Unrelated Cautionary Bachelor Party Tale Warning Sign For Sarkisian?

Yesterday, I called out the media’s treatment of USC head football coach Steve Sarkisian, especially the LA Times. I accused them of making ludicrous analogies, fanning a smoldering cigarette butt and tossing it in some dry Santa Monica Mountain brush in hopes of finding some fire.

I was making a case for accurate reporting, not click bait. It’s fair to say we had a coach drink and mix meds at a private event and then swear. Not a great thing by any standards, but we’re not forfeiting scholarships over it.

Not only did the LA Times ignore the post (and facts in general), but this morning my readers were tweeting me this gem:

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So, I figured this would be a comparison of all coaches who ever got into trouble with substances. Nope. More citing the same old stuff.

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So, extrapolate this excerpt. Translated, it says “even though people who know more about the subject than the writer feel the Sark incident was minor, let’s compare what happened anyway to one coach who crashed his car drunk on the way to catch a flight with his team to a game and another coach who got so drunk he fought a police officer.”

Dude.

Then this pile of dung wafted some really enlightening knowledge:

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So… Again. Translated “even though this incident has not affected his performance in any way, if at any point he makes a play call fans don’t agree with like every coach ever does, fans will be questioning his coaching ability.” Pete Carroll wasn’t accused of being drunk on the field in the Super Bowl, and guess what, everyone questioned his play calling. BECAUSE FANS AND ANALYSTS QUESTION PLAY CALLING.

Kinda like I’m questioning your journalism, LA Times.

So, to make my point, I’m going to write a post inside this post that I think the LA Times should publish because it’s about as relevant to the actual events that transpired as the last eight articles we were treated to.

Here we go…

Unrelated Cautionary Bachelor Party Tale Warning Sign For Sarkisian?
by Zack Jerome, Incredible Journalist and Alcohol Expert

An undisclosed USC student attended his older brother’s bachelor party in Las Vegas last weekend and despite being of legal drinking age, the results could have massive ramifications for the USC Trojans and embattled, potential-alcoholic head coach Steven Sarkisian.

Actor Nicholas Cage buying a shopping cart full of hard liquor in the film Leaving Los Vegas, potentially the film that inspired Sarkisian's potential alcoholism and also the location for the bachelor party referenced in this article.

Actor Nicolas Cage buying a shopping cart full of hard liquor in the film Leaving Las Vegas, potentially the film that inspired Sarkisian’s potential alcoholism and also the location for the bachelor party referenced in this article.

The student in question attended a “kick-off dinner” perhaps based on destructive cinema like “The Hangover” and “The Hangover Part Two” where drinking in excess is not only tolerated, it’s glorified despite its obvious dangers. Ticket stubs reveal that Steve Sarkisian has seen all three Hangover films, though we can’t be sure if this in anyway contributed to his potential alcoholism or his recent divorce that may or may not be related to his potential drinking and/or the disappointment of how underwhelming The Hangover Three was as a film.

At this “kick-off dinner” the undisclosed student and the other ten attendees racked up a whopping 1,000 dollar bar tab ordering various kinds of alcohols including tequila, whiskey and beer. A witness described the beer as “hoppy, probably an IPA or XPA,” but couldn’t confirm that fact.

IPA, as beer experts claim, is short for “India Pale Ale”– a callback to the spice trading days when sailors worried their spice bounty would go bad and opted to dump them in their beer barrels creating the much-beloved brew. It’s unknown if Steve Sarkisian drinks IPA (or XPA), but if he does, one might question if he plans to adopt the policies of the British East India Company, who were famous for draconian measures to dominate trade and a heavy reliance on controlling maritime operations in the region.

Cartoon depicting the imperialistic ambitions of the British Empire and the East India Company, a potential model for Sarkisian's 2015 USC playbook. Most disagree and feel that focusing solely on Pac 12 South opponents is a better strategy than England's failed attempts to have a global economic empire.

Cartoon depicting the imperialistic ambitions of the British Empire and the East India Company, a potential model for Sarkisian’s 2015 USC playbook. Most disagree and feel that focusing solely on Pac 12 South opponents is a better strategy than England’s failed attempts to have a global economic empire.

If this potential affinity for the policies of the East India Company translates to playcalling, Sarkisian could find himself at odds with USC boosters and fans as most feel the running and passing elements of playcalling are superior to the maritime ones, likely because there is no water element on a football field.

Math shows us that the bar-tab translated to around 5 drinks per person at the bachelor party’s kick off event, a quantity considered medium to low consumption for this type of event, but sources familiar to math in general have pointed out that since we can’t be sure which attendees drank which drinks, it’s possible the USC student drank all the beverages provided, which would put his count well over the 40 drink maximum which Las Vegas zoologist Frank Timmelson states is a “safe guesstimate for the consumption required to give an elephant alcohol poisoning.”

Nicolas Cage in Leaving Las Vegas potentially foreshadowing the condition Sarkisian woke up in following the Salute to Troy event that potentially proved he was an alcoholic.

Nicolas Cage in Leaving Las Vegas potentially foreshadowing the condition Sarkisian woke up in following the Salute to Troy event that potentially proved he was an alcoholic.

The elephant, of course, is the political mascot for the Republican Party and there’s potential Sarkisian votes GOP, which could alienate some key boosters, but also pander to others. This political leaning could turn into a scandal that could affect not only his concentration, but his potential intensive rehab from his potential drinking problem. The results on the field for USC could be catastrophic, though some experts say they could have no affect at all.

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Actor Nicolas Cage being murdered by a mask filled with angry bees from the film Wicker Man potentially showing the pain Sarkisian feels inside or the turmoil his players feel knowing their coach said the F word at a private event potentially because of alcoholism and prescription drug abuse.

The student declined to comment on the portion of the bachelor party where a strip club was involved, but twerking expert and UCLA Professor Thomas Synderiche warns, “Strip clubs arouse not just your senses, but also your sense of what’s normal sexually. Frequenting strip clubs creates unrealistic expectations of your domestic partner or spouse, often leading to breakdowns in communication and eventually divorce.” Sarkisian filed for divorce this spring.

The student made it back to USC safely and felt, “excited for a new chapter in his brother’s life and, hopefully, some nieces and nephews.” Whether Sarkisian will be able to move forward and start a new chapter at USC remains to be seen.

FACEPALM.

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Go Home LA Media, You’re Drunker Than You Claim Sark Was.

I shouldn’t even write this because it’s contributing another piece of writing to #drunkgate or the Ballad of Cutty Sark or as I’m calling it, the most overblown story in history. The story that’s proof media relations training doesn’t matter, because the media will make mountains of molehills no matter what. And molehills of the sand that’s in your shoes after a day at the beach.

Make no mistake, the kind of sports coverage we get is indicative of the newspaper game’s impending downfall. It was a business created to provide news and commentary in a time when your best source was an environmentally unconscious daily tree murder dropped on your door by dancing broadway kids, one of whom should probably be Future Batman:

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Within a couple days, TMZ became a source for real papers like the LA Times and then other papers that take the Pareto principle leftovers from the LA Times (yikes, hope those folks have been investing in their 401ks).

So let’s be clear what happened. Factually. And then let’s look at how our top newspaper covered #drunkgate (sorry LA Times, you aren’t the only offender, but you are the only nationally known paper in town, so you have to play cadaver here, but no one told you to die, so it’s for #science).

Steve Sarkisian allegedly took a combination of prescription meds and some quantity of alcohol together, or he simply drank too much.

Steve Sarkisian swore, spoke ill of opponents and generally came off intoxicated at a private booster event.

Steve Sarkisian was pulled off the stage by Pat Haden who condemned the display.

Steve Sarkisian apologized and said he’d pursue treatment to find out if he had a drinking problem.

Steve Sarkisian went back to coaching football without further punishment.

So that’s what happened. Check out what the LA Times headlines painted this as:

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OK. That’s accurate sounding. This is typically where the story could end. But no. We have to sell dead trees in a drought.

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There’s Plaschke’s genius piece. I know he’s a columnist so he can say what he wants, but this is like me saying “If Plaschke’s Downtrend From Writer of Feel Good Sports Stories to Writer of Speculative Click Bait Continues, He’ll End Up at Buzzfeed Showing America 25 Animated Gifs of Football Mascots You Have to See to Believe!”

Bill is better than that. 

But what are we saying when we say “if an isolated incident becomes a destructive behavior, that’s bad”?

We’re saying “if this kitchen fire burns uncontrollably and eventually destroys all of California, that’s something to worry about.” 

We’re saying “if forgetting things turns into Alzheimer’s, that could be catastrophic for your memory.”

There’s causal and there’s corollary. Could there be a corollary between being drunk in public and having a problem later? Sure. Is it for sure causal? Nope. Does it sell more papers than a corollary about people who apologize and take full responsibility having a greater chance of bringing a team together? Absolutely.

If you’ve ever driven your car after more than two drinks, ever said something nasty to a friend or lover after one too many, you are Sark. Only the media wouldn’t cover that. Does that come with the territory? Sure it does. Being the USC football coach is a big deal and people care. But they don’t care much as evidenced by this web 1.0 style poll intended to generate clicks that one day will grow up to be loose corollaries to advertisers to sell media.

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At the time of writing this, there were just over 4800 people who participated. That’s on a poll about football from a paper with a circulation of a little over a million on a Sunday (as far as I could tell, but the LA Times is currently being accused of padding their circulation which may or may not be a corollary to their impending demise, but don’t mind me, I’m just acting like an LA Times columnist).

I think if we’re playing corollary (and I love to), you can see the overwhelming favorite in their participation-light poll is “They should fire him.” We could say this is because the LA Times has more Bruin readers. We could say this is because it has older readers who find Sark deplorable because they missed the whole YOLO thing and didn’t care he was totes taking Uber home. Safe, bro.

If I were to guess though, we see 42.57% percent of this poll being negative towards Sark because a traditional media outlet trying to dabble in online publishing is going to follow their analytics. So when the angry masses give you marketable metrics to advertisers like CLICKS, you feed them right? But it comes at a cost. You get coverage that tries every hat on and then sticks with the one that looks the worst because it causes the biggest reaction.

This is why it’s painful to watch someone like the LA Times try to be Vice. They won’t. I’m writing this post (which will surely be read more than their poll was participated in when it’s all said and done) and I’m not doing it for money. I’m doing it because I feel like it and I’m giving it away for free. That’s a crap landscape for papers. That’s why we get click bate. Playboy went from being a pretty rockin’ blend of tips on how to be a dude who can make cocktails, anecdotes about politics and culture and also, well, pictures of naked women. Check out their social feed now. Yesterday it was something like 25 animated gifs of Jessica Alba. The worst part isn’t that we can’t say “I read it for the articles” anymore. It’s that we all actually want to click that link of Jessica Alba.

So since there was smoke, the Times had to look for fire.

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I assure you, these weren’t important. I didn’t even read the article. It might not have even been about this current press conference. But hey, it was right next to a link farm of other #drunkgate articles. Like this:

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Ok. And like this.

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Now, if you listened to the pep rally, Sarkisian wasn’t even saying he needed treatment or he had a drinking problem. He may on both counts, but the tenor of his speech was that he was open to having a real evaluation to find out. This headline sounds like he’s going to rehab, this is why he got divorced and THE SEASON IS RUINED.

Only it isn’t as evidenced by this article…

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And what follows is a fairly sane article about Cody Kessler and his leadership ability. About how he seemed pleased when he punished Sark with up/downs. About how the team is fine. I watched the interview. He was half-laughing. Because he’s a college student and he’s used to people being drunk and making mistakes. And then they go to class the next day and live their lives.

So the net of this #drunkgate flurry was:
Coach Sark is a wild drunk spiraling towards dooming a season
But Cody Kessler can lead this team
Even though it was under Sark’s new offense he had his breakout season
And the team isn’t as mad as the media
But the media says the team is somber.

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Sorry for the different photo format. I got hit by the LA Times pay wall because I tried to read five articles in a month. Said no one ever.

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Newsflash. Clear your cache. But they aren’t worth the time to do that or the 99 cents for ten more days. Unlimited access to back and forth froth about USC football? Perfect. I’ll just search #cuttysark on twitter.

But to be fair to the LA Times, like I mentioned earlier, this is EVERYONE. 24 hour media has us searching for smoke and not fire. Check out this Daily News article.

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Yeah. #19 is sitting there thinking, “how can I regain normalcy” – or maybe he’s just trying to read PASS or RUN. The Oregonian relished this as well because anything that slows USC’s obvious return to actual normalcy (Rose Bowls and top ten recruiting classes) is welcomed:

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Of course they are just citing the Seattle Times who is pissed he left despite what they will tell you about 7-win-Sark who won nine with half a team of scholarship players last year (and our fan base was still pissed). I love this article though. A business reimbursed their employees for a staff outing where alcohol was consumed?

GUYS IT’S CALLED HAPPY HOUR. Even UW is saying these were legitimate expenses.

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If you’ve ever been to a bachelor party, a group of 8 dudes can can crush a 1000 dollar bar tab. One of these was with spouses. I love that they make the specificity a big deal, that it was straight tequila. Except, they went to a Mexican restaurant. Should they have had fernet like a bunch of Cal alums in the Marina?

They literally posted the bar tab like it’s a map of cell towers from Serial.

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So, 16 coaches and their wives had 60 drinks? And it cost an athletic department 800 dollars. That’s probably less than half of what two season tickets to UW cost. If this was supposed to tell me they are wild, it didn’t. For all the diagrams and charts, no one did any dividing. At the second event, the 16 coaches consumed 3.5 drinks each. At a team outing. In March. In the offseason.

Pump the brakes, media.

No one condones the behavior at Salute to Troy. But can we at least report the tenor at practice? Can we act like we’re not phoning it in? We deserve better as fans. And you papers need to do better if you want to get us to pay for your content. I’m giving mine away for free.

Either be Buzzfeed and stop calling it journalism in any way, or just be a premium product. Right now you’re a hybrid of the worst parts of both.

Just one man’s opinion. A part-time blogger. Who is drinking bourbon in his header image. And footer. Because who cares already.

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The Ballad of Cutty Sark and #drunkgate

My Twitter started blowing up. “Dude, Sark got drunk and said your line at Salute to Troy!” Whether I invented Fight The Fuck On or the band did, it doesn’t matter, we both celebrated the attitude. Fight On has a very triumphant storming a beach vibe to it, in fact, Conquest I think was from a 40s war film.

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The sentiment of #FTFO has far more in common with a broken bottle, bar fight than it does with storming a beach. That’s for football. FTFO is for the fans, the students, the alumni who go to a school everyone hates and then had to suffer through a witch hunt (complete with Joan of Arc attempted burning at the stake). It’s a total middle finger to people who still think USC somehow “cheated” but are totally down to watch Cam Newton sell us Protein Oikos on Sundays.

Right.

So when Sark gets drunk and says Fight The Fuck On at an event intended to fire up our boosters, do we really need to get all Bill Plaschke here and try to send him to AA? Is it possible he just loves the school and the fans and got caught up? Is it possible he listens to the students or read this blog back in the day, especially when I was bombing on him and comparing Layla Kiffin to his now ex-wife?

Homie pulled a drunk Howard Dean and the world is PRAYING this becomes #drunkgate for no reason at all. For once can someone just get killed with a gate so we can have #gategate? Too much to ask?

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Folks. I get annoyed a lot of times when people take the argument that we’ve become too sensitive as a society when we get pissed about things we should get pissed at, say like the Confederate Flag as an official symbol of a state (I’m not talking about your right to wear it or fly it at home, do what you want and prepare to have your free speech met with others’ free speech back – that’s freedom).

But I definitely think we’ve become “news obsessed” – because really this is so silly. A college football coach got drunk and made an ass of himself. His players are underage. It was in bad taste. He got shamed by his AD. He had to apologize. Shouldn’t that be the end of it?

Am I thrilled Sark was drunk and came off like a freshman who underestimated the strength of some high proof jungle juice? No. I’m not. He should hold his liquor. He should know his limits.

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But you get Plaschke comparing what happened the other night to incidents where coaches have been arrested. Sark did nothing but hurt his public image. He got no DUI. He didn’t cover up a player’s crime. He didn’t get caught being an adulterer. He didn’t hurt anyone.

Why is this such big news?

I know the answer is that it’s more interesting than the constant Jim Mora Twitter deleting, but is it actually much worse?

Plaschke invoking Gary Moeller is pure insanity. Moeller punched a cop. HE PUNCHED A POLICE OFFICER. He had alcohol poisoning. It was a violent, loud and illegal shitshow.

What did Sark do again? Have too heavy a pour of Shiraz and say what we’re all thinking? That everyone else in the Pac 12 sucks and then drop an F bomb? Look like a dumb, lush in front of alumni that will donate anyway?

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I’ve heard some fans, the very traditional ones, say this will hurt us in recruiting. If that’s your concern, we might as well start wearing goofy alternate uniforms (we still may) because recruits supposedly like those too. Truth be told, high school seniors know a lot about drinking too much, talking shit and having to apologize. They relate to that more than Jim Mora being confused by Twitter. Mora probably think Snapchat is a term for Broadway musical choreography.

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Stop twisting it. Recruits and boosters care about one thing: WINNING. With a capital everything.

If they care about other things, it’s playing on TV. It’s playing for a school that puts people in the NFL. It’s good weather and good looking co-eds.

I think we’re fine.

It’s bad Sark made an ass of himself. He set a bad example. And now he has press giving him hell and he got yelled at by his boss. This happens at company parties and happy hours all the time. I get that these are students, but they aren’t angels. They probably laughed. In the end, let’s stop calling them students and let’s stop calling this amateur. This is a pro sport and no one deflated footballs here.

Relax. Newspapers are hurting for business. Don’t let them twist your booster knickers into a knot. When he starts coaching drunk, I’ll worry. Unless we win.

See what I mean?

 

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Bearfighter Returns (A Christopher Nolan Space Jam)

I walked away at the top.

Millions of views. My t-shirts everywhere at the Coliseum. High fives from strangers on campus. People grabbing you to share a shot of bourbon and an instagram. Winning awards, hosting pep rallies. This whole thing got out of control.

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I walked away at the top, but it was more like walking away from an explosion in a movie. Say, this one, where a billionaire genius womanizer built a robot death machine in his Malibu cliff mansion and painted it like a Trojan football uniform:

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I knew Arrogant Nation did it’s job.

I knew we beat the NCAA. It was never about me getting credit, don’t twist it. You all gave me plenty of that. It was ridiculous it got like it got. I live north of the wall in Portland, Oregon and still get stopped in supermarkets on gameday when I have my FTFO gear on.

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Let’s talk about what we did though beyond get literally thousands of t-shirts and stickers and signs out into the college football ethos. We made the point to the point that people took our side. The press now blames the NCAA. Any supposed transgressions USC made, they aren’t taken seriously. The NCAA is getting punked hard left and right and their only hope frankly is that the NFL screws up harder. It’s a race to the dumpster fire covered in high proof whiskey. Bombs away.

I mean honestly. Let’s take a peek.

Paul Dee died of guilt. USC, once the pariah of NCAA sanctions isn’t even in the discussion. Between the Miami cocaine cruise abortion funding by the on-field booster that made an article better than the twelve year old girls that write Ballers could dream up and the systematic rape cover-up at Penn State – what was it we were even accused of again?

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Oh right, a bunch of Ponzi BS the NCAA is still trying to duck even with court docs being unsealed. And a slew of articles that five years ago, the Bearfighter was the only one with the balls to write. That the NCAA was literally out to get us. That they had no case and made one anyway. That they couldn’t do a damn thing right. Botching investigations and oddly punishing everyone from Miami to Penn State to Oregon to North Carolina.

We took them down.

Dude. There’s a playoff now. The media actually roots for us (sometimes). They heard us.

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What have I been up to?

Well, I’ve been living in Portland, Oregon wrapping my body in charcuterie every night and taking my morning vitamin D pills with barrel proof bourbon. I’ve been living amongst Ducks and Beavers and Huskies OH MY.

I’ve been hell with a pen at work. I’ve been rocking a Pete Carroll signed helmet on my desk since I got here. Same as it ever was.

I’ve been running like an Oregonian and finding peace in praising Prefontaine. I’ve found love for our enemies without losing my desire to eat duck a l’orange every chance I get. Really, it’s been Sun Tzu. Love your enemy. I’m better. I’m lean. I’m a soccer fan now.

I’ve found no truer expression of fundamentalist fandom than in Timber’s Army, covered in rain, whiskey with green flares casting smoke thicker than in a cigar room.

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I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about what was next for me. For my USC experience. I was a student. I was an unknown writer. I started a movement. And I moved on.

I watch the Dodgers on television every night. I travel the country for work. I study everything. I work with brands that work with football. I spend my time wondering what is next. I admit to feeling a bit of loneliness without the true cloud of sanctions. I miss them almost. We achieved our goal. We’re just a football team with a top recruiting class and a lot to prove and a lot expected.

Hard not to miss the us-vs-the world feeling.

We got through sanctions without a losing season. We’re heading into a football season with a pre-season Heisman favorite at quarterback and a lot of folks predicting we’ll win the conference.

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So… Nothing happened. Wasn’t that the point of Arrogant Nation? Making it seem like we got punched in the face and all that broke was their fist?

Let’s just be clear since I’ve been “away” – let’s be pointed about what I think Arrogant Nation did.

It won.

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There’s a very real feeling up here at a bar when the Ducks lose. It’s this sigh. It’s this feeling of inevitable air being let out. You can tell a lot about a team by how the fan base reacts to a loss. Here, they expected it. Even when they don’t. They knew. A losing bowl record will do that. It’s the groan when DeAnthony Thomas says they are over Rose Bowls despite not really winning many of them.

You see shirts here celebrating participation in bowl games. James Harrison took away his kids participation trophies.

I say USC does that for the rest of the Pac again by not letting them participate in the big games.

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That’s going to be hard because we’re not alone in our greatness anymore. We’re not back to full strength but we might be good enough that we can’t use that as an excuse.

Well. I’ve never had an excuse for USC. It was more fun to be a Kiffin’s Trojans fan than it was for UCLA fans in our recent string of HORRIBLE DEATHS AT THE HANDS OF BEARS.

This year, we have to make it right with UCLA. They know we need to do that too. They must feel weird living in that big house of expectations with no friends. We’ve put things right with Stanford and with Notre Dame. We’ve won a Holiday Bowl that I enjoyed like a Red Bull Push Cart race. We were so tired I enjoyed wondering if the wheels would stay on. They did.

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Arrogant Nation, it occurs to me that we have run out of excuses because everyone will expect us to at least start playing for the Pac 12 title every year. We’re going to have ups and downs. We’re going to take a lot of sh*t again in a way we maybe forgot about. Even Duck fans are nice to me. They need some new reasons to hate us, starting with beating them in hand to hand football combat and pure tailgating prowess.

I can’t control the field and what happens on it, but from the moment I met Kessler at a pep rally, I liked the guy. Get on his back. This dude is doing it with old school Leinart swag. He just throws it up there and watches it explode. He’s Iron Man and they even dress alike.

Look, we can’t control what happens on the field. But I need us to control the crowd a little better. We’ve gotten a little too Snapchat and a lot less Snapcount. We need to be pointing at our banners and trophies, the ones we have and the ones we gave back (that they probably have to give back to us once the dust settles).

So I’m here to say how I plan to help, but really, just enjoy taking some reps going deep on opposing fan bases.

I’m not here to recreate the past. Doc Brown already did that and until I get my hoverboard you all can deal with it. I’m not here to say the AGP or AGR are back. They aren’t. We did that. It was pretty fun. It must have been love but it’s over now. It’s disco. It’s high school.

I’m not going to talk football this year. I’m going to talk fan bases.

No predictions. Just facts.

Every week this season, and only because I think some of our opponents fans have lost the fear, I’m going to drop a post called “The Bearfighter’s Field Manual to [Insert Opponent]“.

The BFM is a quick refresher to your opposing fans to put them in historical context. It’s about who they are as a school, a city, a program and a mindset. It’s going to be about facts. Facts like Oregon has a losing bowl record. Still. Including bowls that you get in for having a football team. Facts like Arkansas State is a team we actually play and they actually exist and their mascot is a red wolf which according to the following map, isn’t even indiginous to Arkansas as a state.

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No result on the football field will change the fact that Jim Mora doesn’t know how to work Twitter.

You see what I’m getting at? I’m done with football. I’m writing historical documents this year to make you impossible (or at least drunk and frustrating) to argue with. I want you to stop getting in circular arguments with lesser fan bases. I am a strategy director by trade. My job is to make sure we’re well positioned to compete. I’m going to make sure you stop letting Bruins (or Ducks for me) engage you in an argument they even think they are winning. We’re going to discuss the ins and outs of hyper-factual trash talk. We’re going to concede some things, like maybe we’ve won so much it’s hard to think we’re coming back and if we did it’s gonna feel like Jurassic Park. Like, the dinosaurs can’t really come back, right?

Only they do. But what likely won’t happen is UCLA’s recent luck with us stretching into the decade and change run they need to go on to make this a competitive rivalry. If our opponent is a blind squirrel, I’m here to make sure you don’t let them find the nut. SAVVY?

I’m hell with a pen. I might as well give ’em hell. And I want you to as well. This is Arrogant Fandom 101, coming at you every Thursday (unless we have some dumb midweek Larry Scott Ponzi game and we’ll sort it).

If I’m out of the country or traveling for work, I might miss one. Whatever. Let’s have some fun.

It’s time Arrogant Nation has some fun again, just for the sake of it.

Spread the word, follow me at the links below, and let’s just have some fun again. No t-shirts to sell. Just some ink in their eyes.

FTFO from the mighty Pacific Northwest,
BEARFIGHTER

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Final BachCapette: The Season That Wasn’t

Even in great seasons of this show, it’s human nature to complain about how it could have been better. Never before have I not been able to use the level of hyperbole needed to explain what a total systematic failure of bad television this season was.

This was like waking up early to go to brunch, waiting five hours for a table, being served a plate of rats and then when you complain about it, the waiter farts in your face and says something racist.

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That’s this season.

This season was like going to a car wash and instead of water and soap cascading across your car, the jets just spray pig’s blood and then when you get out to complain sorority girls cover you in honey and feathers and circle your body parts that aren’t eating-disordery enough.

If you guys can’t deliver a season that even vaguely resembles this show, I am not delivering a final post that resembles my blog. It’s been a struggle for years now to continue to do the BachCaps because it’s hard to get up for it. I do it because I like my readers and I enjoy making you guys laugh. I’m like a magic web pixie that is fed by coffee being spit on coffee monitors.

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But I am really, really debating walking away because this wasn’t the Bachelor. It wasn’t theatre. It wasn’t bad theatre. It was a chef pretending he didn’t burn your steak beyond recognition and thinking we’re too dumb to notice. YOU SAID WELL DONE. I did Bachelor people. I did.

So, questions.

What really happened? Can the creators of UnReal jump in and shed some light for me because like a kid with superheroes, I want to believe.

We have fantasy suites before hometowns. The hometowns don’t involve the actual hometowns. They involve Utah. One fucking helicopter. Pretending the final episode is somewhere tropical but it’s really fifteen minutes from the mansion. The final episode being at the mansion. No extreme dates. Perpetual Ireland. Nick making it to the final.

I like to think Harrison just went out of control and lost it and the net result was a lack of planning. I read somewhere that an Argentina trip fell through. Argentina harbored Nazis after WWII and even they wouldn’t let this awful season through the border. My wife just closed the browser.

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There’s a reason you only get fifteen minutes of fame. That reason is people like Nick whose effing mother came to the damn After the Final Rose. My mom stopped coming to see my band play after high school and didn’t start again just because we got a couple songs on TV or were on the radio. There’s just an age where you have to to Pepsi LIVE FOR NOW.

This poor guy. He’s trying so hard to be whatever the hell he is trying to be. And the worst part is by the end I think he was actually the more interesting choice.

This season created a love triangle between:

  1. A Canadian who is afraid of birds but has two bird tattoos.
  2. A man who looks like Alf and has a 65 IQ.
  3. A two time runner up who came back on the show because it’s better than crying while researching bespoke lapel carnations online and pretending to like “guy stuff”.

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Not done.

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I mean, this season made True Detective Season Two look like Shawshank. Give me one good reason to watch this next season. Just one. I swear, I may make like Avicii and fade into darkness right about now.

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There is not a ton more to say. In the end, something got broken this season and we never got to find out why. Kaitlyn seemed so fun, but somehow she was the least fun person ever. She had some goofy dudes and a solid villain or two, but it never happened. We didn’t get all the things we have come to love about this unloveable show. It wasn’t escapist TV. It was an escape act, the producers trying to make it seem like the ship wasn’t capsizing and dragging out the world’s most miserable season.

I had high hopes after the Farmer’s season because it had all the elements of the show that we appreciate, but also had a great twist. Living in a small town that doesn’t have a Starbucks. That was taking the game forward. Yeah, turns out he’s a right wing farmland slumlord who was doing this for publicity. I don’t care. I assume they all will fail at this. But I expect a good ride.

In a helicopter.

Instead, I feel comforted only by the Timbers and the fact I get to drink, jump and swear and dance in smoky stadiums like a hooligan.

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There’s the playoff race for the Dodgers. USC starts soon. Arsenal takes on the premier league. You can almost hear the air coming out of Brady’s deflated balls. So much to embrace.

The problem is, I normally leave feeling like the Bachelor returning in the new year is something to look forward to. Now, I’m skeptical.

Sorry.

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BachCapette 9 – WILL THIS SHOW NOT DIE

Before I start, how stoked are you that Pumpkin Spice lattés are back at Starbucks? Sure, it’s the kind of blazing hot summer that makes you positive global warming isn’t a strong enough term (GLOBAL BURNPOCALYPSE™), but Starbucks brought it back early. We’re all ready for it, who cares if it’s normally a fall thing. If we did everything correctly in an order that made sense, I’d probably still cook my chicken before I ate it. Finally our coffee flavorings have jumped the season like that guy in your high school who is really excited about his new leather jacket even though it’s still August. That guy was totally Nick, by the way.

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Look, I’m making a point. There’s a reason we like hometown dates before fantasy suites. There’s a reason we like extreme dates and exotic locales. And helicopters, god, the helicopters. Remember them?

We’ve been stuck in Ireland for what feels like two months at this point. Let’s be clear. This show has managed to get to the final two with a travel itinerary that was limited to Texas and Ireland. God, that’s like the bottom of the barrel right there. I mean, her travel plans are literally the licorice flavored Jujyfruits. They are there to only get eaten when there’s no other option. It’s like every other location banned the show. Remember going to places like Panama City? Africa?

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Crap, I think they went to NYC too, which I love (as you know from my Instagram), but that was probably because Chris Harrison had a book tour stop and had to bring his garbage with him.

Back in ENDLESS IRELAND™, Leave It To Beaver goes on a half-assed horse riding date in a sweater he bought off-camera. He’s a nice guy, but he’s going to get sent home and you knew it because Kaitlyn does not want someone to care for her, she wants a bully or a poodle.

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I don’t even want to comment on this date because it was a waste of time. Nothing Beav said was gonna make a difference. I just hope he got a little fun in because otherwise he may literally have to go home, learn to be an asshole and continue the vicious cycle of women wanting a nice guy, rejecting nice guys, falling in love with assholes and then being older and single because eventually the nice guys marry younger girls who will settle for “older” instead of “total prick” – My wife just closed the browser.

The next date was with Gosleech and it was golf themed. Anything to not have to leave the property, guys. I just hope they paid the parking meters. Cheap asses.

Gosleech dressed in a hot pink and electric blue ensemble that was SOOOOO EMBARRASSING save the fact that it’s how every asshole on the PGA Tour dresses already.

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I’m sure at some point someone Googled this and that’s why they convinced Gosleech to get naked for no reason at all and run around holding his junk. I just enjoyed that he wears Pro Combat tights as underwear in case a game of football breaks out randomly. I get it. You are a trainer. I’m an advertising executive. I don’t dress like this under my normal clothes:

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Gosleech drank more beer again and then Kaitlyn, who is very turned on by the idea a bully and a high school girl are fighting over her, decided to ask about why he doesn’t like Nick. We had to hear more about Eskimo brothers, which is the dumbest term I ever heard.

One love. We’re all eskimo brothers in some way. And sisters. Especially if you are a creationist.

In the morning, Nick was waiting to Glenn Close Gosleech outside the room and despite “not wanting to talk”, they go inside together and say more nothing at all.

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Gosleech is so dumb it hurts and Nick, well, Nick is a little girl minus the part about being cute and fun to listen to talk. I blacked out in the middle of Gosleech repeating sentences that were vaguely like, “I came over and came clean and made it right and said I think you aren’t here and people know why you are or aren’t and I don’t have time for you bro I’d rather be anywhere than right here with you because you aren’t even anything you fancy slick smooth talker”.

Smooth talker?

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Nick talks like he’s eating cotton balls, looks around like a little girl shy in front of a firefighter and speaks in the kind of instagram quotes you expect from people who will eventually resort to manual labor.

Maybe it’s because his instagram feed has these:

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OMG. GO HOME.

We’re talking about a bully in Gosleech who can’t speak poorly arguing with this guy in a Tequila Mockingbird shirt he is super proud of:

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Nick is the worst endorsement for Chicago since the 1903 fire.

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Anyway, at the rose ceremony, Kaitlyn freaks out presumably because she is dressed like a stripper fighting her way out of a tangerine. Also, every time she dresses skimpier, we find eight more tattoos. I’m terrified her whole butt is a map of the mountain ranges of Canada.

Well, not terrified.

She cuts Ben down and he’s a gentleman about it. He’s back to wherever to do well at work, respect women, wear slightly too big oxfords and probably enjoy drinking IPA (whiskey is a little crazy for him).

There’s a weird bro down with Nick and his technicolor DREAM SUIT™ and Gosleech, who still can’t tie a fucking tie. HERE:

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Off to magical… Utah?

Wait. Hometown dates are all at one hotel in Utah during the offseason? For no reason they will tell us? We’re just not going to people’s homes? Are Peppermint Mochas back already? COME ON ALREADY.

Nick’s family is just as Twilight as the last time we met them. His mother, who FUCKING LOVES™ Robin Wright in House of Cards just starts crying immediately, further proving the insane emotional damage Nick received the last time on this show. That said, she sure doesn’t have a problem with him pathologically being on the show.

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SCARE UNDERWOOD!

Anyway.

This whole family (minus Bella who I am leaving alone minus that she was totes named after Twilight) clearly went to a Magnificent Mile style advisor or something. Everyone was dressed as the sitcom version of an archetype. I particularly loved 80s Keyboard Player brother and the brother whose clothing didn’t really fit but Nick told him he couldn’t be seen DEAD in the West Loop without wearing all-over print with piping down the front.

Everyone seems to like Kaitlyn. Maybe because her eyes and mouth move in multiple directions when she gets exciting. That’s exciting I guess.

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Nick says he loves her in the worst way ever. I’m sterile now. My line ends. It’s so Game of Thrones. Starks no longer can rule the north because Nick made me sterile. He was like I love you like this:

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And Kaitlyn was so basic being like:

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Then Nick was like:

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Because inside, he’s like this:

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I just sat there like my homie Bill:

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Gosleech brought his family out and it was so boring I figured it might be why they brought the show to Utah. He told her he loved her. Great.

1 Helicopter. 0 Asian markets. 59 Nick outfit changes. 0 extreme dates.

LA. NYC. TEXAS. IRELAND. UTAH.

Thanks.

See you in two weeks for the finale. Thank god football is back soon.

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BachCapette 8: Nightmare Suites

This entire season feels like the scene in Interstellar when McConnaughy is just floating in 4D dusty bookshelf land trying to make contact with the real world through a rip in time and space and against the will of his audience, his daughter, because he’s been an unreliable father.

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YOU ARE THE UNRELIABLE FATHER, CHRIS HARRISON.

And you didn’t even bring this thing along.

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I love you, bud. Your suit and tie game is second to none. I’ve said on many occasions we’d likely be buds. I’ll get hopped up and be your wingman on an epic cougar hunt at Padri in Agoura Hills right near the mansion. Mothers love me. Just ask my high school friends.

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But you gotta do me a solid, bud. You gotta get this trainwreck back on course. Stop putting lipstick on a pig and butcher some new swine.

You could have made this whole season one episode. You could have spent the entire budget that was wasted putting whatever girl is in whatever Carl’s Jr ad that comes out next in near-space like they did to that other girl that was in a Carl’s Jr ad.

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Let’s be clear. This season’s travel itinerary looks like it was done by mistake by a drunk sorority girl planning a semester abroad. How high were the production team members when they concepted AGOURA HILLS -> SAN ANTONIO -> IRELAND.

What?

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Real quick. Bryce Dallas Howard or Jessica Chastain?

Guys, I could hang with the obscure format if the payoff was actually worth it. God, I’ve defended this show through thick and thin. I watched the time you had BRAD FUCKING WOMACK do a second season. You recycled compost and used it as compost.

But as we said in film school… Whatever, I didn’t pay attention. The point is you have ten minutes of content, a gullible Canadian leading lady who is more boring than we thought, and you are stretching this thing out to the point we can see through it like prosciutto from a very, very good butcher.

Unless Gosleech and The Other Guy get in helicopters and battle to the death with missiles and emo-tears, this season is lost.

WE’VE HAD MORE DATES IN IRISH PUBS THAN DATES ON HELICOPTERS.

I don’t think I can remember a season where anything other than the classic, and now much missed, STROLL THROUGH ASIAN MARKET™ have outnumbered helicopter dates.

This season is so messed up, there’s a half-living fetus of a season that exists only in the credits where Britt and a dude we knew for seven minutes of airtime dressed like he’s going to some honky tonk nineties rock ashram are dating and now going long distance.

Dude. SO LONG DISTANCE™. We’re done.

So, since I should try to discuss this episode, Leave it to Beaver did great. He’s a really nice guy who will probably lose, be the next Bachelor and be so damn boring. Look, in real life, date him. Be his friend. Make him drink one too many beers (prolly, what, 4?) and watch him take his shirt off and sing songs from his fraternity bus rides to invites. Great. Can’t wait for New Year’s and a new season. I’d try to OD on something right now just to get out of thinking about it, but all I have is some Whole Foods Cape Cod Trail Mix. Fuck today.

Nick continued being the grossest dude on the planet. I can’t even watch him. He just giggles, whispers, says nothing and plans how he can make dolls out of your hair.

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He’s Cool Ethan from Slackers.

Attention is fun girls. So are Oreos until you eat enough of them and you literally can’t even look at the package anymore and then avoid the cookie aisle all together, start seeing a juice cleanse, posting it to Instagram to piss off Oreos and always wonder when Oreos is going to come back and cut your face off and wear it as a hat.

That’s Nick. Know how I know? He told a girl on national television she “made love to him” and then cried and then CAME BACK ON THE SHOW.

I’m pissed at Gosleech too. They wind this dude up on Guinness (because we never leave Ireland ever, it’s like we’re all fucking leprechauns and it’s just NOT ALLOWED™), finally tell him about the gross NickLoveMaking™ and what does he do? Come over in the middle of the day and get into a verbal pillow fight. Nick definitely called his homely best friend girl out there and was like “I totes took him down, so whatever” –

And then the show was like TO BE CONTINUED. I was like I HUNG UP AN HOUR AGO.

I felt bad when Creepin’ Hawke went home. Make him shave and let him be the new Bach. Homeboy was a class act and his only crime was not being the kind of clinger that vaguely looks like Alf and Gosling’s child or the kind that looks like Peter MacNicol.

Or, you know, just find a civilian girlfriend.

[fart noise]

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BachCapette 7: Endless Fever Dream

I tend to defend the chaos of this show just because in the end, we go to the toilet to see a shit show. My wife just closed the browser. Early. World record.

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The thing is, this year, we’ve lost the format so much, we’ve forgone so much world travel, so much hijinx… The show just kind of sucks. And I think they know it.

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They know it because they are blending episodes into episodes, giving up on traditions that have made this the Saturday Night Live of ruining your personal life.

Instead, we’re now on WEEK EFFING THREE™ of NICKGATE™. And look, it was interesting she slept with him and seemed to be honest about it, but they go and ruin that by dragging it out for three damn weeks. It’s like watching a football game where they play eight games of checkers before going to overtime. I’m wondering what the point is. I used to have fun hangovers from this show from drinking because I was laughing and holding court. Now I just sort of drink SILENTLY & VIOLENTLY™ in the corner and then skulk to bed to let unconsciousness suck me into the underworld.

Let’s get the dates out of the way before we talk about the Gosleech/PeterMacNicol situation, which is really all that happened.

JJ and The Man With The Dented Forehead went on a 2:1 elimination date. They went to a cliff. They drank some whiskey. JJ tried the move that worked ALL THE TIME™ in high school. It’s a tried and true method involving coming off like you are this arrogant prick high on the confidence that can only come from have a huge gap in your teeth and the ability to tuck your shirt in before buttoning it (did you see that?). Phase two of this method is telling a girl that you don’t know that well that you cheated on your ex and ruined your life because that’s pretty HAWT™. Just ask any girl.

She’s not your therapist, pal. She’s also not going to be your wife. Auf Wiedersehen.

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For some odd reason, Canada makes Oh Forehead, How Dent Thou stick around. He’s pretty cool I guess. He comes from where bourbon and baseball bats come from. And he’s going home next week, so whatever. Or maybe in a month. Not sure when they are planning to do another rose ceremony.

The other solo date was with Creepin’ Hawke, who by virtue of this shitshow is turning candidate simply because even his WANDERING FACIAL HAIR™ can’t hide the fact he’s a lot more interesting than one half of the dudes, and far less clinger than at least two of the other ones.

They go on a road trip. They kiss the blarney stone. They make out. ROSÉ ALL DAY.

Now let’s get to the point. Peter MacNicol wants to tell the world about his sex with Kaitlyn, only she doesn’t want him to, because truly, it’s embarrassing to sleep with a guy like him. I’m not slut shaming (we’ll get there). I’m all for sex. Just not with the under-villain in Ghostbusters II.

Gosleech is stone cold buggin’ and being fed a lot of beer. He goes to confront Kaitlyn about what the promos led us to believe is the SECRET COITUS™, but in reality, it’s about some dumb off-camera interaction where she told him “he’s the one” –

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WE REMEMBER AMANDA BYNES.

Anyway, Kaitlyn is so relieved that all this interrogation is just in regards to the offscreen chat and NOT the fact she slept with the cross between a ferret and a pipe cleaner that she tries to reassure him by basking him in her relief. Only, then she goes high and mighty with him. We call this GETTING CAUGHT IN A LIE™.

So for the rest of the episode, it’s a million tantric close, but nope, moments including a weird talk with Nick where he starts crying after talking about sex. The dude honeydicks people. See The Interview. Straight honeydicking. All day. But then afterwards, he’s crying, he’s asking why you made love, he is a time bomb made up of tears, windbreakers, fluffy hair and lifetime movies. RUN.

So let’s fast forward to the resolution. Chris Harrison comes in (in a radical tie) and just kind of tells Kaitlyn the fact she slept with Nick is throwing the show off. She needs OFF CAMERA TIME™ with EVERYONE™ before the hometowns. What?

Is the show slut shaming her now? Are they 100% sure she will sleep with everyone? Was she freaking out so much that maybe if it comes out after fantasy suites, it will be okay? Are they all so dumb as to forget they will see the show and know about this? What the hell is going on? They would NEVER do this with a dude. Period. I have to hope it’s Kaitlyn wanting this in some messed up GIRL LOGIC™ or I just feel gross. Like eating sushi that’s been out too long in the sun (I go to a lot of yacht-based events, it’s a real life hazard for me, you couldn’t wear my topsiders, my life is hell).

So now, we’re dragging this out another week. We’re still not leaving Ireland. I am not even going to talk about Cupcake’s ridiculous helicopter therapy session date where he thought for one second about tossing his mint green toothpasted carcas off the cliffs.

The mariachi date feels long removed, doesn’t it. My gut is she is a hot mess backstage and somehow we’re going to need to speed up or I’m losing patience.

Adios to Captain America. Probably the last dude on the show that I’d let drink whiskey with me. If you are reading this, beers?

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BachCapette Six: Oops.

This is not going to follow any standard format because frankly if the show can decide to run an episode that starts at the previous week’s cocktail party and stops before the third date the following week, THERE ARE NO RULES.

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Full Package just went batshit. I don’t know how in his head the producers got, but it seemed fairly balls deep. He went off on Kaitlyn for being shallow, being classless and not liking him. I mean, did he mention he went to Princeton? That’s a hell of an ad for Princeton, right?

Let’s break this idiot down. He says he is too good for this show, but he’s on the show. He is in no way desperate for women, but he put his life down to go on a dating show. He went to Princeton, but he’s not clever enough to resist the producers prodding him to demand being the next Bachelor. He’s more cerebral than all of us, but he ends his sign off with him needing to get some sex. Exactly what Kaitlyn wasn’t supposed to do.

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Naturally, to be the Bachelorette, you need to be a little more insecure than most of us and so Kaitlyn starts to spin a little bit, but it doesn’t stop her from throwing out so perfectly usable Ahi Kuna and whoever else.

As quickly as they are gone, she’s turnt for DUBLIN, IRELAND. No one more than Nick, who gave me 1.5 hours of television that went a long way to explaining any potential future diagnosis of being sterile. This guy is a virus on society. They need to get him help. We’ll get there in a minute.

Nick is just the most grateful dude to be out of his job again for a moment and on TV again. He needed another 15 minutes of fame. He is, to me, like a friend of a friend’s toddler who gets brought to dinner one night and you are all ready to leave and he’s like 15 minutes more. More. MOAR.

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And it’s not the worst thing in the world. You like kids. I mean, it’d be better if this was your friend’s kid, not your friend of a friend who you didn’t REALLY want to come, but look, being judgy sucks. You can put up with this toddler. You might have a toddler someday and you’d want other people to put up with them. Only then you realize fuck that. I’M READING THE ROOM™. No one cares about my kid. I don’t care about yours. I’m leaving because the parking meter is running out and I’m losing my buzz and frankly, when I have a toddler, I’m putting them in a belltower and turning them into a fairy tale character. I’ll even name them Aesop (the storyteller, not the fantastic skin care line for men and women). My wife just closed the browser.

But Nick’s still here. He’s got 7.6 minutes left. Just ask him.

Here’s the deal with Nick, because that’s all this episode really was. It was a Nicksplosion that made me feel dirty. Before we can understand Nick, understand this. He looks like Peter MacNicol. More than Peter MacNicol does even. Prepare to never look at him the same way again. (you will have to look at him again because I’d bet all the farm land in Iowa that he’s on Paradise).

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Look away. I dare you. Put him in a tight blazer with an unnecessary bepsoke flower lapel he stole from an off-Williamsburg production of the Music Man and it’s MacNicol. All he needs is a creepy painting to worship.

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He stares at the producers the whole time like there are cue cards and he hits on girls in the lowest form there is. There’s all kinds of dudes, but this dude is the kind I hate the most. He’s the standard overbearing dude who cleans up for a hot second because a lot of girls are used to mixed messages. He rolls in, says I AM INTO YOU, YOU MAKE ME LOSE CONTROL and then just kisses you and avoids saying anything else. Anyone read Gone Girl?

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Wow, they even shop at the same library in Nantucket.

Dude, maybe the producers cut every real line out and I recognize how frusterating it must be to be on this show without final cut. But same time, I know Peter MacNicol when I see him.

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So, there was only one way Nick was going to be about this and Kaitlyn is insecure enough to fall for it. It makes me sad because I don’t think she’s a bad person. It makes me sad there’s pretty girls in the world that just want a dude to be clear with them. Nick can come in like the Peter MacNicol version of a romantic comedy, rip off Arie’s wall kiss deal and make it work. We all want to be wanted. But at what cost.

So when the date went, well I don’t know, they made out in front of an old Irish man just trying to drink which to me is more disrespectful than farting in church, because old Irish dudes trying to get drunk at noon in Dublin are the angels of my religious beliefs.

They get back and Nick is like:

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And they have sex.

And here’s where the narrative is going to deviate because what really pisses me off is how many people are going to slut shame Kaitlyn for this.

And they shouldn’t. It’s the worst thing just about that goes on with this show (beyond the fear of diversity).

She had every right to do what she wanted, I respect her for being honest and not hiding from what probably always goes down on the show. There’s nothing “slutty” about having sex on a date. Look in the mirror, Murica.

That said, she ain’t too clever. It’s the choice of who. It’s the falling for a man who brought back a dead warlord in a painting back from the dead by attempting to sacrificing Sigourney Weaver’s baby and causing a river of evil slime to take over New York.

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The fact that disturbed me the most is how in the morning (you bastard bearer of regret!), Kaitlyn is worried Nick is going to tell all the dudes about what she did. She was just saying she trusted him. If you think the dude you are with is going to gossip to a bunch of dudes who hate him about something that will likely make them hate you, YOU DON’T TRUST HIM.

It’s nice to feel wanted. That’s why that geneticist created Labradoodles.

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The next date is at the Guiness plant and Creepin’ Hawke does great and gets a rose. But Gosleech freaks out. And now he’s heading to confront Kaitlyn in what has been a 13 part 6 episode season. I feel like I’m on mushrooms.

Let’s get this moving.

 

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BachCapette Cinco: San Anbronio

We start at the end. Only it’s not like this is Memento or a wonderfully flawed time-travel movie, it just seems like half way thru editing each episode they can’t decide if this is THE MOST™ dramatic episode of the Bachelorette ever or if they should rip a few more tubes and just finished cutting the episode at the last minute. “Bruh, this stuff is sticky and it kind of makes me think we should skip the rose ceremony AGAIN and talk about Kaitlyn and how she looks like an animated starfish.”

The thing is. This is no joke. Chris Harrison did not even show up this episode. I’d like to believe he just took the helicopter from last week and went down Mexico way to mule some horse, but in reality, IS HE TRAPPED IN TIME/SPACE?

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So we kicked off the meat of this episode with a sausage party back at the hotel. Fuzzy Nick was rolling in wearing his fake windbreaker (windfaker™?) and the dudes are sitting around like:

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I mean, is there anything more sad than Nick? He says it in his patented YOUR EX-GIRLFRIEND TRAPPED IN THE BODY OF A MAN™ way. He was bored as hell in Chicago and he was willing to cutesy text with a gullible Canadian for several WHOLE MONTHS™ to get back on TV in the hopes to rid himself of the awful feeling of being the guy who got BEAT UP™ in high school and also PROBABLY NOW™ too.

He is willing to come into a room with a bunch of meatheads glaring at him arranged in some formation that was the direct center between a congressional hearing and the last supper.

Then, he is forced to answer questions so specific, you’d think they all were bloggers themselves. I mean, hell. I have to read another recap while writing this to even remember what happened that wasn’t a helicopter. They were all like “in episode eight of Andi’s year when you were looking out the window with your hair looking like a troll doll with a new job interview hair cut, why’d you say Prague was a romantic city, huh brah?”

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Wow. I mean, I pay (some) attention (attentionesque™) to this show for PURE ADULATION™ from you people. I know I need constant praise or I will die. I’m like Superman (or Wall-E) to the sun with my ego. I admit that.

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Nick just needs to be back on TV because life doesn’t matter if you aren’t on TV. That is sad. This play to be the next Bachelor or to just get a ride on Bachelor in Paradise. Sigh. It makes me feel awful. Nick? He’s like:

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Nick’s responses were the basic bitch kind. She’s a cool chick. Oh yeah? Does she like dope music? Is this club going up? Is it Tuesday?

Hey Nick. Go home and put on some clothes.

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So, in assbackwardsland™ we head to the rose ceremony and Chris Harrison hides from space and time. This ceremony is at Citi Field, home of the NY Mets, who I grew up a fan of before I moved to LA and found the Dodgers like Scientologists find thetans.

I don’t know why they are there. I do know that Gosleech is pissed that he’s not the only Gosleech for her. I know Longbottom carried her around the bases, which will probably be one of the last happy memories he has before the producers let him go home. In the end, without Clint, he’s lost.

Death Cab for Douchie got sent home and some other people I forget. All I know is it looked really, really cold. So cold this became an indoor date. I can’t imagine the “luxury suite in Queens” date was the intention.

Nick looked so sad when they told him the “warm” date was San Antonio. He was hoping for something tropical. DUDE. YOU WENT TO VENICE AND THEY ALL SAW YOUR LEATHER JACKET LAST YEAR. Let it go.

The date is a two step dance contest and Leave It To Beaver is the date. He’s kind of boring. He’s nice. He’s good looking. He’s going to end up losing for being a good guy. Him and Dan Captain America should start a start up of dudes you go to once you are done getting kicked around by confusing, sexually ambiguous guys like Nick.

He blew her expectations out of the water. What that means, I don’t know. Her expectations are amphibious.

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The next date was a mariachi date. The kid who comes out in the beginning was the man. The rest of the show was an exercise in patented BACHELORACISM™.

It’s not so much that exploiting mariachi singers is racist, it’s the way dudes from places like Kuna handle this. It always ends up a bad Speedy Gonzalez impression. I’m from LA. This stuff isn’t exotic. It’s home.  AND WHEN YOU SING LIKE THAT IT RUINS MY CULTURAL MEMORIES LIKE THIS GUY DID TO THE PEOPLE ON PANDORA:

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Fuck that guy.

Princeton Guy got a little intense in his studying and then flopped like a Spanish soccer player. Nick won by being Nick, and going up with Canada to a balcony to sing and dance for the cameras and Katilyn happened to be there too.

It got weird that night when Ahi Kuna decided by way of grain alcohol and sadistic producers to let Kaitlyn shave half of his head. Sweet. He then decided to throw Nick under the bus which led to another GUYS I WANT YOU ALL TO LIKE NICK LIKE I DO speech and I tried to commit bloggercide by chewing on the batteries in my tv remote. Didn’t work.

The dudes all said whatever bro, go home, you’re drunk. Poor Ahi Kuna. He kept it real but didn’t realize you DON’T DO THIS…

Unless you are a Gosleech, who did the same thing and got a 1:1 date.

The Gosleech date was fine. They kayaked and he told her he was in a crazy car accident that missed all his Gosling features. He seems alright. He said he’s falling in love with her and she reciprocated. Appreciate the honesty.

But to keep score.

You can’t talk shit about Nick. Unless you vaguely look like Ryan Gosling. In which case, I love you.

In the tradition of no rose ceremonies, we were treated to some genuine weirdness with Princeton, who is the TOTAL PACKAGE™ – or just a total tool. I liked this guy, but somehow he went rogue and just listed off that he’s perfect, went to Princeton, girls love him, he should be the Bachelor.

At this point, unless he and Nick start hooking up, I’m bored. But he decides to call Kaitlyn a floozy and she doesn’t like it because he doesn’t vaguely look like Ryan Gosling. Or isn’t Nick.

Maybe Chris Harrison can return from space and sort it out.

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