Team-by-team Predictions for the NFL in 2014

We all know how this season’s Super Bowl will go down. Bill Belichick, after using his rarely-confirmed-but-widely-assumed necromancy powers to revive Rob Gronkowski’s knee (and also hiring Nancy Kerrigan’s boyfriend to demolish Peyton Manning’s knee), will lead his team of diabolic henchmen to yet another Super Bowl appearance. Combining his black magic prowess with a well-used and peculiar gravitational phenomenon that occurs around Giselle Bundchen’s breasttaking breaths — did I get that right? — the Patriots will win the Super Bowl by 30 or 40 points over the opposing team, who could be basically anyone but the Eagles.

In the off-season and beyond, however, the picture is less clear. To help guide you through what should be a fascinating year in the NFL, here are our predictions for 2014.

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

Northwestern would TOTALLY be in the Final Four right now

Shurna leading us to hypothetical victory.

While the NCAA Tournament Selection Committee decided that NU didn’t technically “make the Tournament” the year and wasn’t in the “first six teams out” because the team “wasn’t very good” and “lost crucial games,” we at The Ave can’t help but imagine what would have happened if our boys had made the Dance. After careful consideration, it seems obvious that this team, arguably the third best in NU history (!), would be in the Final Four right now. Here’s how it would happen:

Game 1: Northwestern over Brigham Young
For argument’s sake we’ll pretend that the ‘Cats would have been one of the last four teams selected for the tourney, and thus forced to partake in a play-in game to make the field of 64. NU probably would have taken Iona’s place as a 14 seed (Gaels? Or GIRLS, ya dig?!), so we’ll pit Northwestern against BYU in this First Four matchup.

The ‘Cats at first seemed overmatched.  BYU won 26 games this year, features the skills of Brandon Davies, and has four players who averaged 10 or more points. NU would certainly lose this game against a skilled opponent. However, NU has one option at its disposal that the Cougz can’t match: the ability to twist a calendar. Start school on September 28th? Why not! Return from Winter Break the day after New Year’s? Easy! Finish finals in the middle of fucking summer? SOUNDS LIKE A PLAN. The ‘Cats easily change the tournament schedule to put this game on a Sunday. BYU, for religious reasons, does not play games on Sundays and is forced to forfeit (#MormonProblems). And just like that, NU is in the field of 64 and set for a second round matchup with Marquette!

Game 2: Northwestern over Marquette
Now I know it may seem as if Marquette is more talented than the BYU team that NU slipped by on a technicality. And it’s true! Marquette cruised through the Big East with 14 league wins and has tremendous talent in Darius Johnson-Odom and Jae Crowder. But do they call this March Monotony?* March Meh? March Mellow?! MARCH MENOPAUSE?! NO. It’s March Madness and anything can happen!

This is the time when Norfolk State figures out Mizzou doesn’t have a defense. The time when Bryce Drew can slide across the floor without ripping his skin off. The time when the transitive property should probably be considered as a rule of law and since Northwestern beat LSU and LSU beat Marquette then haha we win so go home and cry about it Marquette cause NU is going to the Round of 32 HEHEHEHE!

The Monstars were Carmody's backup choice.

Game 3: Northwestern over Murray State
This may be the ‘Cats biggest hurdle to date. NU has historically struggled against teams that are good at winning basketball games, and Murray State won 31 of them this year. NU falls behind early in this one, largely because Murray State appears to be faster, better coached, and more skilled than the ‘Cats. Northwestern had hoped to save their secret weapon for later in the tourney, but down 48-2 after just a minute and a half of play, they have no choice but to bring in Northwestern University President and Professional Crocodile Wrestler Morton Schapiro. Morty scores eleventy-seven-trillion points, blocks all of the shots, and grabs all of the rebounds before being ejected for “excessive girth.”

The ‘Cats return to their impotent ways without Morty in the lineup, but the clock works in their favor as they hold on to win eleventy-seven-trillion-plus-two to eleventy-seven-trillion-plus-one. And it’s on to the Sweet Sixteen!

Game 4: Northwestern over Florida
Florida, recognizing the danger posed by a hot Northwestern team (and we aren’t just talking about those four foot tall Nick Freundt heads), opts to bring in their own secret weapon: Tim Tebow. However, the plan goes awry with the realization that the two days Tebow has spent in New York since his trade to the Jets has completely corrupted him. Lil Timmy shows up tweaking on meth with a high-class escort on one arm and a hooker on the other**. His stunning turn to a life of sin appears to have zapped all his magic John 3:16 powers and he is completely ineffective.

The ‘Cats are similarly incompetent and the game seems destined for a 0-0 tie, until Tebow is called for a technical after he strips down nekked and runs around screaming and masturbating. John Shurna sinks the two free throws and NU takes the game. In a controversial move, Tebow is then put down by Pat Robertson. #YOLO

It got in the hole!

Game 5: Northwestern over Louisville
As the game nears tipoff, Louisville towers over Northwestern. The ‘Cats shrink in fear, awaiting a fate more painful than an Orgo midterm. Then suddenly, an idea pops into Reggie Hearn’s head; just moments before the game, he grabs a mic out of Erin Andrews’ sultry hands and announces to the world that he’s been carrying on an affair with Louisville coach Rick Pitino. Pitino, already frail from years of similar and incredibly accurate accusations, breaks down crying. He demands his whole team come give him a hug then runs away.

With no coach, Louisville struggles to stand up and breathe. Given literally hundreds of chances at an open layup, Luka Mirkovic sinks one at the buzzer for another 2-0 victory. With his bucket, the ‘Cats are into the Final Four!

I know you may be wondering what would happen to NU in the Final Four, but Sherman Ave deals exclusively with the facts and those games simply have not been played yet in the parallel universe I’ve described. To try to predict them would be absurd to say the least. Let’s try to stay grounded here, k? Great. Now go watch all the porn you can before President Santorum takes it all for himself.

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*Hat tip to that weird Greg Anthony commercial for something that I don’t remember
**For those of you who don’t follow New York politics: A high-class escort is a prostitute for rich and important people, while a hooker is a prostitute for the rest of us. Since Tebow is apparently rich and important it makes sense he has an escort, but since he isn’t actually much better at football than the rest of us I think he was required by law to get a hooker too. Damn Obamacare.

UPDATED: How to Watch the Super Bowl

Act confused when informed that no team from New York is in the game.

The Game is here! After weeks of buildup and waiting, it’s finally time for the NFL Championship Super Bowl of Championshipness to Decide It All. You probably have some friends who are fans of either the New York Giants Baltimore Ravens or the New England Patriots San Francisco 49ers (those are the teams playing in it, ok?). And there’s a pretty good chance you’ll watch it with some people who are quite emotionally invested in this particular football pigskin gridiron matchup showdown game.

So, in our continuing series of helpful tips, we at The Ave want to offer a few suggestions on how to be as heinous as possible during any Super Bowl party:

• Wear the jersey of a team that isn’t playing and bring an #Occupy sign and rant about how unfair it is that 1% of the teams get 99% of the Super Bowl. Spout various anti-elite slogans, set up a tent, and grossly overstay your welcome.

• Ask loudly and repeatedly when the Puppy Bowl is on. Scoff loudly if anyone informs you that you’re at a Super Bowl party and proceed to attempt to take bets on which puppy will poop first.

• If the host asked everyone to bring a snack to share, make sure to bring plain pita chips with no hummus or dip. Proudly offer them up to replace the main meal and announce that you read on the Internet that pita chips are great for your colon. If anyone goes for normal, good-tasting chips you must glare at them and ask if they even care about their colon health.

• Declare repeatedly that you’re pretty sure the coin toss decides the whole game. Keep asking who won the coin toss and alternatively celebrate or start crying when you’re told.

Be sure to dress appropriately!

• Come absurdly prepared with stats, charts and play breakdowns. Repeatedly pause the game to show everyone what just happened and why it should have been anticipated by the defense. Act like this doesn’t make you the single worst human being ever.

• Complain that the halftime show isn’t gaudy enough. Demand more fireworks.

• At halftime, recoil in horror when Madonna start screaming and peeing with joy when Beyonce comes out. Ask if she’s a real human being or if this means “they have finally arrived.” this is the second coming. Weep openly.

• Attempt to start a debate about whether the two-minute warning should be introduced at the college level. Tell everyone what a difference it would make and unironically declare that Oklahoma would be national champs if there was a two minute warning. Use that as your sole piece of evidence.

• Tell everyone about every single bet you’ve made on the game a minimum of three times. Shout with disproportionate anger or joy every time you lose or win a bet. Try to get everyone else to cheer with you. Call it your DM fundraiser and accuse anyone not cheering of hating kids with cancer.

• If the game is close in the last two minutes, feverishly attempt to convince everyone to pause the game so you can watch the latest episode of Alcatraz Catfish. If they resist tell them they just don’t understand good television and laugh condescendingly.

• Get way drunker than everyone else and belt out every patriotic song you can think of for the entirety of the third quarter.*

• When the game is over, refuse to watch the trophy presentation because the trophy is named after Vince Lombardi and the Packers suck.

• Study for your Consumer Insight midterm for the entire game. In any quiet moment yell “social comparison involves seeing yourself through the prism of everyone else around you!” and then look around for confirmation. If others seem confused, inform them that your midterm is at 10 a.m. on Monday because your professor is a football terrorist.

Bring enough food for 12.

• Live tweet the entire thing. Tag a famous person in every tweet and act offended when they don’t promptly respond. Read every tweet aloud then ask everyone to check on their phones that the tweet sent. Giggle about every tweet you send.

• UPDATED for 2013: Accuse anyone rooting for the Niners of hating gay people and anyone rooting for the Ravens of being a murderer. Say you only root for the London Sillynannies because you aren’t a xenophobe.

Now, if this doesn’t seem to work you can always just try being a fan of Tim Tebow. That usually annoys people enough and is quite easy, assuming you have no moral compass or sense of goodness in the world.

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*This actually makes you the best person alive.

5 Reasons Why We Hate the Republican Primaries

An even larger collection of pricks than the one on display each morning at Norbucks

There’s no two ways about it: the Republican Primaries suck. Every time I see coverage of the primaries on television, I’m blinded by a white rage brighter than, well, the skin of the Republican candidates. If you share this anger and don’t know why, allow me to try to explain some possible reasons for your fury:

5. The Jokes
Want to know what’s not funny? Republicans. Want to know what’s worse than not funny Republicans? Not funny Republicans making stupid jokes. I swear, every time one of them gets on a roll, they decide it’s time for their own little one man show. It might be some little quip like, “I haven’t seen numbers that low since statistics on Romney’s job creation as governor.” Or it may be some drawn out criticism of how big-headed Newt Gingrich is while the candidate resists the urge to just call him a fat fuck. We all know the only thing the Republican candidates find funny is discrimination and poverty, so why don’t they just stop with the jokes and spend a few more seconds shutting the fuck up?

There goes your chances of reenacting "My Date With the President's Daughter"

4. Jon Huntsman Doesn’t Stand a Chance
Honestly, there is no such thing as a good Republican candidate for president right now, but Jon Huntsman is the closest thing to it this year — and he’s just getting shit on. I get it: Republicans decided, in a nation trying to progress in policies and beliefs, to select the dumbest, most backwards-thinking assholes they could to run for president this year. But really? I mean, really??? The one guy who isn’t a complete fuck-up is just getting destroyed out there while being mercilessly driven to the right. And have you even seen his daughters?

3. Rick Perry is Still Speaking
What the fuck? I understand free speech is an important value in America, but can someone please just make this guy disappear or something? I don’t think I’m asking too much when I say I think it would be a really cool idea if people who are just intolerant wastes of space and air didn’t get to speak to a nationally-televised audience. Maybe I’m wrong… No. I’m not. I’m not sure of many things, but I am sure Rick Perry is not fit to speak about becoming president of the United States unless we’ve gone back in time to the 1800’s.

Gingrich is one of the few men who are probably even worse than Tebow at throwing a football 20 yards

2. We’re Forced to Hear about States That Don’t Mean Anything
Let’s be real honest here, since when does anyone give a fuck about Iowa or New Hampshire? Last time I heard, never. Even the people who live in those states realize they don’t mean anything to anyone anywhere. So why are a bunch of taint-stains on Fox News acting like I should care about those insignificant little places? The only thing that matters less than those states is the Republican Primaries, so why do I have to endure hours of those two things being combined? Next someone’s going to tell me I should care about football teams not controlled by God. I’m sorry, but I don’t. I don’t give a shit if the 49er’s do have a great run defense, until Jesus shows up on the field in the form of a stiff arm allowing an 80 yard touchdown in OT, I just don’t care. In fact, I might actually care about the Republican primaries if there was a little more Tebow. But there isn’t, so I don’t.

1.  It’s Just Wasting Time that Could Be Spent Listening to Obama’s Plans for His Second Term
There’s no way in Hell any Republican could win in the general election, so why waste time listening to a bunch of old, white assholes harp about the plight of the struggling upper-class business owner? How about we just tell Obama he won the election, allow him to transform this country for the better, and enjoy our lives? Maybe if we spent more time allowing people with good ideas to help the country and less time dicking around discussing which rich white guy is more unfit to run the country, we might, I don’t know, do something good for the first time in a long ass time. It’s just an idea.

4 Nuisances Of Being Home

They say there’s no place like home. While it has been quite fantastic to spend some time relaxing at home with my family now that finals are over, there are certain aspects of being home that I had forgotten how much I don’t like. Indeed, sadly, home doesn’t consist solely of gourmet food and a nice bed. So without further ado, I present – in all my glorious bitching – four things that have bothered me since I’ve come home.

Nothing says "Christmas" like a shouting match with your father over light placement

4. Putting Up Christmas Lights
There’s just nothing like a Christmas tradition. Every December, my parents hand me a string of sorry-ass fucking Christmas lights and a ladder (which, incidentally, is about as stable as the Zambian government) and give me one objective: Make the 25-foot leafless tree in front of our house look slightly more festive and slightly less flaccid. It’s especially fun when, after an hour spent climbing around the tree like a paraplegic chimpanzee, I finish decorating the tree to discover that approximately a quarter of the lights actually function. Ultimately, though, it’s worth the Christmas cheer. Every time I look at that pathetic tree and the lights which appear to have been put up by a blind lemur, I am filled with an overwhelming sense of holiday spirit. And by holiday spirit, I mean uncontrollable rage.

3. Losing To My Parents in Scrabble
I don’t know about you guys, but I love shit-talking (Side note: Being from Denver, Tim “The Jesus” Tebow has regaled me with a whole anthology of shit-talking materials). Therefore, when my parents suggest a casual post-dinner Scrabble game, I immediately acquire the attitude of a theoretical lovechild of Terrell Owens and Pau Gasol. This shit-talking strategy pays off richly, seeing as I often demolish my parents and subsequently run naked victory laps around the dining room table. And this isn’t me bragging about my Scrabble skills; the case is rather that my parents don’t give two shits about whether or not their placement of “twat” (I truly wish I were lying about my dad playing that in Scrabble) opens up availability to the Triple Word space. Tonight, however, my shit-talking strategy failed me, as I fell short by one point against my mom. Ugh. Now I just feel like a douche.

2. Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
I never thought it would be possible to make such a trainwreck out of a movie starring Natalie Portman, Ewan McGregor, and Samuel L. Jackson, but damn it all if it hasn’t been done. I mean, seriously, what a steaming cinematic shitstack. The kid who starred as Anakin Skywalker (out of principle, I’m not looking up the little fucker’s name) is more obnoxious than the Nyan Cat on methamphetamines. And Jar Jar Binks? I don’t know whose idea it was to combine the voice of an illiterate Louisiana swamp-person with the visual representation of a banana peel with birth defects, but that idea single-handedly ruined my childhood. Honestly, the only thing they could have done to make this movie any worse would be casting Nick Cage as Senator Palpatine. Yeah, just imagine it.

"To the nights you wish you could forget."

1. Vodka Commercials
Maybe this is something I’m just noticing now because I spend 8 hours a day watching TV (luhhhh vacation), but vodka commercials are absolutely preposterous. The one that I find most personally absurd is a Grey Goose commercial, featuring the tagline: “To the nights you’ll never forget.” I don’t know what sort of idiots are running the marketing department over at Grey Goose, but they clearly lack a fundamental understanding of alcohol. Granted, the tagline “To the nights you’ll blackout and then discover five weeks later that you vomited gratuitously” isn’t quite as catchy, but it is certainly more accurate. It just seems that somewhere in the attempt to craft a convincing image-based appeal, the morons over at Grey Goose forgot some of the drawbacks of downing vodka. If I were Grey Goose, I’d try something more along the lines of “To the poke wars you drunkenly initiated with the entirety of your high school government class” or “To the texts you receive from your mom the next morning saying ‘You might want to take that video off of Facebook.’”

7 Things You Miss About Being at Northwestern

Right now you’re probably sitting at home and staring at Facebook. You’re probably praying to the Almighty Tim Tebow that your life becomes more exciting. You miss Northwestern and you know it. Here are some of the likely reasons why you’re missing NU.

You don't understand. It's hot cookie bar.

7. The Cold
Now I’m going to be honest here: I don’t like cold weather. I’m not a fan of my boys retreating back into my body like the French during, well, any war ever. However, now that I’m away from the freezing helltrap known as Northwestern, I realize I do miss the cold. “Why?” You may ask. Well, to answer your question, Mr. Theoretical Man Who Talks to his Computer, the frozen domain known as Evanston provides us with two things: 1. The appearance of social skills; and 2. The chance to whine incessantly. Because nobody likes the cold, the vast majority of your conversations at Northwestern may be about how fucking cold it is – and though it would be unacceptable anywhere else to spend so much time talking about the weather, it’s okay here. Also, the biting cold lets you complain and swear as much as you want. Hell, if you wanted, you could walk outside and scream “Fucking Shit Bitch Damnit!” and have a simple “man it’s cold out” excuse to forgive your horrible language.

6. The Dorm Food
We’ve all got a secret fat person hiding inside of us (mine’s Israel Kamakawiwo’ole). When you’re home in front of your family, you must hide this fat person for fear of terrifying your parents and siblings; however, in the dining halls of Northwestern, you can let that fat person run wild. With chicken tenders every day, grilled cheese always on the menu, and ice cream galore, you can indulge your disgusting gluttonous desires each and every day at Northwestern (not to be confused with your other awful desires).

5. The Classes
You’re at Northwestern – embrace your inner geek. You love that you’re struggling to get a C in Orgo. You want to discuss Nietzsche every day. And each time you go to Russian Lit, Morson gives you a mini orgasm. You’re at Northwestern for a reason, and that reason likely isn’t your amazing rapping prowess…we can’t all be Chet Haze.

4. Gratuitous Hook-Ups
You’re disgusting. I mean, you are a sick group of horny little nerds. But that’s okay – it’s part of why we love you. However, since you’re no longer at Northwestern, your game probably isn’t doing quite as well as normal. Saying “I wish I was DNA Helicase, that way I could unzip your jeans” just probably isn’t flying with that General Studies major from the University of Wisconsin-Whitewater the way it worked with that “cute” girl from your bioethics class. I know you’re trying to convince yourself that your “self-help” is just as good as any vodka-induced adventures you’ve had at NU, but you know it’s just not the same.

You don't even want to see the stock-image for "self-gratification"

3. Fucksaw and Self-Gratification Jokes
Do you want to know how many times I’ve wanted to make a comment about fucksaws and masturbating in the showers in the three days I’ve been home? A LOT. Do you know how many times I haven’t been able to? TOO FUCKING MANY. And do you know how often I’ve accidentally mentioned self-gratification in front of MY MOTHER? Once….AND THAT’S ONE TIME TOO MANY. Without being able to talk about fucksaws, waxing the dolphin, or the cold weather – I HAVE NOTHING TO TALK ABOUT ANYMORE. Since coming home, I feel like I may have to learn how to converse like a normal human being again, and I’m not ready to do that – and you probably aren’t either.

2. The Diversity of Thought
Unless you’re Rick Perry (in which case, please kindly go die in the most painful way possible), you’re probably a fan of tolerance and diversity. Northwestern provides more diversity of thought and belief than any place within 500 miles of my hometown. Though you may be fortunate enough to live in a place with rational people, the only thing my state has chosen to move forward on is reviving Pre-Civil War era policies. I appreciate Northwestern so much for how accepting it is of all people, and it’s something that you should miss and cherish as well.

1. Your Friends
I’m sure you have a ton of great friends back home. I’m grateful every day for the fantastic people I know in my hometown. But that being said, I still miss the hell out of everyone at Northwestern. Only at Northwestern will you have friends that are stumbling outside the Keg one day and then intensely developing a Chemical Engineering program the next. Your friends at NU are always there to help you stand up, and they’re certainly there when you’re falling down (you alcoholic, you). These are some of the best, most ridiculous people you will ever meet – and you’re probably suffering a little every moment you’re away from them.

There are so many reasons why you think you hate Northwestern, but you know you love and miss it there. So tough it out NU. You can make it. Soon enough you’ll be back at school just in time to freeze and die with the best student body on the planet.