The Great Hate

This is the best week of the year for clingy girlfriends and clingy underwear. For the next seven days, my hatred for everyday peeves such as those above is forgotten and consolidated into one monster force, dedicated to hating one thing, and one thing only:

The U of U football team.

Yes, I hate things that cling. I hate salad dressing. I hate slow-walkers. But there exists no person, place, or thing that I hate more than the U of U football team.

My works are a direct reflection of my feelings toward the U. In 2003, due to low crowd attendance, the U gave away free tickets for a home game against Cal. I obtained five of these tickets, ripped them to shreds, and deposited them were they belonged: in the urinals on the 2nd floor of Granger High School.

One time I was offered a chance to work concessions at the U of U. I rejoiced at the opportunity to penetrate enemy territory. Did I wear a blue shirt into the stadium? Did I happily tell a drunken old man that BYU was indeed winning their game miles away in Provo? Did I purposely spill ketchup on the stadium floor and not clean it up? Yes, yes, yes.

I've eaten U of U sponsored ice cream just so I can claim to have pooped out Utah merchandise. I have spread my hate for Ute football on an international level (Chile, Uruguay). I have beaten a Utah fan with an empty Sobe bottle (Forgive me Bunna).

Nine weeks ago I claimed on this very blog that I wanted the Utes to succeed this year so that BYU's victory over them would be all the sweeter (For The Greater Good). I lied to both of us with those words.I am not capable of cheering for the U. It's impossible. Wanting the U to win is equal to voting for gay marriage; not only is it unnatural, it also goes against God's will (Coincidentally, the picture above tells what the Utes think about Proposition 8). I've cheered for the Utes to lose in every game I've ever watched them play. The trend continued this year, as it will til I die.

So, for seven days my hatred will run uninhibited. For seven days I will focus my superstitious powers into willing BYU to victory. For seven days I will scan the internet in search of ways to mock the Utes.

Am I irrational? A nutjob? Bias? Superstitious?

Of course I am. There's no other way to define 'fan', is there?

Ryan Pearson, The Man

The impenetrable hair. The brisk gait. The lack of a cellphone. I would've recognized this silhouette anywhere, anytime, under any condition. It was Ryan Pearson.

He had returned.

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I've known Ryan Pearson since 7th grade and if I knew him at all I would introduce you to him. Having been around him for 10 years, however, has shed no light on who this person is. I don't know him. You don't know him. All I can tell you is that it is worth it to try and know him. His three year disappearance was painful for everyone; we rejoiced at his return. His stats show that the entertainment he provides is unmatched. I present his stats for your consideration.

Stats on Pearson

-Trampled most beutiful girl in high school in order to be first in line for lunch.

-Stole a sick mans lunch.

-Won the Granger PE award for superior hustle in 11th grade.

-Misspelled his last name on AP test; Pearson thus became Pearspn.

-Had his teeth knocked out by a Muslim.

-Prayed for a man to die.

-Unintentionally charmed a black hippy into falling in love with him.

-Wouldn't mind if his roommate climbed into bed with him (Direct quote from Pearson).

-Hates his family.

-Hates white people.

-Claimed to be black.

-Denied claim after being flipped off by several black persons at the USU-BYU game.

-Currently claims to be Mexican.



Fuse those stats with the following picture and you can begin to form an idea of who this Pearspn character is. Still, nobody will ever know the real Pearspn. The closest anyone will come to ever understanding why he says what he says, or why he does what he does will be his wife. But don't hold your breath waiting for that lucky girl to walk into his life.

Last I knew the church doesn't allow human-dog marriages.