Category Archives: Husky Football

Top 11: Questions Regarding The University of Washington’s Incredibly Stupid Twitter Rule

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.

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The Church of Tanzania

Ever since the Tanzania ads have been plastering the walls of the CLink this year there has only been one [football] loss by a Seattle Sports team (UW, yesterday). There is a large contingent on twitter led by Alex Akita of Seattle Sports Net (@alexSSN) that believe in the magical powers of the Kilimanjaro, and the Serengeti to propel Seattle teams to victory in epic fashion. –warox13, via Reddit.

I am not crazy. At least I don’t think I am. But I am a bit superstitious. And I do believe in luck. I’ll occasionally do things in threes, avoid breaking mirrors, and one time, precisely an hour after I renewed my AAA membership, my car broke down. That’s lucky. Sure, some genius might be able to explain the logic behind any incidence of good or bad fortune that has befallen me. But I don’t care to hear it. I choose to believe in luck for luck’s sake. It may be science. It may be supernatural. It may be spiritual. It may be magic. Who can really say for sure.

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Believe in Steve (or, Why Patience Will Help You Get Laid and Stuff)

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.

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An Irrationally Biased Husky Football Season Preview

In my opinion, the University of Washington football team is the best football team in the nation. Not because of wins or losses, but mainly because I just love the crap out of my school.

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.

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Why The Huskies Will Win The Alamo Bowl

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:

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An Open Letter to the Holiday Bowl

Dear Holiday Bowl,

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.

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Terrorist Molesters and the Truth Behind Why We Really Hate Oregon

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.

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The Ruling on the Field is Confirmed: Pac-12 Officials Suck

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.

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Growing Pains: The Conflicting Struggles of the Huskies and Seahawks

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.

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Buying In To The 2011 Washington Huskies

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.

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Scott Woodward Could Learn A Thing or Two (Or Maybe Just One) from Todd Turner

Back when I was an undergrad at Washington, our athletic director was a guy by the name of Todd Turner. Skinny dude, glasses, kinda poindexterish. You may remember him.

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.

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Legitimizing KP4H

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.

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The Legend of John Timu

A few years ago, something remarkable happened. The Isaiah Stanback jersey that I had been wearing to Husky football games throughout college suddenly changed, and in its place was…a Chris Izbicki jersey. Needless to say, my purple No. 4 replica ended up stashed deep in the back of the closet.

It’s a funny thing about college football. Uniform numbers turn over from year to year, taking a memorable digit to a complete unknown from spring to fall.

In the case of my Stanback jersey, it’s not that I was worried about people mistaking me for a Chris Izbicki fan (which I most certainly wasn’t). It’s that I simply didn’t want to invite the jokes that would come along with the number. Stanback wasn’t legendary enough to be recognized as the one and only No. 4. And Izbicki, as it turned out, wasn’t even mediocre enough to dispel memories of Stanback. So it was that No. 4 faded into the mist.

Which brings us to No. 10.

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