About thirty years ago Jeff Goldblum said that he had forgotten his mantra. What a bitch! NF will always know what it stands for: sick flicks, bids, and an “I don’t give a shit mentality.”
Our spring season is approaching, and in case y’all didn’t know; shit is about to get real (perhaps a little too real if you’re New-Ro-Soft). We will contend, that’s a fact. Straight up, and Wesleyan best be thankful. We are your representitives on the pitch. We make you look better than you actually are (because y’all’s jeans are a little too tight…obviously). We bring to this liberal arts institution an opposite of a Beta Band mentality, namely that of heroes to zeroes: y’all can finally be Jakob Dylanesque heroes. We don’t need your gratitude though, because what’s worse than a fair-weather fan? Especially when it pertains to this lackluster institution…(why does anyone (wespuck, I’m talking to you, and only you (MOCON MOCON)) go to football games)?)
In the past y’all have been warned about the Nietzsch Factor media blitz. That was a joke. Don’t tell me you though it was real…Dear God don’t tell me you did. JFC (Jesus Fucking Christ); spread this acronym like wildfire, or like reoufous if you happen to be more comfortable with “Never Been Kissed” terminology…MICHAEL VARTAN!
Reality has gotten real, for realzzz. Spring time is our speciality. Savannah is a way of life. Saffer will always own River St, and if you don’t know what I’m talking about, “isnt it a pity. isnt it a shame.”
Nationals is our goal, and we shall succeed. Zeb, Vern, and Saffer didn’t teach us (a select trio (Z-Dav, L-Car, and moi) much as freshman, but that could not, and would not, stop the tide (aka nags). Their only legacy is the triangle drill and party-master-mc-strordinair (zeb the former, saffron the latter) and with these tidbits we learned our potential. This year (ideally) or the next, we will bring glory to Wes (-tech is optional) and compete at our “sport’s” highest level; the aforementioned nationals. Whether or not you take us seriously is trite, because, bluntly, who the fuck are you? Exactly!
We are to Wesleyan athletics what Pats Hubba Hubbas is to Westchester County. We are the saving grace; the lettuce, tomatoes, and onions on your chili cheeseburger wedge. Or, if you’re man enough, your pizza burger (Rudie Can’t Fail= Rudy John Thayer, listen.) Enjoy us while we last, for we are the final frontier, the last hope, the earring in Walker’s left ear.
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