Tu-lane Re-jects!

Tu-lane Re-jects!

My, oh my, words can be so hurtful. Especially when they are tinged with the misinformed air of superiority given off by chanting fans at last Friday’s Tulane- vs. Loyola basketball game at Fogelman Arena. I’m not quite sure why, but this notion always seems to come up at the annual let’s-make-Tulane-feel-good-about-themselves-before-they-have-to-play-Louisville-and-Cincinnati- game. Am I truly a Tulane reject? Oh, Green Wavers, surely you jest!

Apparently, Tulanians have never heard of Communications degree or Music and Visual Arts. You see, hard as it is to believe, there are those outside of the business realm, who choose to get a Liberal Arts education. I know, I know, I’m an idiot.

I’ll be working for you someday. I’ve heard it all before. But keep this in mind, my future may only be managing a McDonalds, but with a degree from your journalism program, you’re the one who will be asking people if they want fries with that.

I really shouldn’t be so hard on Tulane though. As a group, they communicate fairly well. I’ll always remember fondly how one rather rotund Tulane fan chose to communicate with the Loyola student section after the game.

I’ll give you a hint, it involves one finger, and not even the most die-hard of Tulane fans are dumb enough to say that their team is number one.

But what are we to make of this “Superfan” with the extended middle finger and the enlarged beer gut? Why would he possibly wish to make his feelings known so adamantly to a bunch of “rejects?”?

Could it be he was lacking something? What was it? Beer? No, he had plenty of that, as the Coors bottle permanently affixed to his hand would attest. Nachos? I think it’s safe to say he probably had his fill.

Maybe he was missing something befitting of any bloated, middle-age loser who can’t let go of his college years: class. There was not a spot of class to be found, not even among the nacho cheese stains on his Tulane polo.

But all of this could not cloud what was truly important about last Friday. Both teams played with an air of class not entirely evident in the stands. Our team played with such heart and determination that they gave me one thing that no sweatshirt, sticker, tattoo or pin could: school pride. I was proud to be a Loyola student and proud to see our boys fight hard even when the game was out of reach. Ryan, Jon, James (Olivard and Bunn), Jonathan, David, Vince, Zach, Luke, Steven, Bear, Daniel, Mario and Matias, I’m proud to call you my team.

Well that’s it for me. It’s been a great semester. I had a great time writing for you all and, likewise, you all loved reading my column.

I’m sure of it because my mom is the only one who reads this, and she seemed to think I was “pretty darned good.” Anyway, so long and thanks for all the fish.