What your view of sports and life would be if you had too many concussions

Trash-Talking the 2023 NCAA Tournament “Sweet Sixteen”

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 will be no different.

Now that we are past the first round 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 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 that finally happens.

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’ll know you didn’t take this warning seriously.


Thanks to the generous nature of Arkansas’ most famous corporation, every dollar you spend at Wal-Mart helps a kid in the “Razorback State” get the gun he’ll need to convince his sister the legal difference between “rape” and “incest.” That’s important, because as you will see later, it is important to be able to distinguish Arkansas from two of it’s neighbors.

Being wedged in between Texas and Tennessee is the main reason why Arkansas has a serious identity problem. Their whole state is like the result of a quasi-consensual incestuous encounter between gun-loving Texas and sister-rapey Tennessee. Not to mention, aesthetically Arkansas can be best described as the “skim-milk” version of Texas and like Tennessee, Arkansas’ main contribution to the “South” was being largely destroyed during the Civil War.


Once upon a time, Connecticut was among the elite powers of college basketball. But now, Connecticut…like every other fairy tale that starts with “once upon a time”…is from a long time ago and really isn’t relevant to anything anymore. Today, the whole state is little more than the butt-crack one must traverse when traveling between the unwashed buttocks that are New York and Massachusetts.


Literally, I had never heard of this school until yesterday. Turns out it’s a Jesuit university located in Omaha, Nebraska. As we shall soon see, being at a “God” school in the middle of nowhere can only mean a few things. But part of me hopes Creighton makes a showing in this tournament; at least that way the residents of this dismal hell-hole cam have at least a fleeting moment knowing their city is famous for something other than mail-order steaks.

Florida Atlantic:

Raise your hand if you thought this was one of those online “universities” that advertise on daytime television promising career advancement to undeserving cubicle-dwellers across America. At first, I thought that as well. That was until I realized in Florida, there’s no difference. Every institution of “higher learning” in the “Sunshine State” is little more than a mail drop with a dedicated server and a laser printer to pump out the diplomas…after the payments clear, of course.


Now that we find ourselves on our second “God” school wedged in a God-forsaken place, this is the time to explore what that exactly means. Neither Omaha, Nebraska or Spokane, Washington can claim to be the “excitement capital” of anywhere. In both cases, we’re talking about Catholic schools stuck in the kind of town where if you’re a college student, the only non-school related things to do are the “holy trinity”…eating, drinking, and fucking. Despite the excitement level added by institutional repression, that only works for a while because eventually 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.  Given enough time, the entire town looks like mating season at SeaWorld.  What makes matters worse is Gonzaga is 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 through “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.

Bruce Pearl: Even though he lactates slime, he’s still no Kelvin Sampson.

I call Sampson “The Snail” because short of Bruce “Tit Sweat” 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 soon will be under an NCAA investigation. It’s only fitting that “The Snail” beat “Tit Sweat” to make this year’s Sweet Sixteen.

Kansas State:

When one thinks of basketball schools in Kansas, nobody thinks of Kansas State…and why should they? The Kansas Jayhawks are amongst the elite programs in the sport. That begs the question: why does a state with a population of 746 people need more than one university? Is there that much demand for animal husbandry majors?

Miami (FL):

This year, the ACC stands for the “Almost Competitive Conference.” This whole league spent the regular season drying up like dogshit on a summer sidewalk. In any event, the ACC should be embarrassed that a low-rent school like this represents it, even if they got to the “Sweet Sixteen.” But at least that means we don’t have to like through any more Duke.

Michigan State:

Realistically, the best thing you can say about Michigan State is that it isn’t Michigan. However, being completely honest, the minor difference in the names reflects the actual difference in the schools. They’re both over-rated academically and supported by bloated, corrupt athletic departments. The real difference lies in the fact until their told, nobody knows a Wolverine has nothing to do with comic books and is actually hyper-aggressive skunk with more robustly developed anal glands, whereas history majors and fans of the movie 300 can tell you what ass-wipes the Spartans were.


The Tigers might as well enjoy some sporting success considering 60 years of misguided administration has taken the luster off having an Ivy League education. That pedigree used to mean it’s holder was among the best and brightest; now the Ivy League is the reserve for trust-fund babies who get to pay the freight for whichever minorities the liberal intelligentsia are currently adopting as pets. Besides, how much prestige is there in being from New Jersey…the armpit of the Eastern Seaboard?

As far as basketball is concerned, Princeton’s most famous hoopster was Bill Bradley, who is only remembered by octogenarian New York Knicks fans. Winning an NBA Championship in New York was Bradley’s primary qualification to be elected United States Senator from New Armpit Jersey, where he proved invaluable for his ability to reach documents on the top shelf.

Given all that, the only good thing one can say about Princeton is it can never be the bottom rung of the Ivy League so long as Brown is still a member,

San Diego State:

“Hoopin’ at the Y-M-C-A!”

In all honesty, my problem with San Diego State isn’t really their fault. I just wonder where all the “politically correct” pole-smokers are with this school’s mascot. The same self-important dick-drips who made Illinois get rid of Chief Illiniwek haven’t said a word about the “Village People” version of Monty Montezuma.


I can remember as a kid in California that it was common-place to poke fun at the supposedly incestuous nature of southerners, which was really confusing once I discovered it’s perfectly legal to marry your first cousin in the Golden State. Then I discovered the difference. In Tennessee, the nuptials are not needed…they are considered a mere “formality” just like “consent” as is reflected in the lyrics of Tennessee’s fight song.

Raped my sister up on Rocky Top
Up in the Tennessee hills
She's gonna have a flippered baby
'Cuz she didn't take her pill

Along those lines, Tennessee is one of two states (strangely, the other is Vermont) where incestuous rape is legal while squirrel hunting.


Texas and Tennessee have much more in common than their alphabetic proximity. During Texas’ was of independence from Mexico, many volunteers from Tennessee came to the aid of their Texan brethren. Not only does that explain the origins of the “Tennessee Volunteers,” it’s shed some light on what happened to the general bloodline of the Texan citizenry in the mid-19th century.

To call the Tennesseans “volunteers” wouldn’t nearly be as accurate as referring to them as “child support refugees.” While sister-raping is legal in Tennessee, you still have to pony up to care tor the offspring. The funniest part in all of this is that records indicate there was really no need for the “volunteers” to flee Tennessee. Back then, the state had a barter-driven economy which actually continued until union by-laws made the Grand Ol’ Opry’s practice of paying performers with chickens problematic. Even today, nobody in Tennessee knows how many pounds of squirrel meat constitutes adequate child support.

All of that was necessary to point out the irrevocable damage the introduction of Tennessee genes did to the gene pool of Texas. Not only that, but it explains the genesis of an old joke.

How can you tell when a Texan has been in your house? The toilet seat is up and the dog is pregnant.


Regular readers of this blog know that I spent most of my childhood ping-ponging between California and the Midwest. They also know that now I live in Indiana. All that means is that I have the eyes of an eagle when it comes to spotting a shit-show of a state. No place takes the shit-cake quite like California, and no place encapsulates all that shittiness quite like Los Angeles.

What makes Los Angles the shit-capital of the “Golden” state is also it’s biggest contribution to the rest of America. By importing every miscreant, malcontented pain-in-the-ass from everywhere else, Los Angeles became a super-concentrated repository of the people nobody else wants; it’s like America’s “Tide Pod” of shitheads. That alone makes every other shitty place that much less shitty.

But it also means Los Angeles sports teams don’t have many “real” fans. Cities with notoriously fierce sports fan bases are that way because those fans have strong connection to those cities. Because of it’s large number of “imports,” Los Angeles lacks that.

Why should anybody root for a team that has no fans?


The last “God” school on our list, Xavier should enjoy an advantage of being in a larger city than Omaha or Spokane. The problem is that city is Cincinnati, the largest city in Kentucky. Don’t let that Ohio River boundary fool you, the “Queen City” embodies all the hickish manifestations quaint traditions one would expect from the rural south, but offers them in a subtle blend with midwestern values.

The best examples of this are in the three aforementioned “hobbies” of Catholic school students in God-forsaken places. This is wny in Cincinnati they make chili with cinnamon and recycled tire flakes, and drink varnish spiced with urinal cakes. The first two “hobbies” went so horribly awry because of the difficulties presented by the third.

Cincinnati’s geography offers some particular challenges to human sexuality. While the city includes the south’s incestuous proclivities, that’s folded into a melange including the sheer ugliness of the typical Ohio female. Don’t think for a minute “Jennifer” from WKRP in Cincinnati was representative of anything in the “Queen City.” You aren’t even going to get “Bailey Quarters.” The average woman in Cincinnati looks like Les Nessman with chin whiskers and arm hair, and they all have repulsive chili/varnish breath because urinal cakes are suprsingly ineffective as breath mints.

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