happened to fall into my lap and I’ve taken the liberty of reprinting it for all of you to see. Because as a Husky fan myself, I wholeheartedly support the “Send Erin to the Alamo Bowl” movement. For obvious reasons.
Again, we have no idea who wrote this. It’s blatantly anonymous.
As a concerned Husky Football fan, I’m writing to convince you to send Erin Hawksworth to the Alamo Bowl. You’re probably asking yourself why, in these tough economic times, you should consider sending Erin to the Alamo Bowl at all. That’s a fantastic question which I plan to answer. You’re probably also asking yourself why you shouldn’t send Aaron Levine. Also a great question which I will address. Without consuming too much of your time, let’s discuss the importance of this decision.
Let me start by discussing Facebook Groups. What’s up with those, right? They absolutely suck. Why create a Group when you have Pages? Having a Facebook Page gets your point across without messing with everyone’s freedom. Facebook Groups are straight up anarchy. Anyone can create a Group, anyone can add you to a Group, anyone can post in a Group, anyone can impose their Group upon you. I hate that. I’m contemplating creating a Group called “Because I Want To Make Your Life A Living Hell” and inviting everyone I know to it. There’s nothing more unfulfilling than logging into your account, seeing a red notification up there to the left, clicking the notification, and finding out that 50 different people posted in a Group that you don’t give a damn about. Maybe a hot chick wrote on my wall. Maybe someone commented on the one picture I look good in. Maybe I got a “Like.” No. None of the above. Someone posted in a f**king Group. What a f**king joke. F**k you, Zuckerberg.
Two years ago, I wrote an article listing 30 Reasons to Hate the University of Oregon. To say it was one of the more polarizing pieces I’ve ever written would be an understatement, though it should be noted that more positive than negative feedback was received. Which is good. It means that people generally hate the Oregon Ducks as much as I do. That’s how I gauge whether or not I’m crazy. Do they agree with me? They do? Perfect. I’m not insane yet.
It’s almost not fair. Why should we have to make concessions for them? They are the ones who suck. They are the incompetent ne’er-do-wells who can’t do their jobs. They are the malcontents who draw our ire. And yet like a giant traipsing among a crowd of midgets, we’re the ones constantly tiptoeing around their shortcomings. Where’s the justice in that?
For every ill-advised whistle, every hastily-thrown flag, every muddled attempt at an explanation, every boo-inducing, venom-inciting, vein-popping, mind-boggling, dumb-shit-effing-mother-crapping-what-the-hell-was-that-are-you-KIDDING-ME?! call they make, we acquiesce. It’s a manic, unhealthy experience having to deal with these morons. We flip out at their utter asininity one moment, then are forced to bring ourselves back down to earth seconds later when the game resumes. Every time they screw up, we’re left reluctantly rolling over in the wake of their ineptitude.
Once upon a time, there was this little show on ABC called Growing Pains. What a great effing show that was. Basically, it was the all-American situational comedy, or “sitcom,” as those of us who remember such shows fondly call them.
The premise of Growing Pains was simple. You had this family, the Seavers, and they grew as a unit, albeit painfully. Okay, maybe that’s an oversimplification of the title, but whatever.
I’m sold on the Huskies. They are the hot chick you think you might be into, but aren’t quite sure about until all your friends meet her and say, “Dude, that girl is smokin’ hot.” That kind of sold. Validated and cross-checked kind of sold.
It’s not that I didn’t believe before this. I’ve always believed in the Dawgs. It’s just that this team was one giant enigma entering the season. And as a result, no one really knew how to accurately temper their hopes for the new year.
Anyway, Turner resigned (read: got canned) in January, 2008 after four years on the job. He had presided over the worst era of Husky football in the program’s storied lineage, and as we all know, football drives the ship at most D-I schools.
When it came to the gridiron, Turner’s tenure was an epic failure for two big reasons.
My friends and I were at the strip club the other night when I got around to some wishful thinking. Not about the women getting naked before my very eyes. I’m more or less immune to that. I don’t even go to strip clubs ever. We just happened to be there for a bachelor party.
Something about knowing that these women are willingly removing all their clothes without you even having to ask changes your mentality toward their complete lack of inhibition. So no, I was not doing any wishful thinking about the well-endowed brunette climbing up and down the pole, performing acrobatic gyrations at unsafe elevations. Okay, maybe a little. But mostly, it was other stuff.
After the fifth or sixth waitress emerged and asked us if we wanted drinks (non-alcoholic drinks, mind you…thanks, State of Washington), I couldn’t help but say aloud, “Why can’t we get service like this in a restaurant?”
My buddies laughed, but I was dead serious. Think about it. You go get a nice meal at a fine establishment and they rarely pay this much attention to you. You’re just another patron to them. But at the strip club? We weren’t even really spending money and they were all about the hospitality. You have to appreciate that. Even if they are just doing it for the cash. I get it. I’m weird. I know.