Wednesday, November 24, 2010

I got yer "class" right here

by Tracer Bullet

Let's talk about class, shall we?

The sporting world has been abuzz with the word class lately. With Wisconsin laying a beatdown for the ages on Indiana, there were those who accused Wisconsin head coach Bret Bielema of lacking class because his team was still throwing the ball late with a 63 point lead.

Those accusations echoed earlier complaints because the Badgers attempted, and made, a two-point conversion against the hapless Minnesota Golden Gophers in a game that finished 41-23.

Philadelphia Eagles head coach Andy Reid faced similar catcalls because the Birds were still throwing the ball and blitzing the Washington Redskins late in a game that ended 59-28.

Every year, we get a certain number of blowouts and like clockwork, someone is accused of being classless.

Let me tell you what I think about "class," class go suck a, well, Shooter won't let me curse, so let me say that class can go suck a bag of over-warmed phalluses.

"Classless" is the cry of the loser, the whine of the defeated. "Stop punching me in the face." You want me to stop punching you? Put your damned hands up and fight back, damn you. Or admit defeat, surrender and take your beating like a man. A small, puny man with thin arms and little pride.

Now, as an Eagles fan, I'm used to being accused of being classless. In fact, I got into an argument about that very thing on one of my favorite Eagles blogs.

We were laughing at Manningface, one of the greatest gifts ever given NFL fans and a commentor said we should stop. "My friends accuse Eagles fans of being classless," he said. "They say we take pleasure in the suffering of others. Stooooooop."

Now, it seems the answer to this problem is obvious: Get new friends. The other almost as obvious answer is to tell your friends to perform an anatomically impossible act and then die in a fire. The least likely solution is to stop laughing at Manningface. I'd sooner stop laughing at children falling down than give up Manningface.

Should one strive to emulate fans in Los Angeles who arrive late to Dodger games and leave early? Or perhaps fans at the University of Michigan where they look askance at those who would cheer too loudly? Mayhap one should look to Atlanta where fans . . . are mostly theoretical.

No, if you root for the wrong team, I want you to suffer. I want to enjoy your suffering. You could have been an Eagles fan; you knowingly and willfully made poor life choices and I feel no pity for you. I will sup the tears of your infinite sadness, Scott Tenorman, and I will enjoy every second of it.

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