Category Archives: Uncategorized

Stab the Field and Support Sark

Arrogant Nation, I know I have only posted two or three times this year. I know I’ve been basically limiting myself to Twitter during games and it’s been fun. But the truth is, I only want to write about what matters. That’s what got me to start Arrogant Nation to begin with.

I noticed our fanbase was down about sanctions, a lot of new kids being downright UNTROJAN about football and I tried, with a lot of success, to flip that script. It took writing weekly comedic posts just for us to act like idiots, be fundamentalist football fans and not care too much about what happened.


The thing was, not only did that work, we played better than we should have. In fact, better than anyone who got levied sanctions near ours. Frankly, a lot of people don’t realize that USC has been behind only Stanford and Oregon in wins during the time we have barely fielded 50 scholarship athletes or had no postseason bowl as incentive. Hell, we even won the Pac 12 South once. We hung the worst loss ever on UCLA.

Now, I only feel like writing when I have something to say. Or… When I think there’s something you need to hear. Like now.

Steve Mason already dropped an open letter to the Trojan community and it didn’t go over well. He dropped plenty of facts about the pros and the cons of Sark’s first year, with far more pros than cons. Read it, it’s worth it.

I know this post is going to make people angry, but everyone was angry when I said Coach O was full of it, that he should have just stayed to be the highest paid assistant in the country, but his pride or his desire to be a head coach lead him away. For the record, as I usually am when it comes to “not totally overreacting”, I was right. No one wanted Coach O to be a head coach at a big time school. He was too emotional. And now, he’s trying to open the door to come back. As an assistant. Like he should have stayed to be. When Sark (of #firesark fame) asked him to.

Even flawed Lane Kiffin, who wasn’t as bad as we thought he was, is enjoying his time as OC for the top team in the nation. That doesn’t mean he was who I liked repping our program, not by a long shot. It doesn’t mean I understood his bubble screens (or Norm Chow’s for that matter), but again, our offense was better with Kiffin than it was before him. It’s largely been better with Sark too. We have lots of moments we actually look like the team we want to be. We have moments we do not either.

Of course, we had those moments with Uncle Pete too. A lot of the time here in Oregon. Corvallis. The forest. You remember. Or at Stanford with Harbaugh doing whatever he felt like to our dead, rotting corpse.

Let me get to the point, Arrogant Nation… Too much whining is coming from our fan base.

I think I said it perfectly after Sark led our team to one of the biggest beatings of Notre Dame in our rivalry’s history:

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It’s pretty true. I can’t miss the parallels between my freshman year at USC when Uncle Pete found new ways to lose really close games culminating in a Christmas Day snore-worthy loss to pre-good-pre-bad-again Utah in the all-mighty Insert Sponser Las Vegas Bowl.

Things I remember about that season, our worst in well over a decade including all these so-called awful years under Kiffin and now Sark, was that we showed so many glimpses of explosiveness. Suddenly, I started knowing players names. Wow, that WR is going to be great if he’s ever consistent. Man, why is America not recognizing how good Carson Palmer is. If they were a little older, they’d be great. This system has signs of life.

Like I said, if Twitter existed in 2001 (or Facebook even), we’d have seen deluges of morons calling for Pete Carroll to be fired because we didn’t get it now, now, now.

The reason you liked this blog, the reason I hosted two effing pep rallies, the reason you bought thousands of shirts was because you were buying into one concept.


If we keep being us, eventually, we’ll win. The big wins. The wins that drive everyone crazy. The stay on top forever thing.

Sure, some different coaching decisions (and some of you are going to go to the comments and get into incredible detail I already have heard a billion times and still don’t care about) could have gotten us two wins. Two losses were beat downs. Yeah, 10-2 would feel better than 8-4. The UCLA loss would suck either way. Blah, blah, blah.

Look at how our freshmen played. Look at our quarterback. Look at our recruiting class. Look at what we looked like when we looked good. It looked right.


I want a bowl win. I want a 9 win year heading into next year where depth gets a little better and we’re a year older. And guess what, I am ready to wait for it.

Sark’s team in his first year, outmanned and very young, was almost a 10 win team, but even at 8, he did some things we desperately needed. He ended the Stanford losing streak. Oh man, he cleaned up after Pete Carroll on that one. Who cares how it happened. It happened. Stanford lost to us last year and it might even hurt their recruiting and keep them trending down. You need to win those games to win these wars.

He beat Notre Dame. He beat them bad. In fact, they were as short handed as we were and you saw how bad we beat a winded team. Did that not teach you anything? Wow, did we compete. Tired as hell all year, we won 8 games with like 8 dudes. They did this a week after a horrible loss that killed a ton of incentives. They got up for a game that bad teams can’t get up for. Hell, UCLA couldn’t get up for a home game against Stanford to win the South.

Look at the player development. You worried about Algohlor leaving? Me neither. I mean, I want him to stay, but for the first time in a long time, we developed the hell out of young players.

More proof, who had a better year than Kessler at QB? Next year, with a better O-Line, more seasoned supporting cast members and defenses having to game plan (and maybe more than 2 scholarship RBs), wins may come easier.


Or maybe they won’t.

But #FireSark? Please. I’m #StillSark. I’m willing to go the distance and see it through. I know I don’t want to be fired for a possible 9 win season in my first year with my predecessor’s players. Why should he?

It’s not about this year. It’s about getting ourselves ready for the long run. If we want to be Arrogant Nation, we need to stop whining and start just enjoying the wins and ignoring the rest.

I want to talk about one more thing. Something I was fuming about. Something that made me want to smash my phone against the wall.

If you don’t think the team showed up for UCLA, if you think Sark didn’t show up, let me point out, neither did we.

We didn’t stab the field. We let some deflated Thor looking punk walk-on (WALK ON) stand on their cheeseball logo and protect it from our drum major, who wasn’t going to stab it anyway because [insert excuse].

I’ve heard Haden said we couldn’t. I’ve heard the future of the band depended on it. I’ve heard that some streak of a billion games performed at in a row matters. It doesn’t. What matters is we never, ever take orders from UCLA ever, not even at work even if your boss went there.

I love our band. I felt amazing at the pep rally when I was talking and they’d strike up. They gave me a shirt and despite the fact I’ve sold thousands of t-shirts I designed myself, I wear the band shirt every week. I effing teared up as a high school senior hearing them play and wanting to go to USC so bad I would have torched Westwood to the ground. I still tear up.

I say that because COME ON GUYS. We put streaks, Haden’s thoughts, etc. ahead of the one thing we COULD control: Telling UCLA to eff off.


They deserved to win. They were dictating the game before we even left the tunnel. They told our band what to do, then they pushed us around all day. For some reason, for one day we were all “me, me, me” instead of “FUFUFU”…

This isn’t on our drum major who I love because he is in the band. This isn’t on the band who do more for us than anyone. This is on every single person who reads this or has ever read this for not sending reams of paper to every administrator at USC demanding we fight back. If we can’t have our tradition, UCLA can’t bring their band to the Coliseum either (not that anyone would notice) and then stab the field anyway.

What was so sacred? How on EARTH did we let a team that spray painted ASU’s field dictate anything to us. A team that planted their flag in our 50 yard line the year before.

BaX6otJCcAAEsbn ByauMvICIAIpA3O.0.0

Give me a break.

I don’t care we lost. We’re going to beat them more than we lose to them forever. John McKay said it best in that “there is nothing worse than losing to UCLA and nothing better than beating Notre Dame” – he said that because UCLA sucks, even when they are good. They are the kind of people who choke away big games, ACTUALLY desecrate fields and print billboards proclaiming superiority before taking huge dumps in big games. Always.

Who are we? We’re the team that has tradition and we will uphold it no matter what. When Traveller was going away, we found money. He must ride each Saturday.

Look at how we are when there’s threat of a new alternate uniform. We flip out.


Had we stabbed the field, only good things would have happened. Maybe our streak would have ended and UCLA would have tried to stop us from playing, but then ESPN would be covering that. I fail to get how no one understands that UCLA banning our band due to poking grass with a sword would be the single greatest recruiting tool we ever had.

Could YOU play for a school that sanctioned a band? Every outlet on earth would have made fun of UCLA. They would have brought up the fact UCLA desecrated ASU’s field. They would have made so many points we didn’t have to, except in national publications.

The great joy of this blog at its height was that I gonzo’d myself into a story I wouldn’t normally be a part of. A film student turned ad man hosting pep rallies and getting millions of reads.

This issue is YOUR CHANCE to hurt UCLA in a way only they would even expose themselves to. Only UCLA could be this myopic to leave their most vulnerable weakness so exposed: the are they kind of tools that sanction marching bands.

Please, let us not be the kinds of tools that allow them to.

I let you down not leading the charge. Pledge your support in the comments. It’s up to Sark to win the games, but it’s up to you to win the rivalry.

This is where I stand on the issue. Until we start acting like Trojans, I’m not blaming the players, the coaches or anyone else for not playing like Trojans. If we’re stabbing the field and two years later, Sark is losing games left and right, if we truly gave him a shot and it fails, I’ll be the first to say it’s time.

But we gave Kiffin some time. Let’s give Sark some. In the meantime, let’s get our own house in order Arrogant Nation.

Cheers to the bowl game and hoping it’s a swift, violent two years until we make this right.






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USC v UCLA – A Smack Talk Suggestion

I’ve been quiet this season. Too quiet? Nah. I drank 50 bourbons and now have a plaque on a wall at a local bar for said feat.

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I’ve been hustling at the office making ads that don’t make you want to break your television.

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I’ve been making apple pie bourbon and lots of pork for dinner.

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I’ve gotten my FIFA game strong. I’ve been a soccer hooligan with Timbers Army.

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I’ve spent some time watching sunsets while drinking in an infinity pool. (kept my phone dry)

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I’ve stocked and restocked my home bar over and over and even put it near a palm-like tree to remind me of home.

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But in the end, it’s UCLA week and as I stare at the endless stream of back and forth between our fans and their seasonal, twice a decade enthusiasts, I had to jump back in and put things in order.

Do me a favor. Don’t engage with them. You know how they say to not move if you see a bear in the forest. Do that. Do the shit out of that because talking to a Bruin about football is like arguing about Michelin rated restaurants with a person who lost their tongue from cigarettes.

They have bad taste. They have nothing to hang their fluffy, bow-in-the-haired mascot’s head on. They will never understand facts about football and to be honest, their boy-who-stumbled-into-a-movie-theater-mid-movie tactics tend to bring out the “Fundamentalist Trojan” in us and it turns to us exchanging cartoon photos of Trojans sodomizing bears and then them sending pictures of bears sodomizing Trojans and as USC grads, I deeply hope you have better things to do.

All of us do it from time to time, but let’s be honest. We get excited to play Notre Dame. We get excited to beat UCLA. They are our baby rival. They want to talk basketball, but no one wants to talk basketball.

So let’s just make a quick Troy Week assessment of what happens when you engage Bruins and why you might as well just smile at them.

First, they are going to say the OWN USC right now. Two wins in a row after their worst loss in history (50-0) and suddenly, they own us. As I’ve said when I’ve indulged in a little shit talking, if anything, they took a lease out on us that they likely cannot afford.

Owning is the last 15 years we’ve been lining up to play (including their two year lease):

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12 wins to their 3. Scoring 2x as much. Gaining 2x yards. Sitting on their QB’s head 2x as much. Since I was taking driving lessons, enjoying all dating from first to marriage, raising the money for and then buying a home, selling it and then moving to another state and then buying another home… Basically, for fifteen years, it’s been one way (until the lease).

Until the lease, UCLA literally made t-shirts about a 13-9 win over USC that prevented Troy from going to the National Title. Printed a t-shirt. It was that big a deal just to win (even though a month later we won one of like 5 Rose Bowls that decade in their stadium). Our punishment was a Rose Bowl win, something our whole conference covets so much you almost want to donate a couple of our dozens of them.

But if you bring up this decade, you get “The Cheating Discussion” – which of course is the line of unstudied discourse about what specifically USC was sanctioned for.

I made a video about it years ago and realized there was no point to bring any of it up, nor is there a point to bringing up the handicapped spaces the last really good UCLA team parked in illegally. One dude and his family taking money (and a lot of it) from a ex-con in San Diego completely unaffiliated with USC or athletes forcing handicapped people to park far away from businesses. Forensics, Ethics and Reading Comprehension – not taught at UCLA. Even as I type this, a moron from their school who is reading this for some reason unbeknownst to me is about to post something like this:

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Sigh. Murderers is used a lot even though they are citing one person. If that’s the game, here’s a Bruin football player who did the same, well, arguably even more insidious:

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Once a promising football player with the UCLA Bruins and the Los Angeles Rams, Darryl Henley found himself in a heap of legal trouble starting in 1995. Henley was convicted of drug trafficking and sentenced to 20 years in prison. He apparently was not too pleased with that verdict, as he allegedly hired a hitman to take out the judge and a key witness on the case. That earned him another 21 years to his sentence.

But the thing is, murder is sad and doesn’t have to do with UCLA or USC. It’s just a dumb argument. Neil Armstrong went to USC. USC doesn’t own the moon now. Alumni are cool. Some are embarrassing. Like the ones who invoke homicides for the purpose of football.

Some alumni from UCLA happen to be the lawyer who defended OJ Simpson. Just saying.

Liars, yeah. Josh Shaw was an idiot. He’d tell you that. He committed no crime. Served a ten-game suspension. Hurt his draft stock. We good? Play ball.

Cheaters? Again, please watch this video I made.

Next, don’t post crap like this…

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Beyond how embarrassing this boast is, beyond how lame “SUC” is as a hatful moniker, why so homophobic and if so homophobic, why make that point via a Trojan on his knees, crotch-level in front of a Bruin. WHY NOT FIND A PICTURE OF TWO TROJANS? I’m a modern man. I don’t care who is crotch-level with who, but I don’t get the desire to constantly use male-on-male sex or male-on-male beastiality to get fired up for a football game. Those people need help.

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I enjoyed this. Here’s a taunt that at least tries to be clever. Unfortunately, the product on the left is an actual product from UCLA. So whatever we think we are getting, we can actually get the Bruin plush doll on the left at the UCLA Bookstore, right behind the bruin statue USC graffiti canvas.

Let’s wrap this up.

When UCLA is hyped up, ranked well and respected, they flop. Like a fish. Every time. All the time. All day. Every day. Instead of trying to tell them we’re better, just prop them up. Troll them. Tell them how great they are. They are so good, I’m scared to play them.

Look, when we were winning 12 of the last 15, we weren’t reminding them we were the best team on Earth. They knew because ALL THE MEDIA™. They are only talking because they know we know they “underachieved” and in the end, are the same basketball school no one cares about.

Just tell them they are great.

If you MUST compete with these people this week, do it for a good cause. Like this one:

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Enjoy the game this weekend. I’ll be watching it with a bottle of bourbon and an Arturo Fuente Work of Art on an island just east of Seattle, with friends that did not go to USC, but through knowing the Bearfighter, see why we are the only reasonable choice. Even the Ducks up here know. What USC is in an up year or down year is a champion. History matters.

Which is why I’d be thrilled to cancel their short lease this weekend. If not, I’m sure it will end next year with no Rose Bowls or National Titles to their largely-irrelevant name.

Happy hunting, Arrogant Nation. FOLLOW ME ON TWITTER already. Been tweeting all year.





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Well That Sh*t Was Fun

I was down in Los Angeles for the weekend, you totally could feel that, amirite? It was strange. Everything was in its right place.


I was at breakfast eating a lot of ham and eggs and mainlining some coffee than was infinitely worse than it is in Portland (sorry, Southland, they got that part right up there) and I was swiveling my head around to watch the UCLA game. I couldn’t take my eyes of the screen.

A cool alum-bro was sitting there in his Trojan shirt staring at me like I was a UCLA fan and giving me the smug look I’ve given a thousand Bruin fans who publicly admit they root for UCLA. I had to throw him a victory V before he realized I was just enjoying watching the vaunted #7 Bruins play some awful, awful football.

It was easy to pick on Hundley with all of his Heisman hype, but the truth is, he had very little to do with how awful the much over-hyped Bruin squad looked. I mean, one could critique him for not checking down enough, for being one-dimensional the moment his first option was gone, but that’d be unfair. One of the two Achilles’ heels of this team was glaring.

Their O-Line is awful.

They were getting worked by a Virginia Cavaliers (yes, Virginia Cavaliers) D-Line that is slower, smaller and weaker than probably any set in the Pac-12. They had Hundley contained save one long scramble. They didn’t fly off the edges, they just leaked through the holes in the porous UCLA line. They didn’t have to do much. They were in the backfield keeping Hundley largely in one spot, unable to scramble or check-down. They were sitting on Bruin running backs heads.

Which brings me to the second Achilles’ heel. UCLA’s skill positions are slow. I don’t mean that as a hater. I mean that as someone who just recognized that the #7 team in America could not get their wideouts open against a defense that’s not exactly sending ten dudes to the NFL.

Their RBs were getting stuffed in the backfield. They couldn’t get to the edge. It was crazy.

In the end, I saw two factions of Bruin fans after the game. Those that understand that maybe they O-Line can be coached up, but as they say, you can’t teach speed and their skill positions looked flat. And slow.

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The other fans said “good teams find ways to win” and “the defense scored three times” and both are true, but let’s be real. Their first QB got benched because he was throwing TO the Bruin defense. In a game the Cavs came into thinking no chance they compete, they benched their QB. Worse, the backup brought them back into the game. So the pick-6s were good, but it wasn’t exactly making an athletic play to snag one from Mariota from the hands of a guy wiht 4.3 speed. This was “oh, there’s the ball and oh, the Cavs are so weak there’s no one to stop me, oh thank god.”

Mazzone looks like a bad hire. Their recruiting classes look devoid of speed. When USC would get in close games with really, really mediocre teams. I knew we were heading for some losses. I’m sure they feel that way. Don’t really care.

Here’s why…


We looked awesome. We looked like I think I look when I am drunk standing in the mirror in a tailored suit. We can say it was against Fresno State, and it was, but Fresno State would be favored against more than the Virginia Cavs. They’d be favored against Colorado. Maybe Utah. They weren’t a garbage team. They were just not a great team.

But when you play a not great team (or a garbage team like the Cavs), you want to run the most plays in the history of the Pac-12 (which is totally mind boggling with Oregon and the amount of spread O played out west). You want to drop a billion points. You want your freshman to exhibit burning, elite speed and the ability to catch the ball in traffic (against a probable first round draft pick at CB). You want your freshman tight end to smoke a safety and leap a wall after scoring.

You want to score the most points your program has since 2005 when your team was the worst team in the NFC West basically.

It’s EASY and sometimes dangerous to make too many assumptions on the first game. UCLA won’t be THAT bad all  year (although my 5 loss projection feels pretty good right now based on their tough schedule, slow skill positions and Swiss cheesy O-Line). We won’t be hanging points like that on elite defenses either.


Any time you do “the most of something” since “when you were good” it’s a good thing. Any time you show you have updated your offense and you out-Oregon, Oregon. That’s good.

Over 700 yards. Something like 37 first downs. Name it, we had it. And, wow. The freshmen. To every Washington fan that came here talking about their talent, etc. Sark + USC = people like Adoree Jackson and Juju Smith. Toa and Mama. Beasts of the SoCal Wild. 


It’s scary in a way. Oregon runs less plays, they score faster. What I dug about our performance and our offense is that Sark explained it well. It’s just uptempo pro set with slight mods. It’s not the gimmicky get to the edge game Oregon plays until they meet a team big enough to dominate the clock (Stanford) or fast enough to take away the edges (SEC).

We just got the ball to a million people in a million places from the flats to the middle to deep on the edges. There was no area we didn’t drop the ball. Kessler had shades of Leinart, lobbing balls where our guys could get them, playing conductor to a symphony of speedy options.

It didn’t suck to watch.

I said earlier in the day all I wanted was some vibes that we’re going to get back to having fun, get back to scoring and enjoying it. Even with our penalties, we looked disciplined. It looked good.

Stanford might be a tough one, but I am excited to see it roll out. This is why Arrogant Nation was there during sanctions. In a week of adversity, the media doing anything they could to blow things out of proportion, a RB who couldn’t crack the starting lineup making awful accusations, we just came out and dropped points.

UCLA got it’s ass kissed and that apparently distracted them enough to be the ugliest win of the “big boys” on Saturday.

It would seem that this clown college might be good at eliciting smiles this season.

See you in the endzone.

*dictated but not proofread. ever.





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And Our Hibernation Ends Again

Enjoy this moment, Troy. Really. Enjoy it. Stick around, I’ll remind you why.

As a freshman some terrifying 13 years ago (fuuuck), I remember going 6-6 and losing by a total of less than 30 points. I remember thinking we might be good. That we might have some good years.

I remember my sophomore year meeting Pete Carroll on the Row. I asked him how we looked. He sounded the same way he sounded when he won the Super Bowl. Like Uncle Pete. I remember thinking that I’d love to play for a guy like that. I remember wondering if he was right.

I remember taking a piss at the Orange Bowl after Iowa ran back the kickoff for a touchdown. I remember the overweight Iowa fan who made some mention of So Cal plus some vaguely homophobic slur. I remember telling him to meet me at half-time because it was going to get pretty shitty. Storm’s coming, homeboy.

I remember by the time I was back at my seat, we were figuring out new ways to embarrass the weak ass Big Ten. The dude never met me back at the bathroom. I assumed he had left early with the rest of the Hawkeyes.

I remember most of my time since then was realizing how bad the Big Ten is, at least where Troy is concerned. Penn State. Whack.

Michigan. Hail to the victors must be a song about us.

Illinois, oh yeah we played you too. Kinda forget for a second. JUICE WILLIAMS!

Ohio State, it was close at the Horseshoe when our quarterback was a freshman. It was embarrassing when you came to visit.

I’m probably forgetting a Big Ten team. Probably because they are mostly forgettable teams.

I remember spanking top ranked Auburn on the road. I remember spanking Oklahoma. I remember spanking Arkansas worse than any team every spanked them in their stadium a year after spanking them harder than any team ever spanked them in history. I remember that Arkansas team won their division in the SEC, don’t let them tell you that team with Run DMC was weak.

And then I remember the flood. The deluge of total and utter bullshit around sanctions. The shit we thought wouldn’t stick because the evidence pointed to a hard-to-prove infraction and then suddenly the punishment was indicative of far worse. A seemingly “failure to monitor” type penalty went full blown “lack of institutional control” and we got slapped with a hard backhand.


I remember wondering how the now dead guy from Miami made the ruling and didn’t live to see his school barely wrist-slapped for buying drugs, hookers and abortions for their players.

I also remember all the articles of our demise. I remember that even with four coaches, 30 less players and a nation of haters, we won ten games two times. Most our conference wish they won ten games two times in the last thirty years.

UCLA went 29-24 since we got sanctioned. USC went 35-17. Where was the structure fire? There’s been a few bumps, namely a couple losses to UCLA that in a way are great because it’s been a long time since I gave a shit about playing them. For all their hype, we still put them in a position to take a sloppy seconds trip to the Pac-12 Title Game and after they lost, enjoyed them petitioning the NCAA to give them a bowl berth despite being 6-7 only to lose the bowl game and finish 6-8, the worst team ever to play in a bowl. UCLA is the gift that keeps on giving. Can’t wait to see how they handle the pressure of people not thinking they suck.

I mean, for all the images of Matt Barkley getting knocked out of a game on a blindside sack, I pretty much can’t get past the 50-0 game that happened. A couple wins doesn’t erase that. Just like the John David Booty loss to UCLA was such a point of pride, but history forgets in a month we just came back and won another Rose Bowl in their stadium. Well, it’s kind of our stadium. Our oddly located one.

But let’s talk about what happened here during sanctions, our making lemonade out of lemons and pouring vodka into it. Well, bourbon for me, but you know…

I remember coming into prominence. I remember this stupid blog becoming a t-shirt empire. I remember hosting two pep rallies at Galen. I remember the high fives at the Coli, the shouts of “BEARFIGHTER” and the shots of bourbon offered by fellow Trojans.

They never did sanction the endzone. If a 7-5 record is sanctioning the endzone, Colorado should be excommunicated from having a football team.

In a time where UCLA ran no less than three ads proclaiming we were dead, we dealt them their worst defeat since electric lightbulbs and frankly had a better record then them in each year we were sanctioned or on probation. Sure, they have gotten back into the fray and I am for that.

But let’s keep it realer than a fart in an elevator. If UCLA had gotten sanctioned in the same manner, you think they’d go 35-17? I think they’d have had between 35 and 17 people showing up to watch them lose.

The sanctions are over, but we’ll still be short scholarships for now. And that’s fine. It’s fine because UCLA is getting a brief moment in the sun and using it to unveil new uniforms called “LA Steel.” They are draining the ocean from their basketball gym and they get their shot. They earned it, I guess?

Now we have Sark. That was Pete’s guy. The guy Mike Garrett cock-blocked while he was making things worse with the NCAA (even though they never had a real case and pretty soon those files will be unsealed, FEELS GREAT CAN’T WAIT). He’s upgrading the offense. He’s recruiting like an animal. We don’t have distractions in Kiffin, sanctions or frankly, Coach O. We’re just gonna play football and that’s pretty fun.

We get to enjoy revving up the war machine again. When you are on top for a decade, you let it get stale. You all read this, you all made me a cult figure at my college because it was pretty crazy how hard the NCAA came for us. But, four years later, who would you rather bet on? USC or the NCAA.

Hate to break it to you, but we pretty much won. Yeah, they need to bleed out. Yeah, they need to make changes and call them progress. Whatever. You hit like a toddler, NCAA. You barely bruised the apple.

The NCAA is so soft they literally acknowledge the championship we “gave up.” Why? Because they list co-champs all over their own website and since the AP never took our title away, it never got taken away. The people who took our title away literally acknowledge they were unable to take our title away.


So, here’s what’s going to happen as we climb back to prominence some time in the next five years, as we have in just about every decade since we created football (and don’t say the 1990s were hell, we won a Rose Bowl and that’s more than basically our whole conference has done ever).

We’re going to get our depth back.

There was a time where we’d offer full rides to players we didn’t necessarily want, but our rivals did. Mainly this was just to fuck them over. With no limits on offers again, this has started again. It is a vicious cycle for the Oregons and UCLAs and ASUs and Stanfords. We can offer to players we need less than they do and elite high school guys want to prove they can do it. Deep down, they know who puts the most players in the NFL (facts!) and how little our conference wins anything outside of Troy.

I mean, the last time anyone in our conference won a national title that wasn’t USC was in 1991. I was 9. I had never been to California before.

We’re the only relevant conversation in west coast football and while living in Portland has softened me to the Ducks, it’s also exposed me to the mentality of expecting the wheels to come off. You walk around Portland the day after the Ducks lose, it’s not anger. It’s not shock. It’s a feeling of “I saw this coming” and I had to move here to understand. How depressing is that!

That’s why Arrogant Nation is still better than bacon (kind of). It’s not just that we’re on top the most. It’s the fact we’re good at being on top when we’re there. And everyone knows when we aren’t on top, we’ll just get back there again. It isn’t fair. Blame the NCAA for that. They sure did their best to slow us down for a hot minute to the tune of 35-17. #rough

Enjoy right now.

Enjoy right now because we’re far from back, but we’re only heading that direction again. Anyone who tells you otherwise is ignoring a century-long pattern of taking breaks between winning. This time, our break was a bunch of winning seasons that the world considered failures. 35-17. MUCH LOSSES. SO FAILURE.

We’re almost through it.

Doesn’t matter what happens this year. It’s that we’re going to have a lot of fun soon. I won’t be convinced otherwise and neither will you.

I know how the story ends.

Happy fall returning.

Happy footballing.

Happy ups and downs.

In the end, we’re going to be on top again.


I’m just excited to go for the ride. You guys can be my DD.





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Final BachCap

I don’t think I can commit to writing about this final week in a normal way. I don’t feel a need to be linear. I think this season has been the worst since I have started watching this show. As some of you have noted, it’s been like pulling teeth to write about any of it. Andi is just slightly too smart to make too much fun of, slightly too put together to put down and so predictable it was like watching a romantic comedy unfold.

I miss Jake Pavelka pretending to like girls and having the occupation “fighter pilot.” I miss Ali making awkward moans and groans and having her extensions constantly look like they were being clawed out of her head. I miss Sean Lowe being a born-again virgin.

Andi is just that girl who went to law school, hasn’t quite figured it out and is dating the same kind of dude over and over. Literally, how many of these people do you know in your life. Some of you may be these people. AND THERE’S NOTHING WRONG WITH THAT.

Just please don’t go on national television only to take us on a journey around the world so you can find the same failed minor league baseball player from your hometown that you could have found in any bar in Buckhead.

What did we even see? They worked so hard to give us a hook, from the guy who died skydiving to the creepiness of Nick’s scarf game. Blah.

I mean, even Hy, her father, who was great when he told Wapalo to eff off was subdued and kind of basic. I missed Desiree’s brother, I wanted to fly him in just to call Nick a little punk ass and challenge him to a milk chugging and arm wrestling contest and the winner pays for tickets to “dollar vodka red bull night” and “insert inland empire club.”

I enjoyed her sister who I just wanted to get into Bar Method and maybe tell her “I’m sorry you have to deal with this” because I am pretty sure she is the best choice in the family. She just doesn’t have the benefit of constant spray tanning, constant hair and makeup and the inflated sense of importance you can only get from having a coked up Chris Harrison ask you questions about your love life like they are questions about how to resolve the situation in the middle east. In real life, Andi’s sister is the good one.

There was something so serial killer about Nick the whole time, but it slowly got revealed more and more and more and more and MORE AND MORE AND MOAR AND MOAAAARRRR. I mean, honestly the guy looks like a dried up felt tip pen wrapped in the one available leather jacket in Wisconsin. He falls in love with girls in the way only guys who aren’t interested in girls do. He fell in love with the idea of loving a girl. Yes, yes a thousand times yes.

If you asked him his favorite episode of Sex and The City, he’d have an answer. For the rest of us, our favorite episode was the second movie because that meant it was finally, mercifully over. Like this season.

Gut check, can’t you picture Nick abbreviating all his TV shows when he mentions them on Facebook? Like SATC reruns! SYTYCD! I love TV! Then he gets mad at you because TV is “The Voice” to him and he hates you for not getting it. His abbreviations. Abbrevs. Brevs. Evs. Umbrella. Ella. Eh. Eh. O.

I think I just figured out Rihanna.

I feel like Nick Cage in National Treasure, but mainly because Diane Kruger is making eyes at me and Justin Bartha keeps texting me to hang out.

On the opposite side of the spectrum, there’s Crap Leinart. Or There’s Something About Dillon. Like, there’s nothing really wrong with him except he is the male equivalent of a basic bitch. He’s not a bro. He’s just a dude who’s been in so many locker rooms and on so many golf courses that he’s gone taste blind.

His favorite person? His dog. His favorite song? Insert 90s R&B slow jam. His favorite clothing? Shiny golf shirts pre mid life crisis. His favorite meal? STEAK, bro. Just kidding, tacos, but only if it’s Tuesday.

He’s the girl you are so excited is interested in you but then you are like you cannot come home to Mom.

And then when he got engaged he was wearing a suit that was three sizes to small. I didn’t know a man could look slutty in a suit, but he did it. It was so embarrassing. And he was sweating like he was getting kicked out of minor league baseball.

But I guess they are happy, can live in ATL, eat well and fade into a life of being overweight on golf courses. Or divorce. BUT, huge props to Josh for handling Nick’s slut shaming, which shall be the final rant of the season. But first, yes. Josh was a man for not caring. The only anti-dote to slut shaming is saying sleeping with someone doesn’t make you a slut. And it doesn’t. Andi may be a lot of things, but not a slut and we shouldn’t as a society say that about people. Period.

So, Nick was having his crisis and basically outed that they had sex, admittedly in the whiniest way ever. This is crazy because this show NEVER admits it. I mean, Ben Flajnik (who I drank with in Portland this weekend, sweet name drop bro) had his hook up referred to as “swimming in the ocean.”

Nick. I think you have more stuff going on. But in the meantime, note to self. Slut shaming a woman on national television does not increase the likelihood of more women trusting you with intimacy. Or ocean swimming. Sex. I’m talking about sex. Get a strategy. Start from “the opposite of everything you think you should do.”

I’m glad this terrible season is over. I hope Chris the Farmer gets it because I genuinely wanna see how he does. See you next year most likely… But first some housekeeping.


Thank you to my readers on Twitter (who know when I delay a post or cancel one)  and just my generally kind readers, but when you don’t write a for a couple weeks, relax. I don’t ask for money, I do this for fun. And it is fun, but when I get “shamed” on my blog, it’s a huge drag. Like when this happens.

I could not agree more. Sure, it’s a bit sad that I’m fired up over a (lack of a) blog about the Bachelorette, but I feel like a fool when I get excited to read Lost’s analysis and then there’s nothing for THREE weeks.

If something’s going on in your life, sure. But another very popular Bachelor blogger, Jen Frase, announced a few weeks ago that due to a family medical situation, she MIGHT not be blogging the rest of the season. And apologized. And thanked people for being great readers. Totally respectful to her readers who looked forward to her column every week.

Whatever, Lost. You’re deleted from my bookmarks. Off to read the other blogs who keep their commitments to entertain us!

How would you know what’s going on in my life? I’m sorry you don’t want to read anymore, but it’s okay. This is a safe place. A happy place.

I’ve always said my readers are my friends. My friends don’t consider the blog my commitment to them. And I don’t think it’s my responsibility to talk about when medical results, business commitments or family obligations kept me from posting about a show I only write about because it is awful. This is for shits and giggles, guys. You can always tweet at me and ask what’s up. Those of you on instagram know everything that’s going on. Sometimes, I am traveling and don’t get to see the show and by the time I do, it’s basically next week. Sometimes, life gets in the way.

I’ve been very consistent for no other reason than I enjoy it. For some six years now. Millions of reads and thousands of readers. It’s just for fun. Let’s let it be that.

So if I keep going, it’s going to be for my thousands of friends who just like reading the crap I write when I have something to say. And to the upset poster I quoted, nothing personal and thank you for reading. I didn’t mean to single you out (and still don’t). It was just a perfect example of the things that make this largely unpaid pursuit so frustrating sometimes.

And by that token, to my USC readers who allowed me so graciously to slip from structured coverage into freeform content last year, that’s why I love you. I’ll be writing this year to be sure, who knows how much or how often, just know that when there’s something to debate, the Bearfighter will be there.

Thanks for another season, hopefully it’s better next year and I want to write. I really enjoy your company.



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BachCap Hometowns

First off, friends. Just check out Twitter. I was traveling for work, am I was moving into my own bachelor mansion, sometimes you just don’t have time, even for watching Andi get wasted and then writing run on sentences about her.

I finally caught up on the previous two weeks and actually was pretty TURNT UP for hometowns. Belgium and Italy had some intrigue and the people going home made sense. We even got to see seven infinity scarves from Nick. And Sean Bro tell a girl she was IN TROUBLE because she’d fall in love with him. Only to get sent back to the gym with no brotein shake.

I mean all that was good. Andi was hammered the whole time. She gave us a very traditional Bach Moment on her date with Crap Leinart when she wanted answers as to why she could trust him or nah and he basically was like YOU CAN and she’s like I FEEL ZO MUCH BETTER NOW ABOUT FEELZ. Who knew a man who looks like Matt Dillon did in Something About Mary post teeth enlargement could have this effect on a girl who went to college. There’s something about Chicklet Teeth.

Actually, between her baby teeth and his giant teeth, their kids would be okay.

So with all that goodness, I thought hometowns would be good. They weren’t. They were sweet at times, somber, honest…

Terrible for writing. Thankfully, Nick was first in his SWEET LEATHER JACKET and infinity scarves 2 thru 4. At one point he thru it on to walk her to the car. Betch. He was like hold on, it’s cold bae.

He is from Milwaukee which taught me last night that there are places that can make a life on a farm seem good.

Andi made some comment that she’d never been to a brewery before. Call me a snob (really, do it, it turns me on), but how is that possible. Atlanta has everything. She’s never been to a brewery? And then she smells the fermentation tank and they both sit there thinking it smells good. FERMENTING HOPS SMELL GOOD? Stop. Portland has more breweries per capita than anywhere outside of Munich and let me be clear. Beer is great, the smell of making it does not. We made beer in my friend’s kitchen one time and I considered the fact his wife did not leave him as one of the greatest gifts I’ve seen exchanged in matrimony. YOU SO FAKE, BABYTEETH™.

I aM mizpelting thz sntencz bkause of I dnt carez.

They went shitty dancing, drank shitty beer and had shitty conversation before going to meet all 200 of his siblings, all commemorated on a wall of photos I wouldn’t have believed in a Wes Anderson film. They were all nice enough but come on. If the Milwaukapocalypse started you know they would use the photos as inventory to remember who they ate.

Nick’s parents are his age, which is fun? Also, loved his mom in Swingers as the girl who Vince Vaughn gets her number and then immediately rips it up. That joke will take a while, but you will eventually laugh and well, that’s how I keep our marriage strong, internet. I just keep giving.

Look, Nick just sucks. He totally just got beat up a lot in high school or he was like slightly too short or something. He just never got the girl. He is not much of a villain. He is just a standard issue douche. Meh. Not worth getting riled up about. His hair is soft and so are his scarves. Andi would probably like sarong shopping with him at Neiman Marcus.

Off to Time Is A Fat Circle’s farm in Iowa where part of me hoped to see a weird antler adorned crime scene to complete my joke because this is my world, you all just living here.

Sadly, no. Just million dollar tractors and homes and great family and a cute plane dragging a cute understated XOXO type banner. Look, he isn’t even fat. This dude is my next Bachelor because I just know Andi doesn’t have it in her to move to a farm, but this family was awesome. I’m telling no jokes. They made me literally think hey, a farm would be fine. And I have a bar cart with four kinds of rums and I’ve spent over 75 bucks on bitters in the last month. I’m so yuppie that I judge people on how they make an old fashioned (or when they do) and I was like “fuck it, I’ll marry him and live on that fucking farm.”

I really like the guy. And you know why? Because he talks to women the way a man should talk to women. On a farm with no one nearby. KIDDING.

What I mean is he doesn’t give her answers, he gives choices. He can’t move his farm and so he answers her pretty damn honestly. You could raise the kids and enjoy the fact I’m a rich and kind farmer. You could go be a DA in Iowa. You could use your degree for something else. He’s going to get behind it and appreciate every day that she came to Iowa for him, because again. CAN’T MOVE A FARM.

Look, the family was great, the rest was great. I’d be his friend and when Andi blows it and picks Crap Leinart, he better be the Bachelor. We can actually root for this guy.


Andi next goes to Tampa (that sucks, sorry) to visit Crap Leinart. She didn’t wear any pants and in the end we can play a guessing game or we can just notice SHE BARELY GOT DRESSED TO SAVE TIME LATER.

His family was nice enough, even his moron brother who isn’t that good at football. But even here, I felt bad for him. I thought the baseball thing was cheesy at first until I realized his family had him on some deep spiritual mission to promote the success of his younger brother. He wasn’t good enough and he had to push his brother. His failed dream constantly rubbed in his face despite being bigger, better looking, etc. For whatever reason, his brother had Zeus’ lightning bolt.

His only satisfaction in life comes from the dog who loves him best. Maybe.

Andi is so marrying this guy and it is so a mistake, but I understand why he is the way he is now and that’s enough for me to root against his brother in the NFL. Oh wait. 5th rounders don’t play.

Finally, we had Marcus who immediately stripped. He was super cool with his brother. His mother, even though she supposedly beat him, was one neon blue eyeshadow streak more than a totally chill seeming lady who the years have been kind to.

We all know Marcus went home. Richolas Goscage is defeated and it’s the wrong choice. He was graceful in defeat. I don’t feel like talking to him.


Let’s talk about Chris Harrison pulling everyone over to talk about Adventurer dying. First, let me say the good part. It’s a weird “family that dates” kind of thing and so I get how a death messes with their heads. I have some trouble with the fact that these people only knew him for what, three weeks? I tried to come up with a scenario like if my college roommate left after three weeks and then a month later died. It’s depressing, but I don’t know. I get why Andi would be upset. It’s not fun to send someone packing or end on a fight and that guy dies. But still. The dude was on a quest to risk his life and thrill seek and this stuff happens. It’s sad, but he died doing what he loved and that’s no snark. He actually did.

Enough of that though.

Let’s talk about Chris Harrison’s “house.” WOWOWOW.

No rug, no paintings, coffee table guys think is rad (and doesn’t show leftover blow) and women would never let you buy… This is his chick killing den and we got a rare, rare glimpse into it.

Kind of like at the rose ceremony how we got a rare glimpse into the wallpaper they put in saloons when we saw Andi’s dress. It was like she was ducking a firefight between outlaws and the wall came with her. Yeesh.

She cut Marcus and a bit of my soul.

This episode was so somber in many ways, it was so different. I am ready now for next week. I am ready for the FAHNTAHSEESWEEETS.

Let’s get it together.



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BachCap Week 4… And/Or 5

With the schedule returning to normal after a double shot of Bachelorette last week, we finally are getting to the point in the show that allows me to look forward to it. There are less people to remember, they start traveling to cultural locations that prove how uncultured you have to be to be considered for this show, they go to exotic locales where at least when they are saying things that make us all collectively dumber, they are half-naked and we can be judgmental about all of it.

This is like the playoff race. We’re done with the warm-ups, the early season gaffs. These are all potential playoff teams for the Divorce World Series and it’s time to take note.

The Traveling Meatsicle World Tour has what looks to be a windy landing in Marseilles, France until I realized these guys flew their on a Ryanair livestock puddle jumper from Heathrow. Yeah, right they’d pay for these guys to fly private unless the French government told them they couldn’t film inside the country and Harrison had to use his private coke smuggling jet to wing them in.

Okay. Maybe they flew private.

BABYTEETH™ has me wanted to rub a cheese grater on my face immediately as she must be contractually obligated to say “France” after any mention of Marseille, either because she was too drunk to remember where she was or the network’s faith in Americans knowing Marseille was in France is pretty low.

Either way, the French flag, a symbol of liberty and great charcuterie was flown at have mast. This was because the Bachelor is the worst thing to happen to France since Robespierre. Because BOOKS™.

Harrison shows up wearing a chain mail turtle neck just in case the Mountain comes back to life and he has to fight for Tyrion’s life. How many gram bags can he smuggle under that collar? Wow.

All I could think about is how Andi is one of those people that just go places in the world and eat the food and drink the wine and then feel like they now know something of a place, despite having no fucking clue where they really are, why it’s actually interesting or anything of the sort. Like Harry Potter is the first thing she thinks about when someone mentions London, despite that 90% of those stories take place in a fictional wizard castle you need to take a secret train to reach. The second thing she thinks about in London? It’s a tie between every Hugh Grant movie ever, even the ones where he’s in America because NOTTING HILL THO™.

First date goes to Crap Leinart who is STOKED™ to get a letter from a producer pretending to be Andi in French. We know it’s not from her because she can’t speak spanish, she can’t speak french. Really, her english is limited to getting drunk on dates and going STOOOOOOOOOP.

But seriously. Stop.

This date is just standard LOW TALKING™ in a tone that is pleasing to Andi, who despite saying he is a jock who is just her type and will likely cheat on her, she is like FUCK IT WINE and just gets hammered at which point, the tannins make he say “I DUN EVEN KNOW HOW TO OPEN MY EYES OR NOT LOVE YOU RIGHT NOW.”

He tries to tell us that he could still be playing baseball if he wanted, but instead he’s not. Don’t front. Those that can, do. I could still be playing as well. If Little League allowed me to sign up again. I get that you got drafted. But the fact that I am seeing you on a dating game and not in a Dodger game is all the proof I need that I WASN’T GONNA HAPPEN™.

Back at the crib, there’s a blank group date card, proving that these guys will OOH and AHH at anything. Even nothing.

The real news was when Panstapreneur, who still is apparently a thing, tell Marquel that the Social Media Marketer has called him a “blackie” or some version of racial comment. Marquel is the coolest person on the show and he takes this pretty well. At some point, I wonder why they even show this. It just points out the worst part of this show, that it’s a pageant of white folks bastardizing the concept of marriage. There are often complaints that there have no been more diverse Bachelors, or hey, even a same sex season, but in the end, there must be ratings somewhere that suggest the main audience only wants to see the sanctity of marriage destroyed by white people and the occasional sociopathic Juan Pablo.

Back on Andi’s date, she’s hammered and believing a bunch of bullshit coming out of Crap Leinart’s mouth. WHATEVER I LOVE YOU WHY CAN’T I OPNE MY EYYYYYES???

The group date is some weird miming thing that I just feel no need to comment on. They looked like morons. Andi barely dresses up because she is self conscious and drinking herself to death on TV, much like how Adam Richman one tried to kill himself with hot wings challenges on Man v Food.

Ellen DeGeneres hair Nick is a wet blanket on the date to prove he is ANTI GROUP DATES™ and I hear you man. But again. Come on.

Andi mimes “drinking” to end this terrible date, but mainly because she hadn’t had a drink in a couple hours, was starting to feel self conscious in that square full of French people.

The night date featured Andi trying to walk in heels drunk, which looked like she was snow-shoeing through the Ice Planet from Star Wars. Mrs. Doubtfire was more graceful in heels.

While she’s trying to walk places and not spill glass seven of pinot gris, Marquel is confronting Nick about the racism. Nick either lies or doesn’t lie, but either way Marquel is a good guy, way to good for this show.

On a less heavy not, pretty sure they had to blur Andi’s crotch because her wardrobe is SCANDALOUS™. Or she’s just drunk and forgetting the whole “if they aren’t pants, it’s just an open window” theory.

Time Is A Fat Circle seals his fate by telling Andi that Nick is a bad guy. See you later man. Good luck finding the man with green ears. Sean Bro does the same thing, except dressed like the girl from Willy Wonka midway through her transition into a blueberry.

While everyone else fights, Richolas Goscage goes in for the kill and does some of the best (read:worst) tongue kissing since Sean Lowe’s season.

Somehow, Pantstaprenuer gets the rose proving you can fail at life and win at this show. Keep dreaming.

Basketball Coach, or DeGinger Brody or just Homeland gets the one on one and they do the eat weird shit date followed by the LETSWATCHADISNEYMOVIE date and FUFUFUFU for it not being the Muppets.

No matter how bad the date was going, Andi got shitfaced again, potentially the shampoo effect, and ends up making out with him.

She decides NO to a cocktail party. Instead, she holds each rose like a glass of wine (or like Ricky Bobby’s hands when he’s interviewing in talladega) and then cuts Marquel, Social Media Racist and Possibly Dead Tall Guy.

Marquel is heartbreaking because he now knows racism = alive and well, at least on this show. Make him the next Bachelor. Prove you are better than this already.

Highlight of the show is Creepy Tall Guy who just says he’s head from multiple people NOT JUST GIRLS that he would make a perfect husband. And loves to make human bacon out of sleeping people’s faces. JAYSUS.

Next week, VENICE after Andi sleeps it off.





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BachCap Week 3

Week Three and Four were combined for one of two reasons. The first was Chris Harrison went on an uncontrollable coke binge and he needed MOAR BACHELOR RIGHT NYOW™.

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The part where he talks about blow isn’t even the most cocainey part of this. It’s the general run-on nature of this post and the afterthought @tag. Please be the next Bachelor, man. Please. You would be like judge, jury and executioner. I would dedicate my life to spreading awareness of your program.

THE OTHER REASON™ they combined week three and four is probably to get Eric, the dude I KNOW IS DEAD (seriously, guys?) off the show because between Andi’s BABYTEETH™, her getting hammered in a non-fun way on every date and the fact there is literally a ghost on the show, this season has the lowest ratings ever.

Gentlemen may prefer blondes, but everyone prefers contestants that are still alive. It’s hard to watch.

Let’s just deal with Eric. I intentionally ignored this subject because it does not matter to the purpose of the blog. Every good joke I had about the situation was distasteful. Do I think the death of a dude who rejected his childhood where he was raised to not be allowed to drink alcohol or have sex reacting by infusing constant adrenaline into his life traveling to war zones, jumping off anything he could and generally taking risks whenever possible is tragic?

Yeah, but it’s not shocking. You can die crossing the street. You are more likely to die if you are on a quest to take risks. No one deserves to die, but Eric died doing what he loved. You don’t want to know my opinion on what he loved. The best jokes, the jokes you read the blog for, probably would offend you, mostly because they’d hit close to home.

I ignored his death because it wasn’t relevant to this show, where in the end, he was a dude who got sent home week four. I don’t watch this show to feel bad about anything. I watch it to feel good because I met my wife in civilian life. If I am supposed to feel worse for Eric because he was on this show, then I’d never get up in the morning with all the atrocities in the world from disease to genocide to dickheads that murder college students at UCSB.

Guys, any death is a tragedy. Not more so because they were on four episodes of a reality show pairing people together at a far worse success ratio than random chance. I’ve had cancer two times. I get it. Death comes for all of us. Valar morghulis, Game of Thrones fans. All men must die. Even extreme sports afficianados who vacation in Syria. Crazy, right?

Just know, since I punted on talking about Eric, some of my readers lost their minds thinking I literally did not know. Some just wanted to help. Some thought I was the devil.

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So let’s put it to bed. Rest in peace, Eric. Glad you died doing what you love. May we all be so lucky. You didn’t deserve it. Hope your family recovers as best as can be expected and that you being off the show allows them to move on.

My wife may finally close the browser. I still expect Muppets.


So anyway. Can we get back to being a dick? Perfect. Let’s bachcap. I’m gonna miss a lot because two nights is too much.

Her first date is with Nick, who is a bigtime frontrunner and also rocks the “Ellen DeGeneres hair cut” as Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist taught us (watch it again with someone you love). I think they went like hiking? I don’t know. Who fucking cares. She’s into him. He doesn’t bother me even at all. As Norah said when touching Nick’s hair “you’re soft man” and so is Nick.

The group date was fun because I got to hear some bad singing and also know Boyz II Men are still alive. And cool. So literally we also learned that washed up celebrities holding onto the early 90s are more socially adjusted than the traveling meat circus that is this show.

The worst part of this date for me was how Crap Leinart thought he could sing. I may be biased because I played in bands for almost two decades, but in fairness, I can’t fucking sing. Never stopped me from carrying a tune. It’s not that hard. Like, watching this meatsicles try to sing was so painful I literally opted to have my prostate checked during it to relieve the pain. That’s right. A gloved finger checking your prostate = MORE COMFORTABLE™.

Opera singer, who knows how to carry a tune, tried to achieve TOTAL VICTORY™ by singing on key and also using his patented DOUCHÉ VIBRATO™ and paid the price, which was confirming he’s exactly as toolbag as his Disney canine sidekick haircut.

Crap Leinart gets the rose for no reason beyond Andi is an idiot, says she knows better than to go for her exact type, and then goes for her exact type. Literally, if she was lactose intolerant, she’d have constant diarrhea from eating ice cream because she is basic as hell.

Pantstapreneur (do we even need a nickname) goes on a date where they dress up like old people, which is ageist, but again, not my cause. Keeping it super real though, Andi decides old people all have smoker’s voices and Parkinson’s. She was faking a hand shake. WORST PERSON EVER™. Seriously.

Even worse, he entire knowledge of old people is probably from the Notebook and she confused Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s. Good for you.

Rat Tail Hair Man and Opera Singer go home. Opera Singer cries like it’s the end of Billy Budd. You know. The Herman Melville gothic English language opera about responsibility and, um, sailors? Yeah. I’m 72 percent cultured. Buzzfeed told me.

Next episode….>>>.>.fweopfk[

The go to the most budget casino ever in Connecticut. I mean, how many better casinos did they pass en route to this one? In the end, these meatsicles decide to jump in the hot tub together and “air toast” to their BARELY KEEPING IT TOGETHER SEXUAL FEELINGS FOR EACH OTHER™.

Emo Ed Burns gets the first date, which is Connecticuit’s famous DEPRESSING TRAIN RIDE™. He goes for the worst idea ever, the patented LOVE ME FOR SAD STORY™ offense, which never works. People like it when you lead with your personality, then tell them your sad story later. Like, wow, you are so well adjusted. I recognize he just went through this. Here’s an idea then. DON’T GO ON THE DAMN SHOW.

Worse, Andi had zero fucks to spare. The entire date was her waiting for him to ask her questions about her, just like with Wapalo, where the point wasn’t Wapalo being a dick. It was WHY AREN’T YOU FASCINATED BY ME AND MY INFINITE ME-NESS. In fairness (like I’m fair) Andi did cry, though maybe from lack of attention or because she was in a train with depressing faded polo green napkins and not on a helicopter. She was a pretty crier. Big win for the agency.

As I often do, I hope this sad guy leaves soon so he can heal, which he won’t on national television. PITY ROSE™ accepted. Dismissal: imminent. I mean, he had serious bitchy resting face (BRF™) while telling her this is the happiest moment of his life. Everything about everything I just typed was depressing.

Next there is a group WNBA date. Yep.

These idiots are getting schooled by superior female talent until it’s time for them to play each other. They have ROSEBUDS jerseys that the producers recycle for the other team by flipping some inside out. Way to put on the ritz, guys. Nothing screams “LET’S BALL” like sharpie numbers and wearing clothes inside out.

They show a montage of these dudes going at it, scoring buckets, rocking out. Then we see it’s 6-6 at halftime. They only scored 3 baskets a piece. That wasn’t a montage. That was the entire first half. WOW.

After one of the teams loses (as if a 6-6 halftime score on national television didn’t make them all losers), the music is super heavy. IT’S THE MOST DRAMATIC PICK-UP BASKETBALL GAME EVER.

I like the Basketball Coach and it was pimp that despite his argyle half zip he sunk a half-court shot. Andi seemed turned on by a male act of strength setting the female gender back another five years. My wife just closed the browser.

He could hit a half court J, but couldn’t kiss a turned on admirer. NEXT.

Ellen DeGeneres Hair is running away with this show. A nerd with game. Unstoppable.

The last 1:1 date is with the man who looks like the scrambled facial features of Nicholas Cage and Ryan Gosling. I give you: RICHOLAS GOSCAGE™.

This dude seemed like a prick in the house, but he seems super cool away from everyone. He has ZERO FEAR™ for an extreme rappelling down a building date. He’s basically hyper trained from all the action movies the Nick Cage part of his face was in. Andi is TRIPPING BALLS™ but he gets her to eventually rappel. I laughed genuinely at Andi when she was asked what her mother was like and she said “Nicer”. For a moment I forget I am rooting against her. And humanity.

He gets a rose and they dance to another country band I didn’t know was alive.

At the cocktail party, Andi decides to get shitfaced and wear a disco alligator carcass as a dress. She can’t even walk in it, especially hammered on dirty martinis. In fact, I’ve never seen a bachelorette get this shitty and emo on cocktail parties.

Eric had what I think was an even better exit than Andi did with Wapalo. Tired of being accused of being disingenuous, he basically gave Andi a bowl of TRUTH JUICE™. She’s the faker. She’s too drunk to hear any bad news. Eric goes off the show humble in his recognition that this won’t work. I am glad this was how he left the show.

Drunk Andi runs off to make sure everyone knows RIGHT REASONS™ because VODKA+WINE™ is a super-combo. Whatever, SHUT UP ANDI. Blood alco-ya’ll level: .09.

They don’t show a rose ceremony, instead trying to give a tribute to Eric. I don’t feel like commenting. Tough situation for everyone.

Hoping we can move on now. I am.





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BachCap Week Two

Week two still falls in that part of the movie where ever character is speaking in sweeping explanations of the landscape, making classic dialogue and character development impossible. What’s worse, this is not a movie. This is a group of non-essential employees from various companies that are half-heartedly competing to loan a Neil Lane diamond to a woman posing as a DA before they breakup in a magazine your wife (or you) reads exclusively to deal with the anxiety of takeoff and landing on airplanes when it’s too early in the morning for a cocktail (although, I don’t buy into time=alcohol acceptability).

Time’s a fat circle, yo.

The meat popsicles arrive at the Bachelor Mansion and set the record for “most excited people ever to arrive in Agoura Hills” and I know. I was the president of Agoura High. There’s all this fruit in the kitchen and also a table full of apples, bananas too. One of the apples was bruised too. Below the eye. What happened last week?

Explorer gets the first date and HELICOPTER! I blacked out for twenty minutes because this was such a make-good for last season. We barely waited a week to be rewarded with our first aerial romance inducer. The love was flowing and so was this awful theme of “dudes wearing sweatshirts without shirts underneath them.” Look, just like Lululemon (you heard me guys in the Marina), just because you saw someone rock this in a catalogue doesn’t mean you can. It’s like spring in LA and you are fighting the season and worse, you are dressing like your mother let you pick your outfit. Nothing screams “you are going to need to remind me to brush my teeth every day” like wearing sweatshirts with nothing underneath. It’s called Northern Commando and unless it’s done by necessity, it’s bad form. It’s a devil-may-care look and you are doing it intentionally, which defeats the purpose. MAY GOD HAVE MERCY ON YOUR SOUL™.

Date one tho…

It was pretty much the visual representation of the douchey thing all Southern Californians say to anyone regarding why it’s so great to live there, only I don’t know anyone who’s ever done it. Basically, “I can snowboard in the morning and surf in the afternoon”– and sit in 6 hours of traffic between San Bernardino and the PCH also. I mean it’s cool, but think of all the things you could potentially do in life. I mean, I could eat breakfast in the Willamette River and have dinner in Tokyo. I could kill a man and bury him in Kentucky and take a tour of the bourbon distilleries. I could expose myself to a bus filled with seniors on a Grand Canyon tour.

We can do a lot of shit. We don’t. We watch BAD TELEVISION™.

The part of this date that was not cool was Louie Vito shows up to give a snowboard lesson to BABY TEETH™ and it put Eric in the corner. He had been feeling pretty good about his CARELESS BEACH BACKFLIP™ earlier, but now a soprano-voiced, gnar-shredded was doing the one instructional activity on par with the perviness of teaching a girl to golf.

Later, a story about Syria and how he’d give that all up for a woman. He likes the danger. He likes the romance. He likes letting Louie Vito steal his thunder.

Date card shows up back at the mansion and every year the men get more like the women when they read each other’s names. More and more, the men selected are this horrible time capsule of men from the mid 2000s, the kind of people that still remember storylines from Entourage and probably cannot wait for the movie to come out. Dudes that somehow didn’t understand it is 100% manlier to spill half your burrito on your dress shirt and not care despite your girlfriend thinking it’s WWIII than to shave your chest hair and spray tan. If your grooming routine allows you to share multiple products with your wife, you probably need to club a baby seal and eat it raw and get in touch with what made our species Darwinize.

So, after about twenty minutes of dudes not knowing the difference between “bear” and “bare,” eventually they went to Laurel Canyon and Sunset (I guess Crescent Heights) and went to a night club where they entered to find Magic Mike breaking out. Honestly, have you ever seen straight dudes more excited about seeing male strippers? Look, I’m a 23rd Century Male. I’ve been to every kind of club from WeHo to Old Town PDX and I can hang anywhere and have a good time. I guess I’ve just never gone into a fist pumping seizure at the sight of men in kevlar stripping down rapidly to prove they are the dong police.

Most of this was fairly boring, but I’ll say a few things.

I learned from a man wearing a blazer with no undershirt that Firefighters are one of the most popular female fantasies. #noted.

SeanBro needs a mother figure in his life. He was wearing a tank top to show off his misguided attempt at what women are looking for in a body outside of Wet Dayclub in Vegas black out drunk on a mission to have a sorority “what was I even thinking #yolo” story. Better than the tank top was the fact he was wearing a ladies hyper-thin sweatshirt around his neck like an infinity scarf. Damn.


I thought making the dude who shaved his chest from the nipples down (ok?) do a Top Gun dance when he looks just like Goose was messed up.

But the highlight was Chris Harrison slapping that ass. For real. I mean, I know he blew a line of Angel Dust off one of these guys’ lower backs and I hate the producers for robbing me of that moment. But I love Chris Harrison and I think he’s hitting that age they depict in Viagra commercials, where he is in total command and he knows what to do with the problems in his life. Divorce? Drank. Host a bad show? Drank. Male stripping? Drank.

Sharleen was there with Dog Lover which was depressing because you never truly leave the Bachelor. But for context, it’s great that this Opera Singer had free time on a Tuesday afternoon to watch amateur male stripping without being paid. CAREER GOING WELL™.

Craig, who I dub OH SNAP! (because his face gets red any time he talks and he’s about to yell OH SNAP to start every sentence) was this season’s version of the person who blacks out at a cocktail party. I’ll give him this, he did it right. He ran into walls, shoved dudes telling them to fuck off, he went swimming and lost motor control. I mean, honestly he really brought it. He had to be restrained by the producers (also in infinity scarves-in spring-in LA). He was drinking Fireball, so I knew it was coming. It’s puke juice. And terrible. Whiskey already has the best flavor. Whiskey. If a man loves Fireball, date a different man.

What was most disturbing was how badly BABY TEETH™ took this. She was easily the second drunkest person at the party. She went into a WHAT THE EFF THESE PEOPLE AREN’T HERE FOR ME spiral in week two because one human was in the swimming pool. It took me right back to her getting mad at Wapalo not because he didn’t care about her, but because he didn’t lie and say he did. CONFIDENCE CRUSHER™.

She gives a drunk speech about FOR THE RIGHT REASONS™ and I took a shot of rum and ignored her and her goblin teeth. Side note, she’s on a mission to push up bra this season, yeah?

Also, worst extensions since Aly. Period. I think she yanked them out at some point. Like, fuck it bro. Just fuck it. Doesenteyevenmatter. Ezzaactly.

The former pro ballplayer – I dub him Crap Leinart – just swoops in and give her a lady boner. Good work. Big win for guys that don’t try hard everywhere. Andi says he’s the kind of dude she always goes for. Still goes for him. Consistent.

Next day they try to make Santa Anita look nice because these people weren’t worth the 50 dollar round trip to Del Mar on the Surfliner. Time is a Fat Circle was kind of a great dude. In fact, he’s not even fat. I’m just trying to peddle my wares here, people. Andi is not into him even a little bit, because like anyone on this show the goal is to make a failing choice, not a smart one.

At least at the end they are treated to signature RANDOM BAND™ of Linkin Park-looking guys that gave up and started playing what I call INOFFENSIVE PORTLAND BARISTA ROCK™.

While they do kiss, she goes ASS OUT™ and LEAN BACK™ which is the opposite of how she kisses Crap Leinart.

He gets a PITY ROSE™.

Cocktail party, OH SNAP! sings an awful apology. Andi gets drunk again and says “ya’ll” more and more with each shot of whatever. It’s her BLOOD ALCO-YA’LL LEVEL™.

Believe it.

Oh snap and some other dudes go home. Can we get down to ten dudes already and do this?





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BachCap Week One

Welcome back from the mid-year break as we ride this last train into summer. Will this be my final season? Quite possibly. Then again, football fatigue and the holidays tend to make me miss this show. On the other hand, the fact they are doing Bachelor in Paradise this year to replace Bachelor Pad may be enough for me to cancel cable, grow out my Portland beard to political dissident length and possibly retreat to Forest Park and eat only beavers (take that non-sexually, please).

First and foremost, I missed the first fifteen minutes of this episode because upon realizing it was delayed to an obnoxious 9:30 pm due to the fact that Dancing With The Stars is still on television and presumably in the middle of some seven night finale event. Honestly, when ABC is gonna end a show, they drag it out long enough to sneak in a Lord of the Rings trilogy.

So I’ll assume they recycled some cop work images from last year, they met with her family and asked if her dad was more accepting of the fact this baby girl will be breaking hearts not vying for the love of a broken man with broken english, they showed how little she’s been eating since we last saw her and definitely fifteen minutes on her readiness to “find love” although as Heavy D and the Boyz said “now that we found love what are we gonna do… With it?”

And I’ll answer that for you. Spend a month in the tabloids until you get divorced, grow a huge instagram following for no reason, revel in strangers weighing in on your life and then ending up a trivia question or worse, continuing to go to Bachelor alumni events and After the Final Roses. GET OUT WHILE YOU CAN.

Andi and her patented BABY TEETH™ are back, they are moved into the mansion at a lighter weight than before and she’s talking to her sister who has an even more powerful jawline than her, but somehow I think she is a happier person. And her teeth are full grown, so big win for the agency.

They also debated which dress the guys would be more impressed by. Let me save all of you who date people who would consider going on the Bachelor time debating what will fly best wardrobe wise. Go with the one with the BOOB REVEALING™ technology, or the one that is generally just smaller or made of less overall fabric. I don’t want to be specific beyond less is more. Not more subtle. Just less. In actual square feet of fabric.

Total tangent. Every time I hear Patton Oswalt talk, I picture there is an animated rat cooking French food. Sorry, I just heard some Patton Oswalt and literally I hate this show so much I’ll take any diversion. Anyone giving out PROSTATE EXAMS™? I’m trying to find five minutes away from this blog and I quit smoking cigarettes.

With the condensed time line due to ABC SCHEDULING™ and PONZI SCHEMES™, we pretty much got right to the limo parade. I mean, like always, there’s not much to go on here at all and with a condensed episode, we barely got any time with anyone and I found myself in some negative integer space of caring so little that I might have cared a lot?

One dude said from the limo that Andi’s smile was devastating, but we knew that because of her patented BABY TEETH™.

One guy came out and went by the profession of Pantstaprenuer and unless he invented Chubbies, probably isn’t. Either way here is a picture of him in ugly SF Giants gear looking like GENERIC MARINA ASSHOLE™ who has self-confidence coming from his mother telling him he could be anything.



One dude came out with mini gauge earrings, a killer decision that screams “I have BAD TASTE™ but also am not willing to go the distance to truly mutilate myself as a statement.” His name was like Tasos, which is close to tasso, which in Portland means thick cuts of bacon. This is the coolest thing about him.



Conversely, he may be some kind of Latin Warlock, making her do some weird ass ritual with a lock and a key and throwing something in a fountain. In two days, she goes into a coma and can only be woken up by true love’s kiss, which means she’s totally fucked because she is surrounded by contestants on The Bachelorette.

Then, the best doppleganger ever came out. Sean Bro. That’s a bro version of Sean Lowe who took so many roids he looks like a meat bowling ball. He has a face that screams “I’m so roided out that my chemical imbalance of testosterone could make me cry at any moment if someone eats sugar snap peas.” At any point in this butterfly’s transformation, did he have a single friends say STOP?

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There’s a surfer guy who if he didn’t get eliminated was going to be called ASS OUT HUGS™ because it’s like his crotch and whoever he hugs have reversed magnets in them. Try a little tenderness bro. Share your gift.

Some doctor gets the first creepy bachelor theme of the year for some fever joke. And then there’s the other guy with the ill-fitting suit (PARASUIT™) and I just feel like he stepped out of the movie Mannequin after being trapped on a backlot for years. Fuck both these clowns.

Emil, who wanted desperately to let you know to pronounce it like “Anal with an M”, which I am pretty sure was a Taking Back Sunday song, got cut and I am just pissed because he was a HELICOPTER PILOT. I mean, my god. Are we against fun on this show? Do we hate it?

Some hairstylist brought a lamp. Eff him.

Then the dude from Silicon Valley showed up, but he failed and had a radical tirade at the end of the show that was equal parts HURT SAUCE™ and FUCK IT, LET’S WATCH GAME OF THRONES™. I liked him.

A man who totally front ran and has trained for the show by being a world traveling explorer who likes extreme sports impressed early. I have no idea what would prevent a man like this from winning this show.


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FAT MCCONAUGHY, TIME IS A FAT CIRCLE or DALLAS FRYERS CLUB. You choose. Alright, alright, alright?

Andi says something about being worried people would be disappointed with her being the Bachelorette which is the main difference between the mental defect required of a lady to be on this show compared to a man. Woman must be insecure she is an object of desire. Man must be convinced his previous problems with women all related to the fact there weren’t 20 competing for his junk and being flown around the world. It’s the system’s fault, not the fact you are a spray-tanning megalomanic.

Then Chris Bukowski, who I think was called Shitty Tobey Maguire or something (which is hard to do, Tobey sucks to begin with) decided to try and crash the show in a last ditch effort to turn his awful string of local magazine editorials in which he took douchey photos into something other than whatever he was doing before trying to stretch his 15 minutes into something like 3 years.

Some people went home. Let’s trim the fat. We’re back. God help us. FOLLOW ME.






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