What your view of sports and life would be if you had too many concussions
If you’re a regular reader of Dubsism, you know that one of our time-honored traditions is to talk some shit about the competitors in major sporting events. We do it every year for the Super Bowl, and every spring we let the piss out of the NCAA “Sweet Sixteen.” This March is no different.
Now that we are past the first and heading head-long into the second weekend of the NCAA Basketball Tournament, some of you may be happy with your bracket, and some are lamenting the fact their brackets are so much smoldering wreckage. No matter which side of the carnage your brackets lie, the bottom line is that the odds are that the team you have your hopes pinned on is going to let you down. The service we here at Dubsism provide is giving you ammunition which which you can load your “curse” gun when those teams do let you down.
As such, consider yourself warned. If you tend to go all “snowflake” and are easily offended, do us all a favor and read no further. This March tradition harks back to the original purpose of Dubsism; a home for my profanity-filled and completely offensive tirades. So, if you send me your hate-mail because I just took a giant Hormel Chili-fueled shit all over something you hold dear, I know you didn’t take this warning seriously.
You’re not fooling anybody, Auburn. You’re really just the “Purdue” of the South. You’ve clad yourself with some bullshit effete-sounding name in order to hide what you really are. You would like us to think Auburn is some “top-buck” private school; the reality is your university is just another gargantuan state-school awash in cheap beer, backward baseball caps, and date-rape. We all know “Auburn” really means “Alabama Tech,” and the proof is in the fact you can actually major in Date Rape at
Alabama State Cow College and Tires Plus Outlet Auburn. That ought to be a popular option once Auburn can attract co-eds who aren’t so fat moving them doesn’t actually require tires. Let’s face it, even with an age and a weight that both start with the number “5,” Charles Barkley still looks better than any woman at Auburn…ever.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again; fuck Duke. The Blue Devils really only exist so the entirety of the college basketball world doesn’t hate North Carolina. Writing about Duke here is like when I have to cover the fucking New England Patriots in my “Why You Shouldn’t Cheer For” series about Super Bowl contestants. I’ve scribbled so so much shit about both of them that writing about them again is like putting gas in the tank of a car I’ve already wrecked. The vast majority of Partiots and Blue Devils fans are idiotic front-runners, and almost every conceivable joke about them has been told so many times they are as fresh as listening to the menu on a customer service line.
Please read the following menu options carefully, as they have recently changed….
On top of all that, scroll down to my comments on the state of North Carolina and it’s proclivity for rape. That’s the only reason that whole bit of non-sense about the Duke Lacrosse team supposedly raping a stripper had any credibility at all. Let’s be honest, in 99,999 cases out of 100,000, the only way any interaction between a Durham stripper and any boys from Duke could possibly be considered “rape” is if the chip reader in her card-swiper didn’t process the transaction in a timely fashion.
Florida State is really the “strip-mall” of universities. Building an institution of higher learning in the Florida panhandle is akin to having a Weight Watchers rally at Michael Moore’s house, complete with a Chinese buffet and that smell fat guys pump out from the fermenting sweat from under their flab-tits. In other words, Florida State is less like a “real” university, and more like those so-called “colleges” you see in strip malls that advertise on daytime television. At least if you’re hanging around strip malls in Florida, you could meet New England Patriots owner Robert Kraft. Just don’t shake his hand unless you have an industrial-sized vat of hand sanitizer.
Sadly, here’s a case where I’m stuck hard in a “said it before/say it again” predicament. Whenever ESPN’s Neil Everett refers to the town in which Gonzaga is located as “Spo-Vegas,” I immediately know he’s consuming a special grade of hallucinogenic mushrooms. Spokane, Washington is to Las Vegas what rice cakes are to Filet Mignon. If you think eating organic styrofoam is fun, you’ll love Spokane for reasons easily illustrated.
I can identify with Gonzaga, because I too went to school in a God-forsaken town in the middle of nowhere near the Canadian border. We’re talking about the kind of town where if you’re a college student, the only non-school related things to do are eating, drinking, and fucking. That only works for a while, until everybody becomes a pizza-and-beer bloated gastropod nobody wants to pork, unless even more beer is involved.
Thus starts a drunken-sex “death spiral”…the more beer everyone drinks, the fatter everyone one gets, which means it takes more beer for anybody to want to fuck anybody. Eventually the entire town looks like mating season at SeaWorld. What makes matters worse is Gonzaga is a Catholic school filled with Mormons in the heart of onion-growing country. It almost makes me want to cheer for the Bulldogs because what else could these bunch of morbidly-obese, sexually-repressed, drunk-fucks who reek like the onion grease at a White Castle possibly have?
There was a time when Houston occupied a prestigious spot in the pantheon of college basketball; that was the era of Elvin Hayes and “Phi Slamma Jamma.” All five Final Fours reached by the University of Houston occurred during the Guy Lewis era. The problem is that Guy Lewis is dead, and sadly, Kelvin “The Snail” Sampson is not. I call Sampson “The Snail” because short of Bruce Pearl, he’s the sleaziest coach in all of the game. As such, he leaves a trail of slime where ever he goes, hence “The Snail.” Fret not Houston fans, like Indiana and Oklahoma before you, the Cougars too soon will be under an NCAA investigation.
The bottom line is that Houston hasn’t been in a Final Four since 1984, and this school now has as much of a place in big-time college basketball as it’s most infamous alum, Elizabeth Warren, does dealing blackjack at an Indian casino.
I’m amazed that nobody has figured out the possible connection between two of Kentucky’s most iconic figures and the Ku Klux Klan. Let’s not forget that it was Kentucky’s legendary coach Adolph Rupp who played a key role in getting the “dunk” outlawed in college basketball after “those negroes” from Texas Western literally flew past his Wonder Bread-White Wildcats for the 1966 NCAA Title.
To pull that off, Rupp needed more political clout than is usually afforded to a basketball coach, and don’t forget that the Klan had far more pull int he 1960s than it’s pathetic remnants have today. Coupled with the fact that some the high-buck programs in college basketball of the day were in decidely Klan-friendly states like Indiana, North Carolina, and …wait for it…Kentucky, and the inference is obvious.
On the other hand, more often than not if you were bestowed the honorary title of “Colonel” in Kentucky, you were the Grand Dragon of the local Chapter of the Klan. It would be easy to assume this about Kentucky Fired Chicken’s famed Col. Harland Sanders, but deeper research uncovered that Sanders was actually an assumed identity used by Soviet exile Leon Trotsky in one of many attempts to hide from the KGB. Instead being a Klansman, Sanders was a member of a group despised by the KKK; he a “heathenous Commie Jew.” It is nothing short of miraculous this fact didn’t come to light upon the cataclysmic failure of his first culinary effort, Kentucky Fried Gefilte Fish.
What else can you say about Louisiana other than even the “Sling Blade”-type Southerners think Louisianans are goofy…and with good reason. The average “Cajun” is a descendant of the Acadians, who migrated from the goofiest white country in North America to inhabit a malaria-plagued swamp while maintaining their native tongue inherited from the goofiest country in Western Europe. After 200 years, all they’ve managed to create is a culture which is little more than the bastard child of Mississippi and Haiti.
Realistically, the best thing you can say about Michigan is that it isn’t Ohio State. Even more realistically, that difference may be in name only. Both schools over-rated academically and supported by bloated, corrupt athletic departments. The difference lies in the fact that nobody really knows what a “Buckeye” actually is; the rumor is that is a retarded version of the walnut. On the other hand, it is common knowledge that a wolverine is simply a hyper-aggressive skunk with more robustly developed anal glands.
Mrs. J-Dub likes to watch things on television that I not-so-lovingly refer to as “really fucked-up shit.” One of those things is a program about a rural veterinarian somewhere in Michigan. Some things can’t be unseen, and this show has inextricably burned into my brain an association with all things Michigan. It’s one thing to to see a guy shoulder-deep into a cow or pulling a calf with a tool which looks like “Nazi gynecologist meets a frame straightener from an auto collision repair shop.” Now if that weren’t fucked-up enough for you, every once in a while this guy does this stuff topless, which to me crosses a line from “vet show” to “fetish.” Of course, this guy is a Michigan State alum..
As we’ve mentioned before, North Carolina is a state in which rape is not only actively encouraged, it’s 100% legal if you do it while wearing a flannel shirt. But what is really weird is that in a state which embraces forcible insertion, the Raleigh-Durham area is the south’s largest collection of astigmatic, thick-ankled lesbians. Seriously, walk into any bank in the “Triad,” and your teller is likely to be some third-baseman from a women’s softball team whose last vestige of femininity is that she still shops at Lane Bryant.
The Cascade Mountains form a natural version of the Berlin Wall separting Oregon into two distinct cultures. On the eastern side, Oregon is populated by the descendants of the “Oregon Trail” settlers who to this day are still rugged, hard-working lot despite their odd procliviity to form right-wing militias. Menawhile, the western part of the state solely exists is to house hippies that are deemed to be even too usless and smelly to live in California. As a whole, the University of Oregon sold its soul to a sporting apparel behemoth which idolizes “social justice” dipshits while enslaving more Asian women than the Khmer Rouge and Robert Kraft combined.
Purdue can be summed in a single sentence. Neil Armstrong, the first man to walk on the moon, was a Purdue alum. This shows how far people will go to get the fuck out of West Lafayette.
Purdue lies in the heart of the Hoosier state, which despite its rabid affection for the game of basketball, with scant few exceptions it doesn’t produce anybody who can play it. Even now, arguably the Boilermakers best player is a seven-foot-plus Dutchman who moonlights in the off-season as a windmill.
In contrast to it’s neighbor to the east, there is far less forcible sex in Tennessee as it is considered poor etiquette to decline the advances of relatives. This is reflected in the original lyrics of Tennessee’s fight song:
Screwed my sister up on Rocky Top
Up in the Tennessee hills
Gonna have a flippered baby
‘Cuz she didn’t take her pill
When it comes to basketball, Knoxville is one of the Meccas of the women’s game, and since the men’s team has yet to see a Final Four, the following joke is popular n this part of the world:
Q: Why to doctors slap newborns on the ass in Tennessee?
A: To know the dicks off the ones who can’t play basketball.
Located in the heart of the Texas panhandle, Texas Tech is a school at which they spent millions of dollars building things which fire lumber into other things under the guise of “tornado research.” The pointlessness of this is self-evident, as the vast majority of tornadoes occur in God-forsaken, desolate expanses of geographic nihilism like the Texas panhandle. This is a piece of land so undesirable that even Oklahoma didn’t want it.
Let that sink in for a minute. Oklahoma is a state which believes in urban renewal via domestic terrorists using gigantic piss-fertilizer bombs, and even they had no interest in a piece of land which could easily be described as “West Afghanistan.” This may help to explain while like much of the Middle East, the average resident of Lubbock-istan lives about six centuries behind the rest of the world.
Sure, it would be easy to simply point out the extreme fagginess of the Virginia Cavalier mascot, but that’s been done more often than ESPN slobs Mike Krzyzewski’s knob. There’s also the issue of Virginia being the first #1 to gag on the collective cock of a #16, but again, that’s yesterday bit of chokery. Instead, let’s talk about Virginia’s long history of being over-rated.
Go all the way back to the Ralph Sampson days, when the Cavaliers were an NCAA tournament perennial throughout the early ’80s and mid-’90s. But in 23 total tournament appearances, Virginia has seen exactly two Final Fours. In fact, the Cavs went through a streak from 1996 to 2013 during which this team never got out of the first weekend of the tournament.
In other words, the best way to insure your bracket is pre-busted to pick these gag-jobs to do anything in this tournament.
The full name of this school is “Virginia Polytechnic Institute and State University.” Right away, that tells you this place can’t decide what it wants to be. For the most part, any school with the name “polytechnic” in it’s title is where one becomes certified as a nursing assistant or big-rig driver. But to be fair, the term “state university” on an institution deep in the bowels of Appalachia only means one can earn a “major” in wheel alignment and chassis lubrication.
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Beautifully done, sir.