MBHORNSFAN
The Orange Report
- Joined
- Aug 11, 2011
- Messages
- 5,943
This is circulating the interwebs
Dear Longhorns:
Greetings. We wanted to take this opportunity to introduce ourselves and express
our excitement over the upcoming football game. Now let us dispense with the
pleasantries.
We're reasonable fans, patient individuals. We can abide most anything. When
each year you send your borderline illiterate spawn, too stupid for admission to
UT, to Oxford to spend daddy's money while driving daddy's truck and sporting
their Texas flags and Texas belt buckles and rooting for UT and making sure
everyone knows they are FROM TEXAS BY GOD AND EVERYTHING IS BIGGER AND BETTER
IN TEXAS, we gladly cash your checks and then go about segregating them into
the more obscure fraternities and sororities and other irrelevant social
organizations.
When you inundated our fine city last year with your gaudy burnt orange
apparel, your ridiculous cowboy hats, your second-rate actors and women, we
smiled and politely offered you our cold chicken tenders and backup bourbon and
pretended to enjoy your company. When you relegated our upcoming game to your
irrelevant and fledgling Longhorn Network, thereby destroying the only
incentive we had to schedule you in the first place (national exposure), we
complained for a little while before ensuring we would still be able to watch
the game.
But now you've gone too far. This we cannot abide, so let's get this straight right
now: You do not shit the bed. WE shit the bed. Read that again. Repeat it. Tell
it to your friends. We scoff at your pedestrian attempts at bed shitting. So
you got blown out by BYU. Well bully for you. Now you think you get to run
around whining, lamenting the fact it's been eight years since your last
national championship and predicting a loss Saturday and calling your program a
dumpster fire, a bed-shitter? On behalf of legitimate bed-shitting programs
everywhere: How dare you.
Take it from us. We know a thing or two about shitting the bed. We're
recognized far and wide as experts on the subject. If there is one constant,
one universal guiding principle of Ole Miss athletics over the past 50 years,
it is this:
Just when the stars appear to be aligning, just when we begin to hesitantly
lower our defensive shields of cynicism which we have carefully cultivated over
many years of bitter disappointment and unfulfilled expectations, just as we
begin to hope against hope that maybe, just maybe, things will be different
this year, that perhaps this will be the year the sports gods smile upon us, it
is exactly then that we drop a malodorous, festering poop diaper of epic
proportions, the kind that overwhelms the flimsy little elastic barrier as a
river of foul excrement merrily rushes forth, leaving behind a shocked and
poop-stained populace.
You want to talk about shitting the bed? Please. There was a time when the
sports gods had the decency to crush our hopes with new and exciting methods of
unforeseen misery, but lately they've become so very boring, so predictable.
Perhaps you were surprised when you lost to BYU in such embarrassing fashion.
We were not. It is all part of the set up: "Texas gets trounced by BYU and now
a feisty 2-0 Ole Miss team which has just entered the rankings for the first
time since 2009 (that's right, 2009) travels to Austin for a winnable game
against a prestigious but vulnerable program in the midst of a coaching
controversy with an inept defense and a new (but still shitty) defensive
coordinator and an angry fan base." We're supposed to be getting our hopes up
right now, but we're old hands at this. We know how this movie ends.
Our history of epic collapses is so ingrained in our athletic culture that we
have a four-letter motto which neatly summarizes our perpetual bed-shitting
propensity: WAOM. We Are Ole Miss. This is neither a rally cry nor an
expression of optimistic solidarity; it is a sad and collective acquiescence to
our fate, that we are Ole Miss, so whatever collapse we've just endured should
have been expected; best gird yourselves for the next one.
So say it with me now: Ole Miss will shit the bed Saturday. We do not know the
precise method of our downfall, but rest assured that the bed will be shat. The
conventional wisdom among more rational Ole Miss fans is that Bo Wallace will
throw between four and seven interceptions in the first half before his
surgically repaired rotator cuff implodes and he's replaced by Barry Brunetti,
who will promptly begin pitching forward laterals directly to your fastest
defenders before stepping aside gallantly like a torero facing an oncoming
bull, while Ash/McCoy lights up our defense, turning in the highwater
performance of his otherwise mediocre career. Our offense will sputter, our
play calling will be nonsensical, our defense will look like, well, like it did
last year, our best players will get injured, etc. We know the drill.
Remember this prophesy Saturday night as the clock ticks down to zero and
you're smiling down upon the field and your newly revived football season,
wondering how it all came to pass. Your lackluster attempts at bed-shitting are
embarrassing, you bunch of wannabe cowboy, faux-hippie, bed-shitting amateurs.
Prepare to see the real deal. We shit beds like you for breakfast.
Sincerely,
WAOM
Dear Longhorns:
Greetings. We wanted to take this opportunity to introduce ourselves and express
our excitement over the upcoming football game. Now let us dispense with the
pleasantries.
We're reasonable fans, patient individuals. We can abide most anything. When
each year you send your borderline illiterate spawn, too stupid for admission to
UT, to Oxford to spend daddy's money while driving daddy's truck and sporting
their Texas flags and Texas belt buckles and rooting for UT and making sure
everyone knows they are FROM TEXAS BY GOD AND EVERYTHING IS BIGGER AND BETTER
IN TEXAS, we gladly cash your checks and then go about segregating them into
the more obscure fraternities and sororities and other irrelevant social
organizations.
When you inundated our fine city last year with your gaudy burnt orange
apparel, your ridiculous cowboy hats, your second-rate actors and women, we
smiled and politely offered you our cold chicken tenders and backup bourbon and
pretended to enjoy your company. When you relegated our upcoming game to your
irrelevant and fledgling Longhorn Network, thereby destroying the only
incentive we had to schedule you in the first place (national exposure), we
complained for a little while before ensuring we would still be able to watch
the game.
But now you've gone too far. This we cannot abide, so let's get this straight right
now: You do not shit the bed. WE shit the bed. Read that again. Repeat it. Tell
it to your friends. We scoff at your pedestrian attempts at bed shitting. So
you got blown out by BYU. Well bully for you. Now you think you get to run
around whining, lamenting the fact it's been eight years since your last
national championship and predicting a loss Saturday and calling your program a
dumpster fire, a bed-shitter? On behalf of legitimate bed-shitting programs
everywhere: How dare you.
Take it from us. We know a thing or two about shitting the bed. We're
recognized far and wide as experts on the subject. If there is one constant,
one universal guiding principle of Ole Miss athletics over the past 50 years,
it is this:
Just when the stars appear to be aligning, just when we begin to hesitantly
lower our defensive shields of cynicism which we have carefully cultivated over
many years of bitter disappointment and unfulfilled expectations, just as we
begin to hope against hope that maybe, just maybe, things will be different
this year, that perhaps this will be the year the sports gods smile upon us, it
is exactly then that we drop a malodorous, festering poop diaper of epic
proportions, the kind that overwhelms the flimsy little elastic barrier as a
river of foul excrement merrily rushes forth, leaving behind a shocked and
poop-stained populace.
You want to talk about shitting the bed? Please. There was a time when the
sports gods had the decency to crush our hopes with new and exciting methods of
unforeseen misery, but lately they've become so very boring, so predictable.
Perhaps you were surprised when you lost to BYU in such embarrassing fashion.
We were not. It is all part of the set up: "Texas gets trounced by BYU and now
a feisty 2-0 Ole Miss team which has just entered the rankings for the first
time since 2009 (that's right, 2009) travels to Austin for a winnable game
against a prestigious but vulnerable program in the midst of a coaching
controversy with an inept defense and a new (but still shitty) defensive
coordinator and an angry fan base." We're supposed to be getting our hopes up
right now, but we're old hands at this. We know how this movie ends.
Our history of epic collapses is so ingrained in our athletic culture that we
have a four-letter motto which neatly summarizes our perpetual bed-shitting
propensity: WAOM. We Are Ole Miss. This is neither a rally cry nor an
expression of optimistic solidarity; it is a sad and collective acquiescence to
our fate, that we are Ole Miss, so whatever collapse we've just endured should
have been expected; best gird yourselves for the next one.
So say it with me now: Ole Miss will shit the bed Saturday. We do not know the
precise method of our downfall, but rest assured that the bed will be shat. The
conventional wisdom among more rational Ole Miss fans is that Bo Wallace will
throw between four and seven interceptions in the first half before his
surgically repaired rotator cuff implodes and he's replaced by Barry Brunetti,
who will promptly begin pitching forward laterals directly to your fastest
defenders before stepping aside gallantly like a torero facing an oncoming
bull, while Ash/McCoy lights up our defense, turning in the highwater
performance of his otherwise mediocre career. Our offense will sputter, our
play calling will be nonsensical, our defense will look like, well, like it did
last year, our best players will get injured, etc. We know the drill.
Remember this prophesy Saturday night as the clock ticks down to zero and
you're smiling down upon the field and your newly revived football season,
wondering how it all came to pass. Your lackluster attempts at bed-shitting are
embarrassing, you bunch of wannabe cowboy, faux-hippie, bed-shitting amateurs.
Prepare to see the real deal. We shit beds like you for breakfast.
Sincerely,
WAOM
