Football belongs in the Arizona Territory like beach volleyball belongs in North Dakota. Wipe away that put-on scowl. You know I’m right.
And no, that Martian landscape that you inhabit doesn’t qualify as a state. Take away air conditioning and Arizona devolves 200 years to where the only living things are saguaros and scorpions. Okay, okay, and Diamondbacks. I didn’t want to remind you of your crummy major league baseball team. Sheesh, I was trying to do you a favor.
The Heat Is On…And There’s No Off Switch
Football is played in autumn, something Arizona does not have, and the word “winter,” as far as we know, has never been uttered there. Arizona has only two seasons–summer and incineration. And that makes it too hot to do anything, except get sunstroke on a regular basis.
In Arizona, when someone asks how you are, you don’t respond, “I’m good.” You say that you’re medium rare, or medium, or extra crispy. The only sensible thing to do in Arizona is concentrate–and focus with all your might–on how not to spontaneously combust.
This is why the University of Arizona does not play football very well. You can’t do anything well when you’re slow roasting in a broiler oven. If you ever have an insane urge to wager on Arizona, keep in mind that you’d do better with your money if Bernie Madoff was still alive to invest it for you. Since 2000, the Wildcats have posted 18 losing seasons in Pac-12 play. That’s not a typo. Arizona fans would get more excitement on Saturdays by poking slithery things out in the desert and then running away from them.
Tragic Tails of Depravity
I’m not just being snarky here. Mistreating animals is a tradition in Arizona, especially by the sadistic Arizona student body. My sincere apologies to the many sadists out there who are now lumped in with those twisted Neanderthals in Tucson.
If you think I’m being blasphemous to Arizona students, you may want to think twice, because the truth is that once upon a time Arizona had a very nice, live, adorable bobcat as their mascot–and they hung him. That’s not a typo either. Those criminal nitwits hung that poor bobcat from a tree, and I am not making any of this up.
And please don’t tell me that you don’t have any sympathy for bobcats, because two of them ate your Uncle Melvin when he was traipsing around in the Grand Tetons, when you and I know that where your Uncle Melvin belonged was in a hammock with a Budweiser.
We assume that you love horses–everyone slobbers over them, thanks to Secretariat and Mister Ed–and wait’ll you hear what those miserable cretins at the U of A did to a dozen of our equine friends.
This “A” is Not For Effort
Normal horse owners feed their fillies high-grade oats, groom them, pamper them, and love them more than degenerate gamblers love off-track betting. But at Arizona? The reprobate morons who double as Arizona students loaded down a dozen thoroughbreds with heavy rocks–bigger rocks than the ones in the students’ heads, and then they marched those tortured animals UP a steep, scrubby mountain for nothing more than an idiotic art project–to make a letter “A” out of those colossal chunks of basalt.
This was not done one time in one cruel afternoon. No, no. This was done to those poor ponies, day after day, for four straight months, and how many of those coulda-been-Derby-winners lost out to the killer heat we’ll never know.
If the “A” is shown on TV during today’s game telecast, spare a moment of thought for those suffering stallions, and do not forget what that “A” really stands for. It’s the only word that fits those insufferably revolting students. And that word is not “Arizonans.”
Callous Malice in Practice
Honestly, what do you expect from a place where the tourism board promises you a wonderful vacation and what you get instead is a huge hole in the ground and a mule to get you to the bottom. Imagine what it’s like to eke out an existence in that charming little hellhole called Tombstone, whose motto is, “The town too tough to die.” Swell. The town stays alive and you croak.
By now, I know you’re wondering, “Why is Arizona so mean?” Some people blame the blistering sun and blowtorch wind. I blame Rich Rod, the ex-Arizona coach. He was nasty to his players and ornery with the media, and he had the look of someone in constant need of more fiber in his diet. Arizona meanness dates back to the mid-1800s, so you may say my logic is flawed, but I believe in time travel–I saw it in a movie once–so I’m inclined to think that Rich Rod started that whole mess at the O.K. Corral. It wouldn’t surprise me if he took a pot shot at Doc Holliday.
An Action That Must Go Unforgiven
What is this business of Arizona mocking other teams’ injuries? It’s sickening to imagine how it probably happened–a defenseless Cal tailback brutally clotheslined, writhing in pain, and even before medical help gets there, Arizona students and alumni are flinging “D” batteries at him, and for good measure a car battery, and all this when his only crime was rumbling off tackle for two and a half yards.
But here’s the worst part: while the medics are wheeling the nearly decapitated Golden Bears player off the field, two hoodlums rush out of the stands, and with paint and brush, they scribble onto the turf those two unforgivably offensive words: “BEAR DOWN.”
The next time we waylay one of Arizona’s goons at Autzen Stadium, we need to write at midfield in big fat letters: “WILDCAT DEMOLISHED.”
Must Our Beloved Ducks Play an Inferior Foe?
Well, yes, because the Ducks made a commitment to the Pac-12, and honorable schools live up to agreements, unlike those treacherous vermin at USC and their tag-along leeches at UCLA. Playing in the Pac-12 is a proud tradition at Oregon, while USC and UCLA play the Pac-12 for fools, exactly what you’d expect from cold-bloodedly self-centered, immoral institutions.
Traditions give college football what we call pageantry, color, and in the case of USC, setting precedents for things like accepting bribes from filthy rich celebrities so their spoiled and stupid kids can cheat their way past admissions, naming dormitories after Bronco drivers who help accused killers run away from the cops, and displaying gigundous jerseys in the L.A. Coliseum that glorify the lowest type of human scum.
As we have seen, most of the traditions at Arizona–and almost everything associated with the U of A–involve some type of psychopathic activity. Chucking full water bottles at cheerleaders is yet another of these vicious and senseless actions emanating from that pit of sewage otherwise known as the ZonaZoo student section.
And just when we thought we’d seen every imbecilic thing, there on the U of Arizona website is a fuzzy picture of ugly scrub accompanied by the caption, “Cactus Garden,” and it is listed under the banner of…wait for it…”Traditions.”
Who Are We to Make Fun of Arizona’s Traditions?
We are the Oregon Ducks, that’s who. And come on, have you ever heard of anything as cockamamie as calling a Cactus Garden a tradition? But there it is on the Arizona campus, just sitting there all prickly and scraggly, patiently awaiting the most savage kind of ridicule.
Given the utter disregard that Arizona students have for every living thing under their scornful sun, a Cactus Garden may be only oddly absurd, because those noxious class-cutters will likely never water it, or trim it, or treat it humanely in any way. Truth be told, they’ll probably never even look at the frightful thing. Unlike bobcats and horses, the Cactus Garden can survive an appallingly abusive gang of freshmen, sophomores, juniors, seniors, and yes, Ph.D. candidates.
A Final Stinging Rebuke
Don’t be misled by that oxymoron label “Arizona Wildcat Pride.” You’ll be amused to learn that the nickname of Wildcats was hung on Arizona by an L.A. sportswriter–how pitifully prideless–while the U of A football team was getting shut out by Occidental College. Getting whitewashed by Occidental College should have been enough to convince Arizona to give up football for 500 years.
Yes, I used the word “hung” again on purpose, just to remind you of those perverted Arizona students and that sweet, deceased, innocent bobcat. Perhaps it’s time to return Arizona to its rightful owners–those nasty desert scorpions, which as we all know by now, are so much more pleasant than the living creatures who are presently in charge, especially those Cro-Magnon types roaming around Tucson.
Who’s going to care? Arizona is nothing more than a territory anyway. And you know I’m right.
Top photo by Wim Hoven on Unsplash
Alan Lohner is a native of Toledo, Ohio, where he served as a police officer from 1976-1980, before he moved West, graduating with a master’s degree in journalism at the University of Oregon in 1981. He’s enjoyed a long, successful career as a writer and creative director in advertising and marketing communications.
Alan takes delight in writing satire and spoofs for Ducks fans. He’s also written two self-help books; one is a highly acclaimed guide for teens and young adults, available as a free PDF to any member of the FishDuck community. Send a request to Alan, via message, in the OBD forum. For professional writing inquiries, you can contact Alan at firstname.lastname@example.org
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