Five College Football Bowl Games That Need New Names

Every year between the end of the college football season and the national championship game we’re forced to endure a series of overly-sponsored match-ups by slightly-better-than-average football squads.  They are given a shot at eternal glory by conquering opponents in bowl games whose names leave even the most experienced commentators tongue tied.  So, whether we’re fans of the sport, fans of a team in the game, or someone who happens to be watching television over this holiday season, bowl games like the “Franklin American Mortgage Music City Bowl” often leave us with an overwhelming sense of confusion as to why teams are playing and who is watching.  Here are five bowl games whose names stand out as horribly mis-matched with the teams competing in them:

Venric Mark to Return for 5th Year, Looking for “Career-Defining Injury”

EVANSTON, Ill. – After the official announcement that Venric Mark would be granted a medical hardship waiver and be allowed to play a fifth season, the Northwestern Wildcats’ Senior running back told reporters that he was excited to return to the field, explaining that he hasn’t yet had the career-defining injury he has been working towards. “I’ve put in the hours, spent the time in the weight room – but I haven’t been able to put together that all-around spectacular injury everyone’s expected,” said Mark. “I felt like I was about to break through and do it with (the left ankle fracture) last season, but it didn’t quite happen.”

Head coach Pat Fitzgerald confirmed Mark’s commitment to the Wildcats and desire to produce a truly great debilitating injury. “Venric’s always had big dreams,” said Fitzgerald. “He wants to go out there and give the NFL scouts a jaw-dropping injury they’ll never forget.”

“I want to join the likes of Joe Theismann, Sterling Sharpe, and Bo Jackson,” added Mark. “Those are the guys I look up to.”

Additional sources confirmed that in preparation for Mark’s return, Northwestern’s offensive line had begun practicing “just kind of watching” as defensive linemen run by and maul the team’s most valuable players.

The John Evans Curse

Anyone who has followed Northwestern’s football team this year knows that there is an invisible, intangible and entirely irreversible curse working against them. That’s not to say that the team should be 9-0 (there has been some less-than-stellar playing all around), but something is clearly afoot. It simply cannot be denied after losing to Ohio State because of a controversial spot on 4th and 1, losing to Iowa in overtime, losing to Nebraska because of a 50-yard Hail Mary touchdown with 4 seconds left, and now losing to Michigan on a last-second haphazard field goal that couldn’t even happen in Madden 2014.

A Plea: Don’t Give Up On Our Wildcats

When I think of this football season, I think of the proverbial Sweet 16th birthday in which nothing went according to plan. The one where you invited all the right people, planned all the right activities — maybe even picked up a six-pack of O’Douls — and yet, despite your best laid plans, the shit still somehow hit the fan. In fact, the fan-shit encounter wasn’t even benign enough that we could clean it up with Windex and some elbow grease. We’re talking a full-blown, weird-kid-in-kindergarten level of shit splatter, as if Quentin Tarantino were invited to direct the sequel to 2 Girls 1 Cup (presumably titled 3 Girls, 1 cups).

The Official College Gameday Drinking Game

It’s official, Wildkittens — Gameday is coming to Evanston to nationally air the Northwestern Wildcats beating the An Ohio State University Buckeyes. It’s our job as students to prove that we do, in fact, have people rooting for us to win this game who aren’t just Michigan fans. We MUST have a decent fanbase in purple, not just in “beat fucking An Ohio State” shirts.

This.

This game is finally our chance to prove to the football-watching nation that our school is not, in fact, in Boston. This is our chance to finally differentiate our school from Kim and Kanye’s offspring. No, we are not a Hitchcock movie either. This is our day to get drunk and pretend like we have school spirit year-round. Grab your purple face-paint, cat-ears headbands, fla-bongos of Skol, and get ready for the biggest shitshow of the season. Let’s show the nation what NerdWasted is all about! There will be some saddddd cheerleaders and band members if the fan section isn’t getting rowdy and growling.

Cheerleaders are sad because they don’t get to pregame by doing the alcohol.

So, my fellow HeinousCats, here are the official rules of how to get shitfaced for ESPN’s Gameday in Evanston:

Wake Up.
Turn Up.
Go fucking ‘Cats.

You’re fucking adults, you don’t need a “game” to force you to get hammered FOR GAMEDAY. C’mon. Put that 35 composite ACT score to use with some common-drinking-sense that ESPN needs to see some hot biddies downing shots on the lakefill.

An Open Letter To The Capital One Bowl

Dear Capital One Bowl,

Well hey there. We’re Northwestern. Never heard of us before? That’s okay, we’re pretty new to the “relevant” part of college football town.

We heard you were thinking about asking us to come to your bowl game. As a school that doesn’t ever get invited to The Dance, that really meant a lot to us. We know you have a lot on your mind, but we thought we might just stop by with a few things to think about when you’re making your decision.

#GetFuckedIU

Mmmmm, you like that don’t you?

Have you ever wondered what it would look like if Steve Buscemi and Rosie O’Donnell did it?

No?

Not even a little bit?

Because that’s all I can think about heading into tomorrow’s absolute and total fucking of Indiana at the hands of Northwestern.

In a battle of two schools tied for the all-time losingest records in college football history, it’s hard not to think of anything but two of the most appallingly atrocious humans of all time bumping uglies in a Walmart restroom. That said, at least Steve Buscemi — the Northwestern of this heinous pairing — has scored moderate success, including breakout years in the mid-90s and a return to relevance in the past few years. Rosie, meanwhile, is in constant flux between garnering irrelevance and disgust.

Anyways, IT’S TIME TO GET FUCKED IU.

Now, I’m not sure what exactly a “Hoosier” is, but I don’t think it would really like being double-teamed by Kain Colter and Trevor Simien while Seth Meyers sits in the corner and watches Saturday at 11. I bet Cam Coffman will turn as crimson as his uniform after witnessing the ungodly bestial acts performed at midfield tomorrow.

Be warned, Indiana. We’re going to abuse you like Bobby Knight circa 1997. Run your ass into the ground like the ass-drubbing William Henry Harrison administered to the Shawnee at Tippecanoe. Fuck you like Gary’s industrial economy.

We know that your student population mostly consists of hot girls we used to go to high school with and music majors, but don’t think that will stop Venric Mark and the Northwestern rushing attack from fucking you so hard that all jokes about Ball State University will just seem unnecessary (hint: it turns out that playing with Ball State was just the foreplay for what’s to come tomorrow at Ryan Field).

Safe to say, we’re going to screw you over like Governor Mitch Daniels having his way with a local union chapter.

Don’t worry Indiana. Being the taint of college football will be a challenge, yes, but let us advise you on the ways of sucking. Plastic bottles of whiskey certainly come in handy, as well as a healthy dosage of delusion and heinous.

And if all else fails to cheer you up, we hear that the smog and pockets of racism make for excellent sunsets along I-90 on your way back from tomorrow morning’s diddling.

HOOSIER DADDY???

An Open Letter to my Unborn Grandson Explaining the Sport of Football

Dear Unborn Grandson,

Still waiting for the Houston Texans’ upcoming “Divisional Round Dubstep.”

If you are reading this now, two things must have happened. Apparently, a) I have lived like I died, drunkenly paddling a canoe in the buff down the Chicago River, and b) President Malia Ann Obama has outlawed the sport of football in our once-proud United States of America. Luckily for you, I predicted that such travesties would happen — mostly because canuding through the poisonous sludge that is the Chicago River while belligerently intoxicated can have adverse effects on your health — but also because the sport of football was pretty damn dangerous. What follows is all the important knowledge you will ever need to know in order to preserve the memory and history of the sport of football and ensure that you never ever fall prey to the allure of its metrosexual European cousin.

You see, Unborn Grandson, football was the greatest sport ever invented. The perfect combination of brawn and strategy and cheerleaders. Good God, don’t ever let us forget the cheerleaders.

Speaking of God, Yahweh fucking loved football. Just fucking loved it. Loved the sport so much that members of both teams would pray to God, asking for strength, fortitude, a sturdy offensive line, and a guaranteed contract plus incentives. God rewarded good Christians who couldn’t throw a spiral with an impregnable defense, while punishing other franchises with the likes of Cade McNown and Rex Grossman.

God loved football because football fucking ruled. In America, pro football was more popular than if Justin Bieber and cholesterol teamed up with all other major sports combined. No other game combined savage violence with cunning tactics and celebration dances quite like it. The game induced grown men in Philadelphia to throw D-batteries at Santa Claus, wear slices of cheese on their heads as they froze their asses off in Wisconsin, and even every once in awhile travel willingly to Detroit (this, after all, was before the city was overtaken by the mole people).

The athletes who played the game were revered as gods among men. If, you know, the gods were really great at running hitch and go routes and sending pictures of their junk to women they weren’t married to. Even the kickers, whose sole purpose in life was to — you guessed it Unborn Grandson — kick a ball still got laid, an impressive feat for somebody like Sebastian Janikowski.

Back before Google installed screens in all of our heads, we used to watch this magical sport from early Fall until February on things called “televisions,” which showed us the game and expert analysis of the game and hot women drinking shitty beer during breaks in the game. Sidenote: One day, Unborn Grandson, you might think that drinking Busch Light is “hip,” and “retro,” and “ironically hilarious,” but let me tell you, it’s not. All of your little hipster friends in the year 2063 might think it’s really cool to ironically drink your old man’s beer while you listen to Skrillex mp3’s and wear skinny jeans or some shit like that, but those kids have no idea how painful these things were at the time. Just be advised that my will specifically strips you of all rights to my Pokemon card collection if you are ever found Tebowing.

But yeah, TV was pretty great for football, and at the very end of the season, America held a special sacred holiday called Super Bowl Sunday. For one day the entire nation turned its eyes on the two best football teams of the year, who tried very hard to win the championship game and the ensuing confetti and the pretty metal trophy and the rights to wear rings the size of diamond-crusted nuva rings and to cry into Chris Berman‘s microphone. Halftime entertainment featured the very best aging classic rock stars had to offer, and even the occasional rogue booby or floating Usher.

The only thing better than professional football was college football. The college game was as passionate as Sicilians, and its governing body was as corrupt as, well, Sicilians. The rivalries were intense, and the pregames before a noon kickoff were unseemly in the best possible way.

Now, I’m sure grandpop’s alma mater has made quite a name for itself in the future, thanks to alumni like Ross Packingham (Beer Pong Olympic goldmedalist, 2024, 2028) and Chet Haze (Bratz 3D, Forrest Gump 2: Gump n Grind), but we were once a pretty respectable football institution too. We’re talking, like, the 7th most feared Big Ten team.

College football had things called “bowl games” instead of the Super Bowl to commemorate the end of its season. It worked kind of like youth soccer, where almost everybody got a trophy. I can still remember the thrill of victory when Northwestern won its first bowl game since the Rose Bowl, defeating the South Dakota State Jackrabbits in one of the most thrilling Overstock.com Money Grab Bowl in years. Those were the days. Half of the school erupted into celebration while patiently explaining to the other half what a first down was.

But I can only assume that the goddamn liberals and the socialists and the gays and the concussed NFL retirees will collude together to pressure President Malia Obama to ban the sport from America altogether in the near future. I cannot express how tragic of a mistake this will be, on par with our future decision to defrost Walt Disney or replace football with children fighting to the death for our entertainment.

Alright, Unborn Grandson, I hope this letter has reached you well. Please understand how important the sport of football was to all Americans, and don’t judge us too harshly for our cultural transgressions during the YOLO era. Things like twitter and Four Loko seemed like pretty great ideas at the time.

Well, that’s about it. I hope things are well in the future for you and your Roomba overlords. Are they still making teenage fiction about vampires? Has Christopher Nolan won an Oscar yet? How does your generation feel about the Black Keys?

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a river to canude down.

Sincerely,
Evander

Sherman Ave Freshman Guide: Sporting Events

Intimidating the Big 10 since…

Editor’s note: This “article” first appeared in 2011 and has not in any way been updated at all since then oops. We’ll call it a flashback or something and many of the lessons still apply.

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I’m going to go out on a limb and say that when you chose to come to Northwestern over the University of Crapcago, you did not decide to do so because of NU athletics.

See, this one time, Northwestern football decided to lose 34 straight games just for fun. And then, this other time, Northwestern basketball decided to never make the NCAA Tournament. As a joke. And it’s really fucking funny.