The Saddest Story of the Spring Semester

Well, folks, the experiment is over. Until next fall, of course.

This semester was the highly anticipated inaugural season of what was supposed to be the world’s finest Slow Pitch Coed Intramural Softball team. We all had high expectations, that’s for sure. But, somehow, things went terribly, terribly wrong.

We did not win a game all year. We had been outscored by as much as 19-3. I forsook my catcherly duties by throwing the ball into right field when I was trying to throw to first base. But somehow, the Gods of intramural fate smiled down upon the disappointing Red Devil Gators by helping us to recruit some great infielders. Our luck did not end there. Despite having not won a game all season and finishing the year with four devastating losses, we were granted a playoff birth by way of the wonderful caveat that you had to literally sign up for postseason play.

There we were, without three of our best hitters in both Mikes and Stephanie. I played catcher while Angus braved the entire game, pitching the best he has ever hurled. Tim, Bonnie, Dhyana, and Heather took to the outfield. And around the horn we had Katie, Greg, James, and Bryce. It didn’t look good for our seasoned veterans, as we had to play Ad Society, a team with a heavy-hitting lineup of right handed monsters.

But we held our own. We batted first, which is likely what led to our demise; after each of our half innings, we were leading our foes. It was just that last inning when we couldn’t hold the lead. Angus pitched beautifully. The infield was a well-oiled machine that, had the umpires not been completely ridiculous in the way they called plays at first base, could chew up and spit out any opponent. The outfield played far better than I had expected, making use of the concept of a cutoff man better than they had all season. All in all, it was the greatest game we had ever played as a team; unfortunately, we were one run short of glory.

So, here’s to those warriors, those lonesome losers, those Red Devil Gators.

Just wait until next year.

Teacher's Pets

Holy God. I can’t take it any more. Listen to me, political science majors. Listen well.

NOBODY CARES WHAT YOU THINK ABOUT ANYTHING.

Okay, perhaps a bit harsh. But well-founded. Let me explain.

I am, for some reason, a political science major. I hold no fervent opinions either way on the political spectrum, nor do I engage in hardcore analytical thinking outside of copying notes that some overly-paid professor puts on a PowerPoint slide during lecture. For the other 165 hours each week, I’m a normal person: I sleep, I eat, I watch cartoons. I do not care about the woeful state of international relations, and I do not care about the world around me. As long as I have my Chef Boyardee, my Cartoon Network, and no place to go, I’m content.

But political science majors, they’re a different breed. While other kids go to the movies, they stay at home and watch their Tivoed copy of the State of the Union address. While other kids eat pizza, they refuse to stoop to such a level of ignorance while they munch on their ever-delicious tofu and meatless meat loaf. And while other kids just want to leave a class that has been held over for five minutes due to a long-winded professor who just wants to enlighten folks on the troubles of the country of Latvia, they all raise their hands in unison to make a myriad of “relevant” statements that do nothing more than show all of the normal-minded folks in the world of their intellect and superiority.

Seriously. Let me leave. I have some hedonism to get to.

Creep Out!

During my long and wholly unnecessary absence from the wonderful world of the Internet, I have been acclimating myself to the strange and new world we call college: new people, new experiences, and best of all, a football team upon which I can fall back now that my beloved Buccaneers are officially worse at football than my dead grandmother.

But I digress.

There is a certain order in which people enter into one of my lectures every day. Now, this is a lecture of over 300 students, so you can probably consider it creepy that I single out these three girls. And so be it; if you don’t know by now that I am a creepy individual, there’s something wrong with you.

First, there’s Blonde Girl Who Waddles. She gives me Paris Hilton vibes. She comes in the door closest to me and literally waddles down the aisle like a penguin. She sits in about the third row. I only mention her first because she came in first last class. When she comes in, I’ve noticed, is largely a product of how much she cared to use makeup before class. If she comes in early, she is weathered, sleepy, and grumpy. If she decides to use makeup, she comes in about 10 minutes after class has started, much to the chagrin of the professor. Either way, I’ll still always love BGWW.

Next comes Girl Who Enunciates. She sits one row ahead of me and to my left. I have never actually heard her speak, but the way she trims her eyebrows and what I gather from lip reading tells me that she needn’t ever repeat herself because she takes special care to pronounce each syllable with as much accuracy and definition as possible. I respect her for this.

And last but certainly not least is Sport. I call her Sport because she has lips that resemble Gregory Smith’s in his role as Sport in Harriet the Spy. I’m not saying that she looks like a boy or anything – in fact, she is a good looking girl. Her lips just stick out like that. She computes on her iBook every day in class, mostly using Facebook. She recently changed her desktop wallpaper, which is a good thing because I’ve been of the opinion for about two months prior that she should change it.

Anyhow, now that I’ve completely mortified any girls with whom I might ever come into contact for fear of such opinions, I will leave the final judgment of my creepiness to you, the benevolent public.

I don't dig his digs

I know. I know. I haven’t been markedly ambitious in the writing department during the last month. But look: I’m a busy man. Of course, by “busy” I mean “lazy.” And by “man” I mean “college student.” But hey, tom-ay-to, tom-ah-to.

However, jammed between days of simply fantastic college football and absolutely putrid professional football are days where the unthinkable happens: I go to class.

Now, I’m a Political Science major this week. As such, I get to go to such wonderfully interesting classes as State and Local Government (taught by a professor that I think I could beat up) and American Federal Government. Now, the guy who teaches the latter is really, really smart. And I respect that. But what I don’t appreciate is his attire.

Every day, this professor shows up in shorts, sandals, and a t-shirt which customarily boasts clever little sayings about his (extremely rightist) views on politics. Maybe it’s just me, but it seems that if I were given the opportunity to make a copious amount of money each year for enlightening more future politicians (because, as everyone knows, we need more politicians), I would take the time to, you know, put on a tie. Or at least a collared shirt.

College Daze

Boy, does college look great.

I went to preview last week to register for my classes and to get the obligatory don’t-do-drugs-or-drink-because-you-will-die speeches. I had to pick a major. I think that’ll prove to be the hardest part of college.

I finally picked a beginning major of political science. Yeah, I know: everybody and their mother takes political science. And, you know, the world always needs more politicians. But I figure that someday I might be able to declare a dual major or a minor or get a certificate in Public Affairs or something of that sort. And then, who knows? Maybe I’ll go to the state and volunteer to take up teaching. God knows that we need fewer morons in front of the class, and the benefits of free coffee and summers off intrigue me.

But the best part? Well, I’m taking 12 credit hours of classes during the first semester, which is the bare minimum to be a full time student, which is the only way I can live the next few years of my life off of the benevolent taxpayers of the state of Florida. I conveniently scheduled my classes such that two of the four courses I take are solely internet-based courses. And the other two, American Federal Government and U.S. History to 1877, will take up a mere seven hours of my week: three hours on Monday and Wednesday, and only one hour on Thursday.

What ever will I do with myself?

Movin' on up

For the last couple of weeks, I’ve been getting all of my ducks of higher education in a row: my mascot scholarship from the Florida Marlins and the Florida State Baseball Association, my application to the University of Florida, my early decision contract to UF, my application for on-campus housing, and my letters of recommendation.

And I’ve decided that even though I really enjoy the rigidity and simplicity of the high school routine, I am really, really looking forward to college.

2020

Having officially proven my worth as a mediocre gifted student with my 2020 on the new SAT, I’ve decided that I’m not going to apply to, say, Harvard. Or Yale. Yale’s out, too.

It’s great to be a Florida Gator…