Apparently he didn't appreciate the five-foot pictures of his face in the crowd.
Last Saturday, John Shurna
broke Northwestern’s career scoring record, surpassing
Billy McKinny‘s 1,900 career points with a three-pointer against Minnesota. Last weekend I set a career personal high score of 18,310 points in BrickBreaker, but nobody made much of a fuss about it.* Or even a
t-shirt.
As Northwestern basketball fans are starting to realize, life on the bubble of the NCAA tournament is a lot like what I’m assuming drunk sex with your pledge wife would be like: you hold your breath and hope that everything magically falls into place to bring about a wondrous sensation you’ve never felt before, but you’re really just waiting for something to go horribly awry and inevitably ruin everything you hold dear. There will probably be a lot of crying in the end no matter what.
Like Ross Packingham outside the Keg, the ‘Cats are on the outside looking in at the NCAA Tournament.
The game against Michigan on Tuesday night was considered a must-win game for an at-large bid to the NCAA Tournament, the paradise that has been denied to Northwestern since Neville Chamberlain and Adolf Hitler were in power.** In fact, every game for the rest of the season that isn’t against #9 Ohio State is a must-win game if the Wildcats are to have any hope at all to go dancing this spring.
Only at NU would professors use this game at Welsh-Ryan as an excuse to assign extra homework, commissioning their students with the task of analyzing the effect of attending basketball games on hearing loss or how the transformative power of group mentality is expressed during sporting events.***
Like Northwestern has ever been able to fashion a cohesive group identity around support for its athletics.
————
After much internal debate and an impassioned attempt to create a game theory game to determine whether or not I should write my paper or go to the game, I arrive at Welsh-Ryan along with Sir Twattingworth and our loyal cohort. We’ve already stolen extra Shurna shirts, sang the proper Adele songs, and identified the opposing player’s star father. You know, the usual.
Before the game, Stu Douglass was asked about the presence of Michigan alums at away games, to which that pretentious assmunch of a slutmonkey zebrafucker replied,
“That gym’s pretty small and it doesn’t get too loud.”
But damn this gym is packed! I don’t think I’ve ever seen this many fans at Welsh-Ryan — it’s standing room only in the student section, and purple seems to dwarf out the maize of Michigan. Apparently somebody thought it would be a brilliant idea to take the least photogenic player on the team and make enormous cardboard cutouts of his face, so pale and heinously awkward Shurnas bob up and down in the crowd as the game begins.
Let's go fellows! Bring him down like Stalin defeated Trotsky!
8,127 sets of eyes — 10 of which are ginormous and cardboard — watch as Northwestern comes to life. The ‘Cats, led by Hearn, Curletti, and Sobolewski are playing an extraordinarily physical game, driving through the Wolverines defense to the basket, drawing foul after foul, and cleaning up the glass for once. We’re in the bonus with 13 minutes left in the first half, and I’m still amazed that a team ranked 325th out of the 344 Division 1 basketball teams managed to outrebound Michigan 33-30.
I think that the three most exciting basketball games I’ve ever experienced live are as follows:
1. This game.
2. That one time in high school I saw Iman Shumpert**** posterize some poor West Suburban Silver Conference forward.
3. That one game in 8th grade rec league when that one fat kid sank a halfcourt three at the buzzer to beat us in the final game of the season.
Clearly, two things are true: this game fucking rocks, and I need to watch more basketball.
Shurna’s layup with 31 seconds to go sends Northwestern into halftime with a 31-24 lead, and the place goes wild. The excitement at the prospect of upsetting Michigan is more intoxicating than the crappy vodka we drank at 5:15 this afternoon. I make the mistake of asking Sir Twattingworth about proper court-rushing procedure.
But Michigan comes roaring back from halftime. They just keep hocking up threes, and most of them seem to go in. Before we know it, Vogrich has nailed a three, Burke’s gone in for an easy layup, and Michigan’s ahead 41-38. Things are crashing down around us like the fallout from an afterschool sex-toy demonstration.
And then, all of the sudden, Hardaway Jr. chokes like Stefan Demos, bricking 6 free throws. Northwestern seems to rise from the ashes like a Gingrich campaign, leaving their bodies and hearts on the floor as the Wildcats give everything they can to overcome the odds and topple a physically superior Michigan team. Despite missing two straight chances to break a 49-49 tie with under a minute to go, Michigan can’t draw up anything better, and Trey Burke’s three-point shot with 2 seconds left on the clock is wide. One and only one thought pervades.
We’re still alive!
————
I don’t hate Michigan. I never have and never will. I damn near went there myself. Chants of “state school” never seemed appropriate during football games, especially when said state school was kicking our ass.
Michigan fans aren’t total self-conscious dicks like some other fans I could mention. They have enough self-respect to refrain from shouting their team colors back and forth to one another. Michigan fans have pride and respect and a tradition of winning that I would kill Willie the Wildcat for in a heartbeat. Just once I want to know the feeling of going to a school that has achieved what is becoming increasingly impossible in modern collegiate athletics: fielding a superior team without sacrificing morality or intellect.
Reggie Hearn just found out about the Keg.
But God how this hurts. How can you go from a tied overtime game to a brutal twelve-point loss in five minutes, approximately the same amount of time it takes me to realize that I will never be able to spell David Sobolewski’s name from memory? How can you give up three three-pointers in a row? And how can the hopes of finally reaching the greatest tournament on Earth be dashed so quickly to the frigid Evanston ground?
Every fan I talk to would rather go to the NCAA Tournament than win a bowl game. Fuck the NIT. Fuck the Little Caesars Bowl. Fuck you Stu, for hitting the nerve of Northwestern athletic insecurity.
The 10 sets of cardboard eyes look on, as impotent as the real Shurna to keep the fans from leaving the bleachers.
It’s hard to be a Northwestern fan, knowing that your team will never achieve the dominance or respect that other schools take for granted. But just once I want to know what it feels like to make history for something other than our infinite capacity to disappoint.
The embarrassment and shame is almost as bad as the defeat itself. As one student put it,
“Every time we lose, I feel like I have to answer to my Dad.”
And that’s a feeling that’s almost as heartbreaking as the prospect of returning home to write a paper on the transnational dimensions of global protest in 1968. Oh well. How many tournament appearances does U of C have?
——————————————————————————————————————————
*The key to success? Hour upon hemorrhoid-inducing hour spent on the toilet perfecting my craft. And by “craft,” I mean “BrickBreaker,” of course…
**Coincidence? I think not.
***I swear that if Bracketology was offered as an adjunct major at Northwestern, about a third of the students would take it and the rest would just assume “bracketology” is an obscure offshoot of the larger field of herpetology.
****Currently of the “I got replaced by Jeremy Lin” fame. Apparently karma does not favor me when it comes to basketball.
Tags: 'Cats, 1900 career points, 31-24, Adele, Adolf Hitler, assmunch, at-large bid, athletics, awry, basketball, Billy McKinny, bonus, bracketology, BrickBreaker, Bubble, Burke, cardboard, career scoring record, cohesive group identity, cohort, collegiate athletics, court-rushing, crappy vodka, crying, Curletti, David Sobolewski, Drunk Sex, fans, football games, foul, Fuck you Stu, game, game theory, Gingrich, group mentality, halftime, Hardaway Jr., hate Michigan, hearing loss, Hearn, hemorrhoid, herpetology, high school, high score, homework, Iman Shumpert, intellect, Jeremy Lin, John Shurna, layup, Little Caesars Bowl, Michigan, Michigan alums, Michigan State, Minnesota, morality, must-win, NCAA Tournament, Neville Chamberlain, NIT, Northwestern, Northwestern University, NU, Ohio State, OPRF, paper, pledge wife, purple, rebounds, rec league, Reggie Hearn, Ross Packingham, sex-toy demonstration, Shurnout, Sir Twattingworht, slutmonkey, Sobolewski, Sporting events, spring, state school, Stefan Demos, Stu Douglass, student section, t-shirt, team colors, That gym's pretty small and it doesn't get too loud, The Keg, three pointers, transnational dimensions of global protest in 1968, U of C, University of Michigan, Vogrich, Welsh-Ryan, West Suburban Silver Conferance, Wildcats, wolverines, wondrous sensation, zebrafucker
7 Things You Miss About Being at Northwestern
14 DecRight now you’re probably sitting at home and staring at Facebook. You’re probably praying to the Almighty Tim Tebow that your life becomes more exciting. You miss Northwestern and you know it. Here are some of the likely reasons why you’re missing NU.
You don't understand. It's hot cookie bar.
Now I’m going to be honest here: I don’t like cold weather. I’m not a fan of my boys retreating back into my body like the French during, well, any war ever. However, now that I’m away from the freezing helltrap known as Northwestern, I realize I do miss the cold. “Why?” You may ask. Well, to answer your question, Mr. Theoretical Man Who Talks to his Computer, the frozen domain known as Evanston provides us with two things: 1. The appearance of social skills; and 2. The chance to whine incessantly. Because nobody likes the cold, the vast majority of your conversations at Northwestern may be about how fucking cold it is – and though it would be unacceptable anywhere else to spend so much time talking about the weather, it’s okay here. Also, the biting cold lets you complain and swear as much as you want. Hell, if you wanted, you could walk outside and scream “Fucking Shit Bitch Damnit!” and have a simple “man it’s cold out” excuse to forgive your horrible language.
6. The Dorm Food
We’ve all got a secret fat person hiding inside of us (mine’s Israel Kamakawiwo’ole). When you’re home in front of your family, you must hide this fat person for fear of terrifying your parents and siblings; however, in the dining halls of Northwestern, you can let that fat person run wild. With chicken tenders every day, grilled cheese always on the menu, and ice cream galore, you can indulge your disgusting gluttonous desires each and every day at Northwestern (not to be confused with your other awful desires).
5. The Classes
You’re at Northwestern – embrace your inner geek. You love that you’re struggling to get a C in Orgo. You want to discuss Nietzsche every day. And each time you go to Russian Lit, Morson gives you a mini orgasm. You’re at Northwestern for a reason, and that reason likely isn’t your amazing rapping prowess…we can’t all be Chet Haze.
4. Gratuitous Hook-Ups
You’re disgusting. I mean, you are a sick group of horny little nerds. But that’s okay – it’s part of why we love you. However, since you’re no longer at Northwestern, your game probably isn’t doing quite as well as normal. Saying “I wish I was DNA Helicase, that way I could unzip your jeans” just probably isn’t flying with that General Studies major from the University of Wisconsin-Whitewater the way it worked with that “cute” girl from your bioethics class. I know you’re trying to convince yourself that your “self-help” is just as good as any vodka-induced adventures you’ve had at NU, but you know it’s just not the same.
You don't even want to see the stock-image for "self-gratification"
Do you want to know how many times I’ve wanted to make a comment about fucksaws and masturbating in the showers in the three days I’ve been home? A LOT. Do you know how many times I haven’t been able to? TOO FUCKING MANY. And do you know how often I’ve accidentally mentioned self-gratification in front of MY MOTHER? Once….AND THAT’S ONE TIME TOO MANY. Without being able to talk about fucksaws, waxing the dolphin, or the cold weather – I HAVE NOTHING TO TALK ABOUT ANYMORE. Since coming home, I feel like I may have to learn how to converse like a normal human being again, and I’m not ready to do that – and you probably aren’t either.
2. The Diversity of Thought
Unless you’re Rick Perry (in which case, please kindly go die in the most painful way possible), you’re probably a fan of tolerance and diversity. Northwestern provides more diversity of thought and belief than any place within 500 miles of my hometown. Though you may be fortunate enough to live in a place with rational people, the only thing my state has chosen to move forward on is reviving Pre-Civil War era policies. I appreciate Northwestern so much for how accepting it is of all people, and it’s something that you should miss and cherish as well.
1. Your Friends
I’m sure you have a ton of great friends back home. I’m grateful every day for the fantastic people I know in my hometown. But that being said, I still miss the hell out of everyone at Northwestern. Only at Northwestern will you have friends that are stumbling outside the Keg one day and then intensely developing a Chemical Engineering program the next. Your friends at NU are always there to help you stand up, and they’re certainly there when you’re falling down (you alcoholic, you). These are some of the best, most ridiculous people you will ever meet – and you’re probably suffering a little every moment you’re away from them.
There are so many reasons why you think you hate Northwestern, but you know you love and miss it there. So tough it out NU. You can make it. Soon enough you’ll be back at school just in time to freeze and die with the best student body on the planet.
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