I can't do it anymore. I can't be the cool kid. I can't be the hipster, smugly acting indifferent. It's not who I am, but more than that. It's nowhere near how I feel.
The idea of justNortwestern was fun. It was such an ingenious put down. Ridicule through indifference. Superiority through smirks.
Here's the problem. I'm not indifferent. I can't, in good faith, smugly look at the Purple as just a game on the schedule. This game means something to me now. And with that, it's on.
I hate you, Northwestern. That's what you wanted, right? Well you've got it. You didn't earn my hate from your 2005 win. That game where you somehow came up with two touchdowns in the last five minutes to upset a better Hawkeye squad.
I hate you, Northwestern. I definitely felt something more than indifference as you used a helmet-to-helmet cheap shot to knock out Shonn Greene, cause a fumble, and steal away the game in 2008. The Hawkeyes were the better team. You knocked out their best offensive player, and you stole a victory.
I hate you, Northwestern. After I got through the misery, I began to have feelings toward you, and they weren't the nice ones. It was the nightmarish image of Northwestern twisting Ricky Stanzi's facemask, causing a fumble/defensive touchdown, and ruining a perfect 2009 season. That one hurt. A lot. And that pain hasn't gone away. It's turned into hatred.
So know this, Northwestern. When you prance out upon the field, I'll be thinking about what you've done. I'll be thinking about the pain that you've caused.
Know this Northwestern. Every time your PA announcer wants to pay tribute to Janet Jackson's vagina, I'll be thinking of the pain that you've caused. You want to fantasize and romanticize about her? Go ahead. I'm thinking about my dog, Kinnick, ripping you pussy cats limb from limb. Lord, knows he gets angry enough every time you pay your homage to her.
Yeah, I know what you're really thinking about, Northwestern.
You think that you hate us, Patty Fitz? You think you know hate? You don't know hate. I've seen it. I've watched my entire state ripped in half with football hatred. I live each day half-expecting a militia of the residents of Southeastern Alabama to rise up and march en masse trough my town on the way to sacking Starkville. I know what hate is. You do not.
But you will, Northwestern. You'll see it Saturday. As you celebrate that enough of Iowa traveled East to fill your pock-mark of a stadium for the first time in thirteen years, I'll be watching Iowa fans who are there for blood.
We may lose our indie cred. We may be forced to lose our identity as Midwestern hipsters. But this is bigger than that. This is a new feeling toward you, Northwestern. So prance onto your field. Pay your homage to Jackson's vagina. Make your sweet comments about hatred. And know this. Every minute, we're watching you. And we're angry. And we're coming to put an end to you.
Because that's what you do when you hate.